CHAPTER V—RADIO INVADES THE MONASTERY
Preparations for departure from Santiago did not occupy long, as it was not intended the expedition should be outfitted at the Chilian capital. On the contrary, the starting point was to be the isolated Andine monastery, presided over by Don Ernesto’s relative, who had obtained and forwarded the old manuscript of Luis de Pereira.
“At this old monastery,” he told the boys, “we shall spend some time going over maps, talking with missionary monks who have penetrated portions of the wild region into which we plan to march, and gathering our expedition together. Our winter, which corresponds in point of time to your summer, is drawing to a close. By the time we are ready to move, spring will have come, and we can travel without too great inconvenience due to the weather.
“Your father,” he explained to Jack, “regrets delaying your return to college, but he feels that such an expedition will be worth a great deal to you and your friends.”
Mr. Hampton nodded.
“If all goes well,” he added, “you fellows will get back to Yale after the Christmas vacation. Even if you were to miss a whole year of class work, it would be worth while merely for this unusual experience.”
With this the boys were in hearty agreement. Farewells, then, were said to Santiago. The party, consisting of the two older men, the four boys and two trusted huachos, Pedro and Carlos, set out for the Monastery of the Cross of the Snows. The Longitudinal Railway, in the valley between the Cordilleras and the Andes, carried them south to Tembuco in the Auraucanian land, and thence they made their way by automobile to a tambo or inn in the Andes, where mules which had been arranged for were obtained. After a ten-day journey on mule back over trails that skirted terrible precipices, climbed cliffs seemingly impassable and by means of rope suspension bridges crossed gorges in the bottoms of which roared torrents over rocky beds, they at length reached the monastery.
The Abbot, Father Felipe, was a jolly fellow, rotund as a keg, his face rosy and sparkling with good cheer. They were welcomed warmly. Far though they were to the south, and despite the fact that they were not in the loftiest of the mountains, the winter had been rigorous. Had it not been that it was what is known as an “open winter,” in fact, the trip at that time of year would have been impossible.
The trail by which they reached the monastery was free from snow, but on the lofty peaks above and in the distance glistened great blankets of snow, while during the forepart of their journey great Aconcagua’s hoary head had sparkled far away on their left for days.
“Ah, my friend,” said Father Felipe, to his relative, as the party dismounted from mule back in the great courtyard of the monastery, “you are lucky, indeed, to have had such weather for travel, else would it have been impossible. Yet what terrible insanity possesses you, what fever for running up and down the land like a flea is in your blood, that you should attempt such an expedition. Well did I know how it would be with you, when I sent you that bit of ancient writing. ‘Now the crazy man will leap upon his mule and come galloping at once to our gates,’ said I to myself. ‘And he will cry to Father Felipe to show him the way to this lost land at once.’ Is it not so, my friend?”
And Father Felipe laughed so heartily that his stout frame in its corded robe shook like a jelly. Don Ernesto, too, laughed, and leaping from his mule embraced the good priest, at least embraced as much as possible of his ample form.
“You are always the same, Felipe,” said he. “How do you manage to keep so cheerful in this isolated spot, surrounded by these great mountains, with their eternal snows? It is a great mystery.”
Father Felipe laughed again.
“Ah, my friend,” said he, “you should have my equable disposition. Besides, the food is good, the wine excellent. But, come. Let me know your friends, and then you shall be taken to the guest rooms. Everything is prepared for you. After you have rested a little from your journey you shall try my fare, and then tonight you shall tell me how it goes in the great world beyond our snows.”
Of the weeks drifting into months which the party spent here, there is no need to tell in detail. Delays of one sort or another, a belated intensity of winter, operated to keep the party from making a start. But the life of the monastery was a novelty to all the boys, even to Ferdinand, and they found much to interest them. Moreover, from Brother Gregorio, a great linguist, the boys learned the Auraucanian tongue as well as much of the Inca lore, with which he was saturated. So that, by and large, they were far from being bored. Moreover, all three practiced at speaking Spanish until they became extremely proficient in it.
Nor did they come empty-handed. For while the good monks were doing their best to equip the boys with a knowledge of Spanish and of the Indian language of the region into which they would penetrate, the three chums had something of vast interest to impart to their instructors. That was a knowledge of Radio.
It was Jack who thought of it first. One night, as he and Bob and Frank sat with Ferdinand and Brother Gregorio before a roaring fire in the wide chimney place of the guest room assigned them as sitting room, he introduced the subject. Brother Gregorio looked blank at first. Then, as Jack in his eagerness to make himself understood, launched into a description of how speech was transmitted through the air without the means of wires, the good monk crossed himself.
“Of the telegraph I have heard,” he said, “but of this other thing, not one word. Can it be right? Is this not the work of the Fiend?”
The boys were inclined to laugh, but, as if moved by the same impulse, forebore lest they wound his feelings. Ferdinand intervened. He was a devout churchman, and knew how best to disarm Brother Gregorio’s suspicions and lay at rest his fears.
“It is not the work of the Fiend,” said he, “but a great discovery of which the whole world rings. The Holy Father at Rome himself has manifested an interest in it, and it is but a development of the wireless telegraph which a good son of Holy Church, Signor Marconi, earlier invented.”
“Ah,”
Brother Gregorio’s face cleared. Then eager interest shown in his eyes.
“Tell me about it,” he begged.
Jack at once launched into an explanation. He had with him, in his baggage, moreover, several textbooks of radio. These he produced, and pressed upon Brother Gregorio, whose knowledge of English would make it possible for him to study them.
“Best of all, though,” added Jack, “we have our field outfit of generator, tubes, spark coils, batteries and wire with us.”
“With that device of yours, Jack, you won’t need an aerial,” said Frank. “You can hook in on the electric light socket.”
“Righto,” said Jack. “That makes it easier.”
The monastery had its own electric light and power plant, turbines utilizing the power generated by a nearby waterfall in the mountains. The device referred to by Frank was a plug to be inserted in the ordinary electric light socket, from which wires led to the aerial post of the instrument. This plug was so constructed that the alternating current, fatal to the instrument, did not pass through it. Thus the electric wiring of the house could be employed as aerial. No antenna and no clumsy lead-in was necessary.
“Look here,” said Jack, “Dad has a good receiving outfit with him I know. He has packed it with him throughout the trip, and has taken precious good care of it, too. He and Ferd’s father are in with Father Felipe at this time. Just excuse me, and I’ll be right back. We ought to be able to make use of that outfit right now.”
The whole party returned with Jack, and he and his father, assisted by Bob and Frank, set rapidly to work. As they worked, Jack talked excitedly.
“We shall have something here presently, Father Felipe, that will astonish you and Brother Gregorio. How silly of me not to think of it before. Probably, however, I did not consider there would be any radio broadcasting in this part of the world to listen to. But I remember now. La Presna, the great newspaper of Buenos Ayres, recently built a great broadcasting station, and I read in a scientific article recently that it can be heard clear across the Argentine Pampas, thousands of miles, to the mountains.
“Here we are in the mountains now. And with this device of mine for hooking up, and Dad’s outfit, we ought to be able to hear La Presna’s concerts. Now for the loud speaker, Dad. Let’s hook her up, and we’ll be ready.”
While Jack feverishly manipulated the controls, the others looked on with varying expressions. Not a word was said. All crowded around. Suddenly there was a faint whirring as of the buzzing of bees. Then that gave ’way to a noisy crackling. That, too, disappeared, and in its place there floated out into that ancient stone-walled room a rich, mellifluous tenor voice singing an air from “Manon.”
Father Felipe and Brother Gregorio were so astounded that their mouths opened and they stood, thus, speechless, while the song continued. At its conclusion, a voice in Spanish emanated from the loud speaker, announcing the next number on the programme would be orchestral, and immediately the room was filled with the dashing rhythm of a wild Argentine melody. Number succeeded number until, in conclusion, the voice announced the concert for the following evening.
Brother Gregorio’s face was radiant, but in the presence of his superior, he refrained from speech. Father Felipe, however, was under no restraint. He was delighted beyond measure. Moreover, he showed that he was a man of imagination.
“To think,” said he, “that all we heard was in far-distant Buenos Ayres. Who knows but that some day we can hear Rome just as easily? Who knows but that some day now the Holy Father himself can speak to us, his children, in his own voice, though we dwell at the ends of the earth? Yet men foolishly say the day of miracles has passed. This is as truly a miracle as anything that has ever happened.”
He spoke with energy. His face was flushed, his eyes alight. Don Ernesto regarded his cousin slyly.
“How now, Felipe,” said he, “you show all this enthusiasm over hearing operatic music or the dance of the Pampas guachero within monastic walls?”
Father Felipe smiled.
“Ninny,” said he. “Why not? It was good music. Yes,” he added, energetically, “and tomorrow night, if our good young friend will arrange it, we shall have all the brethren assemble in the Great Hall and hear this concert.”
“I am rebuked, Felipe,” said the other. “You are, indeed, a father to your brethren. How they will enjoy this.”
CHAPTER VI—A SENDING STATION BUILT
And enjoy it, the monks did, the following night. But to make it possible for all in the Great Hall to hear, Jack and Bob and Frank worked hard the next day. A number of ram’s horns were obtained, the ends cut off so that an aperture an inch and a half in diameter was left, and the interior bored out. These were then placed in various parts of the Great Hall and connected by wires to the magnavox. The result was that the nightly concert broadcasted in distant Buenos Ayres could be heard in the remotest part of the Great Hall as clearly as if singer and orchestra were in the room itself.
“What marvellous music,” Frank exclaimed, later that night, as, the concert ended, they sat once more before their fire.
Mr. Hampton nodded.
“Better than any broadcasting programme in our country by far,” he said. “And with reason. Buenos Ayres is one of the great artistic centers of the world. It possesses the finest opera house in the world. The Colon Opera House surpasses the best in Europe. Its auditorium is larger than any in London, Paris or Berlin, and its equipment and appointments are of the most luxurious and artistic.
“Yet this great opera house is not the only musical outlet of the Argentine capital. In the winter season there are always at least three grand opera houses in full swing, with world-famous artists at each. In addition, there are minor operatic performances all the time. In fact, Buenos Ayres is one of the leading operatic centers of the world, and many a famous opera singer has graduated from its conservatories. These latter are more than a hundred in number, conducted by teachers of note. So you see La Presna has a wealth of the best artists and musicians to draw upon for its radio concerts.”
“But, Mr. Hampton,” said Frank, astonished, “this newspaper must be awfully powerful and important to obtain the services of these fine artists. And rich, too.”
“Yes, Frank, La Prensa is, indeed, powerful, important and rich,” said Mr. Hampton. “It occupies a position far different from newspapers in New York or in any other North American city. Like the best of South American newspapers, it is less provincial and less sensational than our own newspapers, and more cosmopolitan and educative. It occupies what is by all odds the handsomest newspaper building in the world,—a building as magnificent as the finest palaces of Europe. Among other of its many features, it has in that building a private theatre where visiting singers, actors and lecturers give private performances. La Presna will give no publicity whatsoever to any such public characters unless it considers them worthy. Doubtless, these radio concerts are given in that private theatre.”
“Well,” said Jack, “at all events, these concerts certainly break the monotony of the long nights here in the monastery. It is wonderful that Father Felipe permits us to give them. Yes, even urged us to do so. Isn’t that acting in a pretty broad manner for the head of a monastery?”
“These missionary monks, Jack,” his father explained, “are not of the ascetic type. They are very human persons, indeed; in fact, they resemble the parish priests of the United States in that respect. You remember that Father Collins of the parish near us at home built a Community Hall where he gives motion picture shows and radio concerts?”
“Yes, I know,” Jack said. “But monks! It is hard for me to reconcile this jolly, wholesome houseful of men with my preconceived ideas of a monastery.”
“Just because a man does good for mankind, you should not expect him to be a perpetual cloud of gloom, Jack,” said his father. “Another thing which you must remember is that these men, Father Felipe, Brother Gregorio, and the others, are South Americans. That is, they come of a race in which the love of music is ingrained. No people on earth are so fond of music as these. Nowhere is music so universally accepted as here.
“Moreover, these men are Chilians and Argentinians. That means a good deal, for Chile and the Argentine are the two South American countries in which the proportion of white blood is highest. Spanish, Italian, French and German are the predominant strains, and all represent music-loving races.”
It is to be feared, however, that the boys, while paying polite attention, in reality were thinking of other matters. Bob had a hand up to shade his eyes and was dozing. Jack was gazing into the leaping flames in the fireplace, and there was a faraway look in his eyes as his thoughts traveled back to those days when he rescued his father from the palace of Don Fernandez y Calomares in the Sonora mountains of Old Mexico, and met the charming Senorita Rafaela during the course of his mission. As to Frank, it was not difficult to gather from his next words of what he had been thinking.
“Look here, Jack,” said he, as Mr. Hampton finished his little lecture, “what’s to prevent our utilizing the water power and the power plant of the monastery, and setting up a radio sending station? It would be lots of fun, and would help pass the time until the expedition is ready to start.”
Jack’s eyes lighted up with enthusiasm, as his thoughts came back from faraway Mexico. Bob’s head snapped up with a jerk.
“Good idea,” approved Jack.
It was Mr. Hampton, however, who added the crowning touch.
“Your suggestion is fine, Frank,” said he. “And with such a station at our base, and a field radio equipment to keep us in touch with each other, we should be safeguarded against almost any accident. If we become lost, injured in attack from savages or in accidents due to wilderness travel, or if we suffer any big misfortune necessitating help, we can communicate the facts of our predicament to the base here. Father Felipe is a resourceful man, and undoubtedly would find some way to come to our aid.”
For some time longer, plans for the construction of the proposed station were discussed. The biggest item to be supplied would be wire, but this Mr. Hampton considered they probably could find at the monastery, as the institution, because of its isolation and the difficulty of bringing in stores from the outside, would have a considerable stock on hand at the power plant.
Such, indeed, proved to be the case, and early the next day work on the proposed sending station was begun. Several of the monks who were clever artisans, were assigned by Father Felipe to the work. At the monastery, all inmates had trades in which they were proficient, and all the work of farming, building, electric wiring, etc., was done by monks.
Day by day the work progressed, halted only at times when storms swept down from the mountains and buried the monastery in a blanket of snow. To the boys it was interesting and enjoyable, of course, but to the monks it was far more. As they worked under the boys’ directions, it seemed to them they were helping effect a miracle.
Moreover, the nightly concerts continued, and of these Brother Gregorio said to the boys:
“When our plant is completed, we must send a message to La Presna, telling of our gratitude. Perhaps, too,” he suggested timidly, “you will let me speak to the editor of this invention of yours whereby we were enabled to utilize our monastery wiring instead of running up what you call it—an aerial?”
Jack shook his head, smiling.
“Other men have been working on that same device,” he said, “at least on that same idea. Presently some firm will perfect one and put it on the market in the United States. Then it will be farewell to the aerial with its poles and lead-ins, arresters and ground switches. Outside aerials and clumsy indoor loops will be things of the past.”
“Why didn’t you market this device yourself, Jack?” asked Frank. “You worked it out toward the end of the year at Yale. If you had patented it, and put it on the market, you could have made a fortune.”
“Perhaps I could have made a fortune, as you say, Frank. But the truth of the matter is that when Dad mentioned the possibility of his expedition, every other thought fled out of my mind. And it was just as well, for to have put this on the market would have meant repeated conferences with manufacturers, trips to Washington, and one thing and another. I would have had to give up making this expedition, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that.”
Frank nodded.
“Imagine doing that,” he said. “I’d sooner kiss the fortune goodbye. Besides, what a chance here to make a fortune, if we find the Enchanted City! And that will be a lot more romantic way of making it than by a business move.”
Mr. Hampton, who had approached in time to hear the conclusion of this conversation, shook his head, but smiled, nevertheless.
“Won’t you fellows ever grow up?” he asked.
Jack grinned.
“You’re a fine one to talk to us like that, Dad,” he said. “Look at your own case. Here you are, an engineer of international reputation, exacting princely fees for your services. Yet you go and sacrifice what probably will amount to a whole year of your time, in order to make this expedition.”
Mr. Hampton returned Jack’s broad grin with interest.
“I am properly rebuked, Jack,” he said. “Well, what’s more fun than doing what you like to do, once in a while? When I was a boy I had to work pretty hard, for my people were poor. I worked my own way through college. All the time, I dreamed of adventurous and romantic expeditions, but I had no chance to make them. My nose must always be between the covers of a textbook at night. My thoughts must be on business during the day.
“As a matter of fact, my recollection of my own youth actuated me in giving you this chance. I know what a boy wants. I was denied it myself, and I mean you shall have better luck.”
Turning abruptly, he walked away. The boys were silent. When he was out of earshot, Frank said earnestly:
“Jack, your father is a prince.”
“I never heard him talk quite so freely of his own youth before,” said Jack, thoughtfully. “I want to know more about it.”
Without further explanation, he, too, set off in his father’s wake.
CHAPTER VII—THE EXPEDITION GETS UNDER WAY
With the coming of the first warm weather, delightful and interesting though their stay at the monastery had proven to be, the boys were eager to get under way upon the last stage of their hunt for the Enchanted City. Don Ernesto and Mr. Hampton, though less enthusiastic on the surface, were no whit less desirous to be moving on than the boys.
Father Felipe, reluctant to part with them, for they had enlivened the placid hours of life in the lonely monastery immeasurably, nevertheless saw that it would be useless any longer to interpose objections to their departure.
“Good weather has arrived,” he said, at length, one balmy day. “I know the mountains. There will be no more snow or cold winds. Rain, yes. For on this western slope of the Andes we always have showers and thunderstorms. But snow, no. Spring is definitely here.
“I wish I could dissuade you, my friend,” he said to Don Ernesto, in a graver tone than was customary for the jolly Abbot to employ. “I wish, indeed, you could be persuaded to turn aside from this foolish adventure. I have a feeling that grave danger will come to you. My spirits seem depressed.”
“Ah, Father Felipe, you have not dined well today,” said Don Ernesto, in a sympathetic tone belied by his dancing eyes. “A trace of indigestion, maybe. I, too, often feel depressed for like cause.”
“Nay,” said Father Felipe, indignantly. “A little fish, coffee—what is there in this to give me indigestion? But you must joke, you crazy man, eager to run up and down mountains and poke your nose into places where white men have never trod. There will be trouble, I tell you, trouble.”
And the good Abbot sighed like a miniature earthquake.
Brother Gregorio, also, was reluctant to see the party set out. The boys, all four of them, had endeared themselves to him. Especially was he fond of Frank, in whose quick, responsive mind and sensitive spirit he seemed to sense a kindred strain.
The boys found him at the power plant, pottering around, when they told him of their imminent departure. His face fell, and for a time he could find no words to utter. He had known, of course, that their stay would not be forever. But so long had it lasted during the winter months that it had seemed to him as if matters would continue in statu quo or without change for an indefinite period. Now to be told that they were going to leave within the week was a blow.
At length he walked away from the group, and stood on the brink of the pool into which cascaded the water from the falls, his hands behind him, his back to the group.
“He takes it hard,” said Jack. “Frank, he likes you best of all. We’ll leave you here with him.”
Frank nodded.
“I guess that’s a good idea,” he said soberly. “Brother Gregorio is a fine fellow, and we understand each other.”
As the others departed, they looked back and saw Frank go up to the monk and place an arm over his shoulders. They stood thus for a long time, no words interchanged.
When it came to the point of packing for the journey, there was much that could not be taken along. Brother Gregorio, indeed, would have loaded each man like a pack mule with his gifts of this, that and the other—of clothing, boots, ponchos, prayer books and what not, of medicine cases and packages of herbs and simple remedies. Nor were Father Felipe or the many other monks to whom the various members of the party had endeared themselves, the less behindhand in their offerings.
“We can’t take all this stuff,” said Jack, in comical dismay, as he stood in their common sitting room, surrounded by bundles, boxes, heaps and bales. “What’ll we do with it? Every single thing that I take up, I say to myself, ‘Well, this will be absolutely useless, and just in our way. But if we don’t take it, we shall break Brother Gregorio’s heart or Father Felipe’s heart or somebody’s else heart.’ What are we going to do?”
Mr. Hampton shook his head.
“There are only eight of us, Jack,” he said. “And we can’t overload ourselves. We have difficult country through which to make our way—country that for a large part is trackless and uncharted. We can afford to take only essentials.”
“Yes, but, Dad, Brother Gregorio and the rest of them consider all they have given us as essential.”
Don Ernesto laughed.
“Bale up what we can’t take, and leave it here against our return,” he said. “Let none of the monks see what has been taken and what left behind. Thus no feelings will be hurt.”
Jack’s face brightened.
“Good idea,” he said. “Well, come on fellows. Now this we can’t take, and this and this.”
For hours they were busy sorting out the useless gifts, and for other hours busy packing them securely and stowing away in the sitting room to await their return.
At length the expedition was ready to start. The mules were packed, Carlos, Pedro and the monks being expert in the art. Besides the necessary food supplies and camping equipment, the luggage contained field radio equipment of various sorts. There was a tube transmitter, several sizes of spark coil, coils of fine wire, and duplications of the standard U. S. Army field radio—several sets of hollow, light steel poles in collapsible sections, a hand-operated quarter-kilowatt generator, headphones and batteries being the main articles.
“With the tube transmitter we can reach you at our base here, Father Felipe, for short distances,” said Mr. Hampton. “But for long distance work, the tube transmitter and batteries would not be strong enough. In that case, this little generator will be the thing to employ. You might consider us foolish to take all these duplications of equipment, but they do not weigh much and, we have so distributed all among the mule packs, that even if part become lost, we shall still have others upon which to fall back.”
Father Felipe looked about him at the assembled monks, and smiled.
“If you get into a tight place,” he said, “call on us for help. It may seem foolish to offer you the help of men of peace, yet we are no puling men here, but strong, stout fellows all. Even should you be taken prisoners and require stout arms to rescue you, call upon us. There be many here who have soldiered in the past and who could strike a right good blow in a righteous cause, I warrant you.”
“I can easily believe that, Father Felipe,” answered Mr. Hampton with a smile. “Well, bid us Godspeed, and we shall be on our way.”
The Abbot embraced Mr. Hampton, Don Ernesto and the boys unaffectedly. Brother Gregorio and Frank did likewise. The other monks raised a cheer. Then there was a period of silence while all knelt with uncovered head, and Father Felipe prayed aloud for the safe return of the expedition.
Not until then did they swing off along a trail up the side of a mountain that would presently vanish upon a bare mountain top, they were assured, after which they would have to trust to their own energy and resource for getting forward. At a bend in the trail all halted and faced about for a last look at the monastery.
“It makes me feel as if I were living in mediaeval times,” said Frank. “The stout Abbot and his jolly monks, us setting off afoot with a mule train, the prayer delivered over us as we start. Boy, this is the way to live.”
Jack reached over to clasp his chum’s hand strongly, and Mr. Hampton regarded the two with a little smile of sympathy.
“I feel the same way, boys,” he said. “This is something I’ve always wanted to do. Yes, it is good to be alive and starting out on an adventure of which no man can guess the end.”
“Just a boy, you are, my friend,” said Don Ernesto, jestingly. “But I, too. I, too. Come, let us get forward.”
CHAPTER VIII—JACK HAS A MISHAP
Of that trip during the ensuing days there is little of moment to record. Sometimes they advanced less than five miles a day. Sometimes, where the going was easy, through a valley leading in their general direction, perchance, where there was little underbrush and the benchland along the stream gave firm footing, the distance travelled was considerably more.
But, whether the going was easy or hard, whether few miles were covered or many, there was not a foot of it all that was not intensely interesting to the boys, and not only to the three New York lads, but to Ferdinand as well.
Steadily they mounted higher into the mountains, skirting precipices of which sometimes the bottom could not be seen. On one occasion, as they made camp at night upon a lofty meadow against the shoulder of a mountain on one side, and with a precipitous drop on the other, they looked over the edge into the abyss and drew back frightened.
“Why, you can’t even see the bottom,” exclaimed Jack. “It’s hidden by the clouds.”
Which was true; for five hundred feet below lay a fleecy stratum of cloud, through which on the edges projected the tops of trees, but which in the middle was as unbroken as a placid sea. Across the valley the sun was setting in the west, its rays red as blood upon the side of the mountain behind them and upon their faces. Then the sun seemed quite suddenly to slip below the mountain top, the sky became colder in appearance, and a chill wind swept down out of the mountains, while the cloud sea below began to stir and toss a little under the wind’s fretting.
“By Jiminy,” said big Bob, “I’ll bet it’s so deep down there, if I toss this stone overboard you’ll never hear it fall.”
He suited action to word. The stone ripped through the clouds and the boys held their breath to listen. Not a sound came back to them.
“Whew,” shivered Frank. “Come on, let’s get away from the precipice before some demon pushes us in. Up here I begin to believe in demons and warlocks, kobolds and gnomes.”
They hurried toward the fire which Carlos and Pedro had built.
On another occasion, as they were climbing early one morning out of a high valley over the shoulder of a mountain, Jack slipped on a rock that turned under his foot, and, falling to his side, began sliding down hill. Not far away was another precipice, with a sheer drop into a rocky ravine where there were not even any trees to break his fall.
Mr. Hampton made a leap for his son, but he was too far away to be able to reach him in time. Jack meanwhile was clawing desperately at the ground, in an attempt to stay his downward progress. Frank, who was nearer than Mr. Hampton, also started for Jack, impeded, however, by the necessity of watching his own footsteps to prevent slipping. It was big Bob, however, who saved his comrade, and he did it in a novel way.
At a glance, his quick eye took in the situation. He saw that the ground sloped so sharply that whoever should run to Jack’s rescue might merely hasten his descent by further loosening the loose rocks that lay everywhere about and sending them down on the sliding figure.
Further, would there be time for a man to reach Jack? He believed not.
But by his side, over a pack on the mule with which he had been keeping pace, hung a coiled lasso. Two years before, during their stay in New Mexico, Bob had been fascinated by the manipulations of the lasso, of which his cowboy friends were capable. He had worked under their tutelage, and had acquired considerable dexterity. On his present trip, he had amazed the monks by his skill, and had kept his hand in with constant practise.
Seizing the lasso, he measured the distance, swung once, twice, thrice around his head, and then let fly. The coil straightened out through the air. The noose descended over Jack’s upflung arm and trunk. His feet braced, Bob let the rope out gently, while Jack slid a matter of several feet more.
Thus Bob prevented too great strain being put upon the rope that might upset him, and also refrained from injuring his chum.
Jack came to rest, outstretched, one arm pinioned by the lasso, which passed beneath the other armpit. His feet were already over the edge of the precipice.
“Give me a hand, Frank, and you, Mr. Hampton,” panted Bob.
They sprang to obey.
Inch by inch at first, Jack was pulled back from the brink, until he was sufficiently far removed from it to warrant him in gaining his feet. Then he made his way, limping, helped by the steady tug on the rope, back to his comrades.
“Bob, you saved my life,” he said. “I won’t forget.”
Then he sat down weakly, and dropped his head to his hands.
“Here, Jack,” said his father, “take a sip of this. It will steady you,” and he set a flask to Jack’s lips.
Presently, Jack regained his feet, and with a shake, pulled himself together.
“I’m all right now,” he said. “But—for a moment or two there—I felt as if I still were on the brink and just toppling over. I tell you, that was no joke. There wasn’t even a stunted bush to grab at as I slid down.”
Day succeeded day, sometimes sudden storms forcing them to seek shelter in mid-day, before they contemplated going into camp. These storms in the mountains come up suddenly. The sky would darken, thunder roll reverberatingly along the hills, lightning flash, and then would come a tremendous downpour of rain. Quickly as the storm arose, however, it went as quickly.
Always as they pushed ahead, they climbed higher into the mountains.
“But, Dad,” protested Jack one day, “can it be the Enchanted City was among these lofty peaks? Would de Arguello’s expedition, for instance, have gotten so high?”
“Patience, Jack,” explained Mr. Hampton. “Tomorrow, I believe, we start descending. We are almost at the top of a range of mountains now. Today, several times, I caught glimpses of a snow-clad range beyond—so far away, indeed, that I believe there must be a great central valley between. Somewhere in there, if our vague directions left by de Pereira are of any value, lies the Enchanted City.”
That a great central valley did intervene between that range and the next was proven next day when, coming through a pass, they discerned a tossing, forest-clad wilderness of scarp and mountain, lake and river, cut up by mountains irregularly scattered about, spread out below them. The next regular chain of mountains, paralleling that through which they had been making their way, lay far beyond, and their peaks were white with snows.
“We shall have difficulty exploring this wilderness below us,” said Don Ernesto. “This is beyond any regions where white men go. There are hostile branches of the Auraucanos down there—somewhere. Somewhere down there, too, lies the Enchanted City, however. And if it is to be found, we shall find it. Game and water, at least, shall not be wanting. Come.”
They set off as into a promised land.
CHAPTER IX—SURPRISED IN THE FOREST
“I wonder where Dad is?”
For the twentieth time in the last hour, Jack, striding up and down in the little forest glade, high up in the mountains, where camp had been pitched the day before, came to a halt before Frank and Bob, out-sprawled and napping in their hammocks, and asked his question. They had reached this spot after weeks of travel from the monastery.
“Yes,” said Ferdinand, coming up, “and my father?”
He, too, had been doing a restless sentry-go to and fro, unable to remain quiet.
Three hours before, shortly after dawn, the two older men had left the camp in company with Carlos, to hunt small game. They had promised to return in a couple of hours.
“Oh, they’re just an hour or so overdue, Jack,” said Frank, putting aside a book of old Inca tales which he had been reading, and examining his watch. “I don’t think there is anything for you two to worry about. They’ll be back shortly.”
“Yes,” said Bob, comfortably, stretching and yawning, “they probably went a little farther than they expected to, that’s all.”
Jack shook his head.
“I haven’t heard the report of any firearms since they left,” he said. “I’m afraid they may have wandered too far afield, not finding any game close at hand, and in these great trackless forests they may easily have become lost.”
“What does Pedro say?” asked Frank.
With an exclamation, Ferdinand called to his retainer in Spanish, and the latter approached. There was a rapid interchange of conversation. Pedro shook his head in negation, and spread out his hands.
“No, Carlos has never been in these mountains.”
Ferdinand’s expression became worried. He shook his head, as he turned to the others.
“What shall we do?”
“We will have to start looking for them,” said Jack, determinedly. “They are lost. There is no doubt about it. But in these forests they may have swung about in a circle, and be near camp without realizing it. I’ll climb this great tree here in the clearing, and look around first. Then, if I cannot see them, four of us can set out to the four quarters of the compass, while the fifth remains in camp to fire off a gun at frequent intervals. That will serve to keep the searchers in touch with camp, and also will act as a guide to the others, in case they are within sound of the gun.”
Jack’s spirits had sunk low, despite his confident tone. He had a premonition of evil. The fact that no gun shots had been heard, led him to believe that the party at the very least had gone far astray. In that case, of what use for the searchers to stay within sound of a gun. The possibility of finding traces of a trail which could be followed, however, occurred to him. Without further words, he sprang into the tree and began clambering up the great trunk.
On the Chilian side, the mountains of the south are forest-clad and, because of the heavy rainfall on the west coast, there are numerous streams and lakes cutting them up. On the eastern or Argentinian slope, however, so little rain falls that the mountains are almost entirely bare of verdure.
The spot in which the party had pitched camp was a thickly-forested valley through which flowed a clear mountain stream. They had been unable, because of the density of the forest, to see much of their surroundings on arrival late the previous afternoon. In the morning, therefore, the two older men and Carlos had gone scouting as much as in search of game.
Before their departure, Mr. Hampton had called Jack to him.
“Undoubtedly, Jack,” he had said, “we are getting close to our destination. Somewhere in this region must lie the Enchanted City. Once let us find a valley containing one great lake and three smaller ones, as described by de Pereira, and we shall have the first of our definite landmarks. However, although we must be close to our destination, it has never been found yet so far as outsiders know, and we may not succeed, either.
“It is possible,” he had added, thoughtfully, “that some descendants of the old Incas may still reside in the Enchanted City, just barely possible. If so, I have sometimes thought, there may be a reasonable explanation for the failure of any reports of their city to reach the outside world. Few as are the men who push into these trackless forests and vast mountains, there yet must have been some who did so in the last two or three centuries. They may have been captured and either killed or imprisoned, in order to guard the secret of the city.”
Jack was thinking of these words of his father as he continued to climb higher and higher into the tree, and his heart sank. That premonition of evil which weighed him down! Did it mean, perhaps, that there really still did exist dwellers in the Enchanted City, and that his father’s party had been surprised and captured? He would not let himself believe they could have been killed, but resolutely set his face against the thought.
Arrived at a height beyond which, because of the thinning of the trunk, which already swayed under his weight, he did not dare to go, Jack at last found time to look about him. He hooked one arm about the trunk of the tree, twined his legs about it, and with his free hand fumbled at the case slung by a strap about his neck, which enclosed the field glasses.
Meantime, his gaze roved over the scene. Down-stream he could see the break in the mountains through which they had entered the valley. To either side, the tree-clad heights sloped up. But ahead——
An exclamation broke from him. It was that direction which his father had taken, following down the stream. Now he could see what had not been discernible from the ground, namely, that ahead the forest walls narrowed to a pass. And through this he could see the glint of sunshine upon water.
He set the glasses to his eyes and adjusted the focus. The water now resolved itself into what evidently was a considerable body, the ends of which he could not see. For a considerable time he gazed upon it, without discerning any signs of life or movement. Then, sweeping the hills, but without result, he descended.
“Look here, fellows,” he said, “that other plan of mine to strike out in four directions in the belief that, perhaps, the others became lost and wandered in a circle, is unnecessary. There is only one direction in which to look for them I am convinced, and that is directly ahead.”
Thereupon, he described what he had seen.
“You see, it isn’t likely that they would have wandered in a circle, because the sides of this valley are so close together that they would soon have been upon a slope, and have realized their predicament. Moreover, although the sky was gray and overcast when they set out, yet the sun since has dispersed the clouds.”
Investigation of his father’s effects earlier had shown Jack that he had set out without his pocket compass, probably feeling that the stream was sufficient guide. And it was this fact which had brought Jack’s anxiety to high pitch.
“Well, the best thing then is for us to go downstream, isn’t it?” asked Bob.
Jack nodded.
“One of us should stay in camp,” said he. “Which shall it be?”
Frank thought a moment.
“You and Ferdinand must go with the search party,” said he. “Both of you are worried about your fathers. Bob and Pedro and I will draw straws.”
Then Pedro unexpectedly objected.
“Master Ferdinand,” he said, in an anxious tone, plucking the other by the sleeve. “You know I am no coward. Yet I have the feeling all is not well. And I do not care to stay here alone.”
“Why, Pedro, nothing can happen to you,” said Ferdinand. “You will be in this clearing where nobody can approach unseen. And you will be armed.”
Pedro shrugged, but was silent.
“Have you seen anything to make you fear?” Ferdinand asked, gazing at him keenly.
Pedro’s voice was low.
“No,” said he. “Naught have I seen. But I feel it. Here.” And he placed a hand upon his breast. “There is some evil in these forests.”
“Here, here,” said Frank, interrupting. “This search must not be delayed. I’ll stay.”
“And I’ll stay with you,” said Bob. “Three’s enough for the search.”
Frank threw him a grateful look, knowing well that it was consideration for him which prompted his big chum’s proffer. Nevertheless, he started to protest, but Jack interrupted.
“Good idea,” he said. “Well, let’s go. If we get into any sort of trouble, we’ll fire three times in rapid succession. As for guide, if we follow the stream, we cannot go astray.”
He did not put it into words, but Pedro’s premonition of evil had effected him, coming as it did in confirmation of his own vague yet powerful fears. He wanted to plunge ahead without more delay. Therefore, with Ferdinand and Pedro at his heels, he set off rapidly down the stream.
As their friends disappeared, Frank, looking thoughtful, turned to his chum.
“Bob, I don’t know what to make of all this,” he said. “But I have a hunch it would not be a bad idea for us to keep some sort of watch, instead of merely dozing. So I’ll take the first watch for an hour, and then you can relieve me.”
“Suit yourself,” said Bob, indifferently. “I don’t see what’s the matter with all you fellows, though. Mr. Hampton and Ferdinand’s father couldn’t find any game close at hand, and kept on pushing farther ahead than they had expected to go. That’s all it is. Nothing to worry about.”
Despite his friend’s easy manner, however, Frank could not shake off the feeling of worry that possessed him. Most sensitive of all the boys, it was he who was accustomed to feel first of all the influence of evil close at hand. And, in fact, it had been so in the present case. But he had cloaked his feelings in order not to aggravate Jack’s worry regarding his father.
Now, while Bob lay on his back, his hands under his head, in the hammock, and talked in scattered sentences, Frank sat with his rifle across his knees, on a stool before the tent, with his bright eyes roving over the clearing, searching the trees and underbrush.
Suddenly he leaped to his feet and threw his rifle to his shoulder, while big Bob, startled into wakefulness by the abrupt movement, rolled out of his hammock to the ground.
Then out of the woods stepped a young man clad in a soft white tunic, belted with a golden girdle, wearing shoes of soft untanned leather that came almost to his knees, and having gold bracelets about his arms above the elbow, and anklets of gold about his legs.
“Forebear, Senor,” he commanded, in a rich yet imperious tone. “You are surrounded.”
Archaic though the Spanish was, Frank could understand. Especially, as, following with his gaze the wave of the other’s hand about the clearing, he saw step from the trees a ring of forms similarly clad.