CHAPTER XII. THE STORY OF A BROKEN LIFE.
This was the idea that occurred to both uncle and nephews, but they had seen and heard enough to excuse all that, and Professor Featherwit spoke again, in mildly curious tones:
“Sorry I am unable to give you better tidings, my good friend, but, so far as my knowledge extends, nothing has come to light of recent years. And—if not a leading question—were those passengers friends of your own?”
“Only—merely my—my wife and little daughter,” came the totally unexpected reply, followed by a forced laugh which sounded anything but mirthful.
Uncle Phaeton, intensely chagrined, hastened to apologise for his luckless break, but Cooper Edgecombe cut him short, asking that the matter be let drop for the time being.
“I will talk; I feel that I must tell you all, or lose what few wits I have left,” he declared, huskily. “But not right now. It is growing late. You must be hungry. I have no very extensive larder, but with my little will go the gratitude of a man who—”
His voice choked, and he left the sentence unfinished, hurrying away to prepare such a meal as his limited means would permit.
While Edgecombe was kindling a fire in one corner of the cavern, opening a pile of ashes to extract the few carefully cherished coals by means of which the wood was to be fired, uncle and one nephew left the den to look after the flying-machine and contents.
Bruno remained behind, in obedience to a hint from the professor, lest the exile should dread desertion, after all.
“Take these in and open them, Waldo,” said the professor, selecting several cans from the stock in the locker. “Poor fellow! 'Twill be like a foretaste of civilisation, just to see and smell, much less taste, the fruit.”
“Even if he has turned looney, eh, uncle Phaeton?”
“Careful, boy! I hardly think he is just that far gone; but, even if so, what marvel? Think of all he must have suffered during so many long, dreary years! and—his wife and child! I wonder—I do wonder if he really killed—but that is incredible, simply and utterly incredible! An Aztec—here—alive!”
“Dead, uncle Phaeton,” corrected Waldo. “Killed the redskin, he said, and I really reckon he meant it. Why not, pray?”
“But—an Aztec, boy!” exclaimed the bewildered savant, unable to pass that point. “The tunic of quilted cotton, the escaupil! The maquahuitl, with its blades of grass! The bow and arrows which—all, all surely of Aztecan manufacture, yet seemingly fresh and serviceable as though in use but a month ago! And the race extinct for centuries!”
“Well, unless he's a howling liar from 'way up the crick, he extincted one of 'em,” cheerfully commented Waldo, bearing his canned fruit to the cavern.
Professor Featherwit followed shortly after, finding the exile busy preparing food, looking and acting far more naturally than he had since his rescue from the whirlpool. And then, until the evening meal was announced, uncle Phaeton hovered near those amazing curiosities, now gazing like one in a waking dream, then gingerly fingering each article in turn, as though hoping to find a solution for his enigma through the sense of touch.
Taken all in all, that was far from a pleasant or enjoyable meal. A sense of restraint rested upon each one of that little company, and not one succeeded in fairly breaking it away, though each tried in turn.
Despite the struggle made by the exile to hold all emotions well under subjection, Cooper Edgecombe failed to hide his almost childish delight at sight and taste of those canned goods, and it did not require much urging on the part of his rescuers to ensure his partaking freely.
But the cap-sheaf came when uncle Phaeton, true to his habit of long years, after eating, produced pipe and pouch, the fragrant tobacco catching the exile's nostrils and drawing a low, tremulous cry from his lips.
No need to ask what was the matter, for that eager gaze, those quivering fingers, were enough. And just as though this had been his express purpose, the professor passed the pipe over, quietly speaking:
“Perhaps you would like a little smoke after your supper, my good friend? Oblige me by—”
“May I? Oh, sir, may I—really taste—oh, oh, oh!”
Bruno struck a match and steadied the pipe until the tobacco was fairly ignited, then drew back and left the exile to himself for the time being. And, as covert glances told them, never before had their eyes rested upon mortal being so intensely happy as was the long-lost aeronaut then and there.
At a sign from the professor, Bruno and Waldo silently arose and left the cavern, bearing their guardian company to where the air-ship was resting. And there they busied themselves with making preparations for the night, which was just settling over that portion of the earth.
Presently Cooper Edgecombe appeared, the empty pipe in hand, held as one might caress an inestimable treasure, a dreamy, almost blissful expression upon his sun-browned face.
“I thank you, sir, more than tongue can tell,” he said, quietly, as he restored the pipe to its owner. “If you could only realise what I have suffered through this deprivation! I, an inveterate smoker; yet suddenly deprived of it, and so kept for ten long years! If I had had a pipe and tobacco, I believe—but enough.”
“I can sympathise with you, at least in part, my friend. Will you have another smoke, by the way?”
“No, no, not now; I feel blessed for the moment, and more might be worse than none, after so long deprivation. And—may I talk openly to you, dear, kind friends? May I tell you—am I selfish in wishing to trouble you thus? Ten years, remember, and not a soul to speak with!”
He laughed, but it was a sorry mirth; and not caring to trust his tongue just then, uncle Phaeton nodded his head emphatically while filling his pipe for himself. But Waldo never lacked for words, and spoke out:
“That's all right, sir; we can listen as long as you can chin-chin. Tell us all about—well, what's the matter with that big Injun?”
“Quiet, Waldo. Say what best pleases you, my friend. You can be sure of one thing,—sympathetic listeners, if nothing better.”
With a curious shiver, as though afflicted with a sudden chill, Edgecombe turned partly away, figure drawn rigidly erect, hands tightly clasped behind his back. A brief silence, then he spoke in tones of forced composure.
“A balloon was the best, in my day, and I was proud of my profession, although even then I was dreaming of better things—of something akin to this marvellous creation of yours, sir,” casting a fleeting glance at the air-ship, then at the face of its builder, afterward resuming his former attitude.
“Let that pass, though. I wanted to tell you how I met with my awful loss; how I came to be out here in this modern hell!
“I had a wife, a daughter, each of whom felt almost as powerful an interest in aerostatics as I did myself. And one day—but, wait!
“I had an enemy, too; one who had, years before, sought to win my love for his own; in vain, the cur! And that day—we were out here in Washington Territory, living in comparative solitude that I might the better study out the theory I was slowly shaping in my brain.
“The day was beautiful, but almost oppressively warm, and, as they so frequently wished, I let my dear ones up in the balloon, securely fastening it below. And then—God forgive me!—I went back to town for something; I forget just what, now.
“A sudden storm came up. I hurried homeward; home to me was wherever my dear ones chanced to be; but I was just too late! That devil of all devils was ahead of me, and I saw him—merciful God! I saw him—cut the ropes and let the balloon dart away upon that awful gale!”
His voice choked, and for a few minutes silence reigned. Knowing how vain must be any attempt to offer consolation, the trio of air-voyagers said nothing, and presently Cooper Edgecombe spoke.
“I killed the demon. I nearly tore him limb from limb; I would have done just that, only for those who came hurrying after me from town, knowing that I might need help in bringing my balloon to earth in safety. They dragged me away, but 'twas too late to cheat my miserable vengeance. That hound was dead, but—my darlings were gone, for ever!”
Another pause, then quieter, more coherent speech.
“God alone knows whither my wife and child were taken. The general drift was in this direction, but how far they were carried, or how long they may have lived, I can only guess; enough that, despite all my inquiries, made far and wide in every direction, I never heard aught of either balloon or passengers!
“After that, I had but one object in life: to follow along the track of that storm, and either find my loved ones, or—or some clew which should for ever solve my awful doubts! And for two long years or more I fought to pierce these horrid fastnesses,—all in vain. No mortal man could succeed, even when urged on by such a motive as mine.
“Then I determined upon another course. I worked and slaved until I could procure another balloon, as nearly like the one I lost as might be constructed. Then I watched and waited for just such another storm as the one upon whose wings my darlings were borne away, meaning to take the same course, and so find—”
“Why, man, dear, you must have been insane!” impulsively cried the professor, unable longer to control his tongue.
“Perhaps I was; little wonder if so,” admitted Edgecombe, turning that way, with a wan smile lighting up his visage. “I could no longer reason. I could only act. I had but that one grim hope, to eventually discover what time and exposure to the weather might have left of my lost loves.
“Then, after so long waiting, the storm came, blowing in the same direction as that other. I cut my balloon loose, and let it drift. I looked and waited, hoping, longing, yet—failing! I was wrecked, here in this wilderness. My balloon was carried away. I failed to find—aught!”
Cooper Edgecombe turned towards the air-ship, with a sigh of regret.
“If one had something like this then, I might have found them,—even alive! But now—too late—eternally too late!”
CHAPTER XIII. THE LOST CITY OF THE AZTECS.
Uncle Phaeton was more than willing to do the honours of his pet invention, and this afforded a most happy diversion, although the deepening twilight hindered any very extensive examination.
Cooper Edgecombe showed himself in a vastly different light while thus engaged, his shrewd questions, his apt comments, quite effectually removing the far from agreeable doubts born of his earlier words and demeanour.
“Well, if he's looney, it's only on some points, not as the whole porker, anyway,” confidentially asserted Waldo, when an opportunity offered. “Coax him to tell how he knocked the redskin out, uncle Phaeton.”
Little need of recalling that perplexing incident to the worthy savant, for, try as he might, Featherwit could not keep from brooding over that wondrous collection of relics pertaining to a long-since extinct people. Of course, the last one had perished ages ago; and yet—and yet—
Through his half-bewildered brain flashed the accounts given by the coast tribes, members of which he had so frequently interviewed concerning this unknown land, one and all of whom had more or less to say in regard to a strange people, terrible fighters, mighty hunters, one burning glance from whose eyes carried death and decay unto all who were foolhardy enough even to attempt to pass those mighty barriers, built up by a beneficent nature. Only for that nearly impassable wall, the entire earth would be overrun and dominated by these monsters in human guise.
Then, after the air-ship was cared for to the best of his ability, and the night-guard set in place so that an alarm might give warning of any illegal intrusion, the little party returned to the cavern home of the exile where, after another refusal on his part, the professor filled and lighted his beloved pipe.
Almost in spite of himself Featherwit was drawn towards those marvellous articles depending from the wall, and, as he gazed in silent marvel, Cooper Edgecombe drew nigh, with still other articles to complete the collection.
“You may possibly find something of interest in these, too, dear sir, although I have given them rather rough usage. This formed a rather comfortable cap, and—”
“A helmet! And sandals! A sash which is—yes! worn about the waist, mainly to support weapons, and termed a maxtlatl, which—and all sufficiently well preserved to be readily recognised as genuine—unless—Surely I am dreaming!”
If not precisely that, the worthy professor assuredly was almost beside himself while examining these articles of warrior's wear, one by one, knowing that neither eyes nor memory were at fault, yet still unable to believe those very senses.
Up to this, Cooper Edgecombe had felt but a passing interest in the matter, forming as it did but a single incident in a more than ordinarily eventful life; but now he began to divine at least a portion of the truth, and his face was lighted up with unusual animation, when Phaeton Featherwit turned that way, to almost sharply demand:
“Where did you gain possession of these weapons and garments, sir? And how,—from whom?”
“I took them from an Indian, nearly two years ago. He caught me off my guard, and, when I saw that I could neither hide nor flee, I fought for my life,” explained the exile; then giving a short, bitter laugh, to add: “Strange, is it not? Although I had long since grown weary of existence such as this, I fought for it; I turned wild beast, as it were! Then, after all was over, I took these things, more because I feared his comrades might suspect—”
“His comrades?” echoed the professor. “More than the one, then? You killed him, but—there were others, still?”
“Many of them; far too many for any one man to withstand,” earnestly declared the exile. “I made all haste in bearing the redskin here, obliterating all signs as quickly as possible; yet for days and nights I cowered here in utter darkness, each minute expecting an attack from too powerful a force for standing against.”
Uncle Phaeton rubbed his hands briskly, shifting his weight hurriedly from one foot to its mate, then back again, the very personification of eager interest and growing conviction.
“More of them? A strong force? Armed,—and garbed as of old? The clothing, the footwear, and, above all else, the weapons, purely Aztecan? And here, only two short years ago?”
“Sadly long and hideously dreary years I have found them, sir,” the exile said, in dejected tones.
The professor burst into a shrill, excited laugh, which sounded almost hysterical, and, not a little to the amazement of his nephews, broke into a regular dance, jigging it right merrily, hands on hips, head perked, and chin in air, at the same time striving to carry the tune in his far from melodious voice.
After all, perhaps no better method could have been taken to work off his almost hysterical excitement, and presently he paused, panting and heated, chuckling after an abashed fashion as he encountered the eyes of his nephews.
“Not a word, my dear boys,” he hastened to plead. “I had to do something or—or explode! I feel better, now. I can behave myself, I hope. I am calm, cool, and composed as—the genuine Aztecs! And we are the ones to discover that—oh, I forgot!”
For Waldo was fairly exploding with mirth, while Bruno smiled, and even the exile appeared to be amused to a certain extent at his expense.
Little by little, the worthy savant calmed down, and then, almost forcing the exile to indulge in another delicious smoke, he led up to the subject in which his interest was fairly intense.
Cooper Edgecombe was willing enough to tell all that lay in his power, although he was only beginning to realise how much that might mean to the world at large, judging by the actions of the professor.
According to his account, the great lake, or drainage reservoir of the Olympics, was a sort of semi-yearly rendezvous for a warlike tribe of red men, where they congregated for the purpose of catching and drying vast quantities of fish, doubtless to be used during the winter.
“As a general thing they pitch their camp on the other side, over towards the northeast; but small parties are pretty sure to rove far and wide, coming around this way quite as often as not.”
“And their garb,—the weapons they bore?” asked the professor.
Edgecombe motioned towards those articles in which such a lively interest had been awakened, then said that, while few of the red men who had come beneath his near observation had been so elaborately equipped, he had taken notice of similar weapons and garments, with additions which he strove hard to describe with accuracy.
Nearly every sentence which crossed his lips served to confirm the marvellous truth which had so dazzlingly burst upon the professor's eager brain, and with a glib tongue he named each weapon, each garment, as accurately as ever set down in ancient history, not a little to the wide-eyed amazement of Waldo Gillespie.
“Worse than those blessed 'sour-us' and cousins,” he confided to his brother, in a whisper. “Reckon it's all right, Bruno? Uncle isn't—eh?”
But uncle Phaeton paid them no attention, so deeply was he stirred by this wondrous revelation. He felt that he was upon the verge of a discovery which would startle the wide world as no recent announcement had been able to do, unless—but it surely must be correct!
And then, when Cooper Edgecombe finished all he could tell concerning those queerly armed and gaudily garbed red men, the professor let loose his tongue, telling what glorious hopes and dazzling anticipations were now within him.
“For hundreds upon hundreds of years there have been wild, weird legends about the Lost City, but that merely meant a mass of wondrous ruins, long since overwhelmed by shifting sands, somewhere in the heart of the great American desert, so-called.
“By some it was claimed that this ancient city owed its primal existence to a fragment of the Aztecs, driven from their native quarters in Old Mexico. By others 'twas attributed unto one of the fabulous 'Lost Tribes of Israel,' but even the most enthusiastic never for one moment dreamed of—this!”
“Except yourself, uncle Phaeton,” cut in Waldo, with a subdued grin. “This must be one of the marvels you calculated on discovering, thanks to the flying-machine, eh?”
“Nay, my boy; I never let my imagination soar half so high as all that,” quickly answered the professor. “But now—now I feel confident that just such a discovery lies before us, and with the dawn of a new day we will ascend and look for the glorious 'Lost City of the Aztecs!'”
Again the savant sprang to his feet, wildly gesticulating as he strode to and fro, striving to thus work off some of the intense excitement which had taken full possession. And words fell rapidly from his lips the while, only a portion of which need be placed upon record in this connection, however.
“A fico for the paltry lost cities of musty tradition, now! They may sleep beneath the sand-storms of countless years, but this—I would gladly give one of my eyes for the certainty that its mate might gaze upon such a wondrous spectacle as—Oh, if it might only prove true! If I might only discover such a stupendous treasure! Aztecs! And in the present day! Alive—armed and garbed as of yore! Amazing! Incredible! Astounding beyond the wildest dreams of a confirmed—”
With startling swiftness uncle Phaeton wheeled to confront the exile, gripping his arm with fierce vigour, as he shrilly demanded:
“Opium—are you an eater of drugs, Cooper Edgecombe?”
Even as the words crossed his lips, the professor realised how preposterous they must sound, but the exile shook his head, earnestly.
“I never ate drugs in that shape, sir. Even if I had been addicted to morphine and the like, how could I indulge the appetite here, in these gloomy, lonely wilds?”
“I beg your pardon, sir; most humbly I implore your forgiveness. I have but one excuse—this wondrous—Good night! I'm going to bed before I add to my new reputation as—a blessed idiot, no less!”
CHAPTER XIV. A MARVELLOUS VISION.
But the night was considerably older ere any one of that quartette lost himself in slumber, for all had been too thoroughly wrought up by the exciting events of the past day for sleep to claim an easy subject.
By common consent, however, that one particular subject was barred for the present, and then, sitting in a cosy group about the glowing fire there in the cavern, the recently formed friends talked and chatted, asking and answering questions almost past counting.
Little wonder that such should be the case, so far as Cooper Edgecombe was concerned, since he had been lost to the busy world and its many changes for a long decade.
Then, too, his own dreary existence held a strange charm for the air-voyagers, and the exile grew wonderfully cheerful and bright-eyed as he in part depicted his struggles to sustain life against such heavy odds, and still strove to keep alive that one hope,—that even yet he might be able to discover a clew to his loved and lost ones.
“Not alive; I have long since abandoned that faint hope. But if I might only find something to make sure, something that I could pray over, then bury where my heart could hover above—”
“You are still alive, good friend, yet you have spent long years out here in the wilderness,” gently suggested the professor.
Edgecombe flinched, as one might when a rude hand touches a still raw wound.
“But they, my wife, my baby girl,—they could never have lived as I have existed. They surely must have perished; if not at once, then when the first cruel storms of hideous winter came howling down from the far north!”
“Unless they were found and rescued by—who knows, my good sir?” forcing a cheerful smile, which, unfortunately, was only surface-born, as the exile lifted his head with a start and a gasping ejaculation. “Since it seems fairly well proven that this supposedly unknown land is actually inhabited, why may your loved ones not have been rescued?”
“The Indians? You mean by the Aztecs, sir?”
“If Aztecans they should really prove; why not?”
“But, surely I have heard—sacrifices?” huskily breathed the greatly agitated man, while the professor, realising how he was making a bad matter worse, brazenly falsified the records, declaring that no human sacrifices had ever stained the record of that noble, honourable, gallant race; and then changed the subject as quickly as might be.
Nevertheless, there was one good effect following that talk. Cooper Edgecombe had dreaded nothing so much as the fear of being left behind by these, the first white people he had seen for what seemed more than an ordinary lifetime; but now, when the professor hinted at a longing to take a spin through ether, for the purpose of winning a wider view, he eagerly seconded that idea, even while realising that it would be difficult to take him along with the rest.
Still, nothing was definitely settled that evening, and at a fairly respectable hour before the turn of night, the air-voyagers were wrapped in their blankets and soundly slumbering.
Not so the exile. Sleep was far from his brain, and while he really knew that danger could hardly menace that wondrous bit of ingenious mechanism, he watched it throughout that long night, ready to risk his own life in its defence should the occasion arise.
Why not, since his whole future depended upon the aeromotor? By its aid he hoped to reach civilization once more; and in spite of the great loss which had wrecked his life, he was thrilled to the centre by that glorious prospect. Here he was dead while breathing; there he would at least be in touch with his fellow men once more!
An early meal was prepared by the exile, and in readiness when his trio of guests awakened to the new day; and then, while busily discussing the really appetising viands placed before them, the next move was fully determined upon.
Not a little to his secret delight, the professor heard Edgecombe broach the subject of further explorations, and seeing that his excitement had passed away in goodly measure during the silent watches of the night, he talked with greater freedom.
“Of course we'll keep in touch with you, here, friend, and take no decisive move without your knowledge and consent. Our fate shall be yours, and your fate shall be ours. Only—I would dearly love to catch a glimpse of—If there should actually be a Lost City in existence!”
“If there is, as there surely must be one of some description, judging from the number of red men I have seen collecting here at the lake,” observed the exile, “you certainly ought to make the discovery with the aid of your air-ship. You can ascend at will, of course, sir?”
Nothing loath, the professor spoke of his pet and its wondrous capabilities, and then all hands left the cavern for the outer air, to prepare for action.
As a further assurance, uncle Phaeton begged Edgecombe to enter the aerostat, then skilfully caused the vessel to float upward into clear space, sailing out over the lake even to the whirlpool itself before turning, his passenger eagerly watching every move and touch of hand, asking questions which proved him both shrewd and ingenious, from a mechanical point of view.
Returning to their starting-point, Edgecombe sprang lightly to earth to make way for the brothers, face ruddy and eyes aglow as he again begged them all to keep watch for aught which might solve the mystery yet surrounding the fate of his loved ones.
The promise was given, together with an earnest assurance that they would soon return; then the parting was cut as short as might be, all feeling that such a course was wisest and kindest, after all.
For an hour or more the air-ship sped on, high in air, its inmates viewing the various and varying landmarks beneath and beyond them, all marvelling at the fact that such an immense scope of country should for so long be left in its native virginity, especially where all are so land-hungry.
Then, as nothing of especial interest was brought to their notice, uncle Phaeton quite naturally reverted to that suit of Aztecan armour, and the glorious possibilities which the words of the exile had opened up to them as explorers.
Bruno listened with unfeigned interest, but not so his more mercurial brother, who took advantage of an opening left by the professor, to bluntly interject:
“What mighty good, even if you should find it all, uncle Phaeton? You couldn't pick it up and tote it away, to start a dime museum with. And, as for my part,—I'll tell you what! If we could only find something like Aladdin's cave, now!”
“Growing miserly in your old age, are you, lad?” mocked his uncle.
“No; I don't mean just that. His trees were hung with riches, but mine should be—crammed and crowded full of plum pudding, fruit cake, angel food, mince pies, and the like! Yes, and there should be fountains of lemonade! And mountains of ice-cream! And sandbars of caramels, and chocolate drops, and trilbies, and—well, now, what's the matter with you fellows, anyway?”
He spoke with boyish indignation at that laughing outbreak, but the kindly professor quickly managed to smooth the matter over, although not before Waldo had promised Bruno a sound thumping the first time they set foot upon land.
Until past the noon hour that pleasant voyage lasted, without any remarkable discovery being made, the trio munching a cold lunch at their ease, rather than take the trouble to effect a landing.
But then, not very long after the sun had begun his downward course, there came a change which caused Featherwit's blood to leap through his veins far more rapidly than usual, for yonder, still a number of miles away, there was gradually opening to view a hill-surrounded valley of considerable dimension, certain portions of which betrayed signs of cultivation, or at least of vegetation different from aught the explorers had as yet come across since entering that land of wonders.
Almost unwittingly Professor Featherwit sent the air-ship higher, even as it sped onward at quickened pace, his face as pale as his eyes were glittering, intense anticipation holding him spellbound for the time being. And then—the wondrous truth!
“Behold!” he cried, shrilly, pointing as he spoke.
“Houses yonder! Cultivated fields, and—see! human beings in motion, who are—”
“Kicking up a great old bobbery, just as though they'd sighted us, and wanted to know—I say, uncle Phaeton, how would it feel to get punched full of holes by a parcel of bow-arrows?”
With a quick motion the air-ship was turned, darting lower and off at a sharp angle to its former course, for the professor likewise saw what had attracted the notice of his younger nephew.
Scattered here and there throughout that secluded valley were human beings, nearly all of whom had sprung into sudden motion, doubtless amazed or frightened by the appearance of that oddly shaped air-demon.
Brief though that view had been, it was sufficiently long to show the professor houses of solid and substantial shape, cultivated plots, human beings, and a little river whose clear waters sparkled and flashed in the sunlight.
It was very hard to cut that view so short, but the professor had not lost all prudence, and he knew that danger to both vessel and passengers might follow a nearer intrusion upon the privacy of yonder armed people. Yet his face was fairly glowing with glad exultation as he brought the aerostat to a lower strata of air, shutting off all view from yonder valley, as it lay amid its encircling hills.
“Hurrah!” he cried, snatching off his cap and waving it enthusiastically, as the air-ship floated onward at ease. “At last! Found—we've discovered it at last! And all is true,—all is true!”
“Found what, uncle Phaeton?” asked Waldo, a bit doubtfully.
“The Lost City of the Aztecs, of course! Oh, glad day, glad day!”
“Unless—what if it should prove to be only a—a mirage, uncle Phaeton?” almost timidly ventured Bruno, a moment later.
CHAPTER XV. ASTOUNDING, YET TRUE.
The professor gave a great start at this almost reluctant suggestion, shrinking back with a look which fell not far short of being horrified. But then he rallied, forcing a laugh before speaking.
“No, no, Bruno. All conditions are lacking to form the mirage of the desert. And, too; everything was so distinct and clearly outlined that one could—”
“Fairly feel those blessed bow-arrows tickling a fellow in the short ribs,” vigorously declared the younger Gillespie. “Not but that—I say, uncle Phaeton?”
“What is it now, Waldo?”
“Reckon they're like any other people? Got boys and—and girls among 'em, I wonder?”
“I daresay, yes, why not?” answered Featherwit, scarcely realising what words were being shaped by his lips, while Bruno broke into a brief-lived laugh, more at that half-sheepish expression than at the query itself.
“Both boys and girls galore, I expect, Kid; but you needn't borrow trouble on either score. You can outrun the lads, while as for the fairer sex,—well, they'll take precious good care to keep well beyond your reach,—especially if you wear such another fascinating grin as—”
“Oh, you go to thunder, Bruno Gillespie!”
Through all this interchange the air-ship was maintaining a wide sweep, drawing nearer the forest beneath, if only to keep hidden from the eyes of the strange people in yonder deep valley. Yet the gaze of Phaeton Featherwit as a rule kept turned towards that particular point, his eyes on fire, his lips twitching, his whole demeanour that of one who feels a discovery of tremendous importance lies just before him.
“Are we going to land, uncle Phaeton?” queried Bruno, taking note of that preoccupation, which might easily prove dangerous under existing circumstances.
That question served to recall the professor to more material points, and, after a keen, sweeping look around, he nodded assent.
“Yes, as soon as I can discover or secure a fair chance. I wish to see more—I must secure a fairer view of the—of yonder place.”
“Will it not be too dangerous, though? Not for us, especially, uncle, but for the aerostat? Even if these be not the people you imagine—”
“They are past all doubt a remnant of the ancient Aztecs. Yonder lies the true Lost City, and we are—oh, try to comprehend all that statement means, my lads! Picture to yourselves what boundless fame and unlimited credit awaits our report to the outer world! The benighted world! The besotted world! The—the—”
“While we'll form the upsotted world, or a portion of it, without something is done,—and that in a howling hurry, too!” fairly spluttered Waldo, as the again neglected air-ship sped swiftly towards a more elevated portion of that earth, part of the tall hill-crest which acted as nature's barricade to yonder by nature depressed valley.
“Time enough, lad, time enough, since we are going to land,” coolly assured the professor, deftly manipulating the steering-gear and still curying around those tree-crowned hills. “If we are really hunted after, 'twill naturally be in the quarter of our vanishment, while by alighting around yonder, nearly at right angles with our initial approach, we will have naught to fear from the—the Aztecan clans!”
Clearly the professor had settled in his own mind just what lay before them, and nothing short of the Lost City of the Aztecs would come anywhere near satisfying that exalted ideal. And, taking all points into full consideration, was there anything so very absurd in his method of reasoning, or of drawing a deduction?
Still, that exaltation did not prevent uncle Phaeton from taking all essential precautions, and it was only when an especially secure landing-place was sighted that he really attempted to touch the earth.
Fully one-half of that wide circuit had been made, and as nothing could be detected to give birth to fears for either self or air-ship, the aeronauts skilfully landed their vessel with only the slightest of jars. It was a well-screened location, where naught could be seen of the flying-machine until close at hand, yet so arranged as to make a hasty flight a very easy matter should the occasion ever arise.
Not until the landing was effected and all made secure, did Professor Featherwit speak again. Then it was with gravely earnest speech which suitably affected his nephews.
“Above all things, my dear lads, bear ever in mind this one fact,—we are not here to fight. We do not come as conquerors, weapons in hand, hearts filled with lust of blood. To the contrary, we are on a peaceful mission, hoping to learn, trusting to enlighten, with malice towards none, but honest love for all those who may wear the human shape, be they of our own colour or—or—otherwise.”
“That's what's the matter with Hannah's cat!” cheerfully chipped in the irrepressible Waldo. “I say, uncle Phaeton, is it just a lie-low here until yonder fellows grow tired of looking for what they can't find, then a flight on our part; or will we—”
“Have we voyaged so far and seen so much, to rest content with so very little?” exclaimed the professor, hardly as precise of speech as under ordinary conditions. “No, no, my lads! Yonder lies the greatest discovery of the nineteenth century, and we are—Get a hustle on, boys! The day is waning, and with so much to see, to study, to—Come, I say!”
In spite of his initial attempt to impress his nephews with a due sense of the heavy responsibilities which rested upon them, Phaeton Featherwit was far more excited than either one of the brothers. Doubtless he more nearly appreciated the importance of this wondrous discovery, provided his now firm belief was correct,—that yonder stood a solid, substantial city, erected by the hands of a people whom common consent had agreed were long since wiped out of existence.
The story told by Cooper Edgecombe, backed up by the articles taken from the person of the warrior whom he had slain in self-defence, certainly had its weight; while the brief and imperfect glimpse which he had won of yonder valley helped to bear out that astounding belief. And yet, how could it be true?
Really believing, yet forced by more sober reason to doubt, the poor professor was literally “in a sweat” long ere another view could be won of the depressed valley, although the landing of the air-ship was so well chosen as to make that trip of the briefest duration consistent with prudence.
The natural obstacles were considerable, however, and as they picked their way along, the brothers for the first time began to gain a fairly accurate idea of what was meant by the term, a virgin forest.
To all seeming, the human foot had never ventured here, nor were any marks or spoor of wild beasts perceptible on either side.
Although the aerostat had landed not far below the crest of those hills, the adventurers had to climb higher, before winning the coveted view, partly because the most practicable route led down into and along a winding gulch, where the footing was far less treacherous than upon the higher ground, cumbered, as that was, with the leaf-mould of centuries.
Still, half an hour's steady labour brought the little squad to the coveted point, and once again Professor Featherwit was almost literally stricken speechless,—for there, far below their present location, spread out in level expanse, lay the secret valley with all its marvels.
Far more extensive than it had appeared by that initial glimpse, the valley itself seemed composed of fertile soil, yet, by aid of the river which cut through, near its centre, irrigating ditches conveyed water to every acre, thus ensuring bounteous crops of grain and of fruit as well.
Numerous buildings stood in irregular array, for the most part of no great height, nor with many pretensions towards architectural beauty or grace of outline; but in the centre of the valley upreared its head a massive structure, pyramidal in shape, consisting of five comparatively narrow terraces, connected one with another only at each of the four corners, where stood a wide-stepped flight of stones.
“Behold!” huskily gasped the professor, intensely excited, yet still able to control the field-glass through which he was eagerly scanning yonder marvels. “The temple of the gods! And, yonder, the temple of sacrifice, unless my memory is—and look! The people are—they wear just such garb as—Oh, marvellous! Amazing! Astounding! Incredible—yet true!”
Although their uncle could thus take in the various details to better advantage, still the intervening distance was not so great as to entirely debar the brothers from finding no little to interest them, as was readily proven by their various exclamations.
“Just look at the people, will ye, now? Flopping around like they hadn't any bigger business than to—Reckon they're looking for us to come back, Bruno?”
“Or watching for the monster bird of prey, rather,” suggested the elder Gillespie. “Of course they couldn't distinguish our faces, and our bodies were fairly well hidden. And, even more, of course, they must be totally ignorant of all such things as flying-machines and the like.”
“Poor, ignorant devils!” sympathetically sighed the youngster. “Well, we'll have to do a little missionary work in this quarter, before taking our departure, eh, uncle Phaeton?”
With a start, Featherwit descended out of the clouds in which he had been lost ever since winning a fair view of the secret city; and now, rallying his wits and fairly aglow with eager interest in this marvellous discovery, he began pointing out the various objects of special importance, naming them with glib assurance, then reminding the boys how wonderfully similar all was to what had existed in Old Mexico before the conquest.
Bruno listened with greater interest than his brother could summon at will. For one thing, he had long been a lover of the genial Prescott, and, now that his memory was freshened in part, was able to closely follow the course of that little lecture, noting each strong point made by the professor in bolstering up his delightful theory.
That monologue, however, was abruptly broken in upon by Waldo, who gave an eager exclamation, as he reached forth a pointing finger:
“Look! There's a white woman yonder,—two of 'em, in fact!”