“It is Guatavita!” he said.
Of course, that was it! Herran and Leighton gasped for a moment as they took in the idea, and then they agreed that Miranda was right. Raoul smiled enigmatically as they discussed the problem in detail.
“Well, do you understand it now?” he asked. “Have you discovered Guatavita’s secret? I wish I had known it three years ago!” he added bitterly.
“Ah! I see—I see!” shouted the doctor excitedly. “There is the well that come out at the bottom of the lake. Here is the magnet that go down there just when the people throw in all the gold. And then it come back here—and no one know except the king and his family. So, every year, they take all the gold of the country. Ah! they are very wise leetle fellows, those kings!”
“Then, if this is true,” said Leighton meditatively; “if this well has its outlet at the bottom of the lake, and was made and used secretly to collect, by means of the Black Magnet, the treasure offered by the people in the Feast of El Dorado, to-day there is no gold left in Guatavita.”
“If it were drained of all its waters,” remarked Raoul, “I believe that the emptied basin would be found to contain nothing more than a few stray gold ornaments—like the one you fished up just now—that failed to reach the Black Magnet when they were flung into the lake centuries ago.”
“Your plans to empty the lake, then, are useless?”
“After what I have learned to-day, added to what I have long suspected, I should say—quite useless.”
“But the fabulous amount of treasure those deluded people threw into the lake for centuries——?”
“Has all come up here, where we are standing now, caught by the Black Magnet.”
“He fish very well, this leetle stone,” said Miranda, caressing it fondly. “He catch more, better fish than the whole world.”
“Where is all that gold to-day?” demanded Leighton.
“Ah! Where!”
“Good heavens! What is that?”
While Leighton and Raoul were discussing the old problem of what became of the Chibcha Empire’s far-famed treasure, the others had wandered away from the Black Magnet and were examining some of the strange objects in its immediate vicinity. The more familiar they became with this portion of the cave, the more signs they saw in it of human occupation. For one thing, the place was honeycombed with paths, most of them radiating from the shaft that sank to the bottom of Lake Guatavita. These paths led in different directions; but there was no way of telling whether any or all of them had been recently used. This question was of more immediate interest than the one connecting the cave with the fate of the ancient Chibchas. If this cave was inhabited to-day—if it was the hiding place of a lawless gang of Bogotanos, for example—it was well for the explorers to be on their guard. Herran was particularly alive to this possibility, and he was quick to heed, therefore, Mrs. Quayle’s terrified exclamation, which she repeated—
“Good heavens! What is that?”
It was at the head of one of the paths, running behind the close ranks of stalactites before which they had found their way from the large open cave beyond, that Mrs. Quayle stood, her eyes round with excitement, pointing vaguely at something in front of her. But the others could see nothing. Indeed, it was hard to tell whether she had really seen anything worth serious investigation, her chronic nervousness had such an uncomfortable habit of discovering specters—that did not exist—in every dark corner. Then, too, clusters of stalactites had a way of taking on odd, fantastic shapes that might easily seem to be alive even to the cool-headed. But this time there really was substance to Mrs. Quayle’s fancies. She continued to point down the pathway of stalactites, crying repeatedly—
“What is that?”
“Well, what is it?” demanded Leighton.
“The man in the toga! The man in the toga!” she cried breathlessly.
The others crowded about her.
“It is nothing!” said Miranda incredulously.
“It is! It is!” whispered Una. “I just caught the flash of white drapery at the bend in that farthest corridor.”
Raoul laughed. “You are mistaken,” he said. “Nothing is there now, that’s certain.”
They stood silently watching the dark green-and-white figures that stretched away in closely huddled ranks before them. But they could detect nothing that answered to Mrs. Quayle’s description. There was nothing that moved, nothing human, in all that glittering array of grotesque forms. Then, there was a sharp, clinking sound, as if the brittle point of a stalactite had been broken off and had fallen to the ground.
“We are watched,” said Leighton in a low voice. “Whoever they are, these people have some reason for following us—and keeping out of the way.”
“Time to be on our guard,” said Herran in Spanish to Miranda, who assented vehemently.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Raoul.
“Ah! You say that?” growled Miranda suspiciously. “This is one trap of yours, then!”
The accusation added to the general alarm. Raoul protested scornfully; but before he had time to clear himself he was covered by two huge revolvers, drawn simultaneously by Herran and Miranda.
“It is not so easy!” threatened Miranda, whose excited flourish of firearms endangered the others quite as much as it did Raoul.
“Thank heaven, we have guns!” murmured Andrew, who had produced a harmless looking pocket-knife which he brandished ineffectively.
“This sort of thing is very annoying,” said Leighton, addressing Raoul, who began to show uneasiness. “There’s no denying that your disappearance was suspicious. Then we find you here in a place that is evidently known and frequented by others. Your explanation is unsatisfactory. Then, when the presence of these hitherto invisible people is quite certain, you try to divert our attention from them.”
“You are talking nonsense,” said Raoul disgustedly. “You intimate that I am in league with the inhabitants of this cave against you. That means, I must have lured you here deliberately to do you harm. Please remember that it was you who planned this expedition, and that I had not ventured in here so far before.”
“Who knows! You seemed familiar enough with the secret of the Black Magnet.”
“Take us out of here, my fellow, and we believe you are not one scamp,” said Miranda brusquely.
“I am not bound to do anything of the kind, even if I could,” retorted Raoul. “Look out for yourselves.”
“So! that is good,” commented Miranda. “We take the advice. Here we can do nothing. Into Guatavita we cannot jump through this well. Me—I am too fat!”
The bustling doctor’s show of energy proved infectious. He and Herran unceremoniously pocketed their revolvers, leaving Raoul at liberty to do as he pleased, while they looked about for a way of escape.
Since he had become suspicious of Raoul, Leighton was inclined to trust the leadership of the two South Americans. The latter, convinced that there was no way out from this part of the cave, determined to go back to the central chamber, hoping to find there the entrance to the tunnel leading to the outside world. They hit on this plan because they feared an ambush on any of the labyrinthian trails leading off in other unexplored directions. The rest agreeing, they set out along the path flanked by the grove of stalactites, traveling at a quicker pace but with greater caution than before. Miranda and Herran marched ahead with revolvers drawn, Andrew in the rear still holding his pocket-knife ready for action. They had been delayed on Mrs. Quayle’s account, for that lady, in spite of her anxiety to get away, had refused to budge without her jewelry. But it was not easy to satisfy her demand. For, when the jewelry was taken from its hiding place beneath a rock, it still showed the same strong tendency to fly to the Black Magnet. This distressed Mrs. Quayle, who refused to touch the treasures that she was at the same time loath to part with. But a compromise was finally effected by tying all the jewelry securely around Andrew’s waist. This arrangement appeased the owner—but it gave an uncomfortable backward pull to every step the schoolmaster took, who thus resembled, in walking, a ship sailing against the wind. This inconvenience, however, steadily decreased as they came out of the disturbing region of the Black Magnet, until finally these ancient heirlooms of Mrs. Quayle’s regained their natural composure.
But there were other things besides the Black Magnet to interrupt their progress. No sooner had they gotten well under way and were congratulating themselves on their escape from mishap so far, than they were startled by a wild and piercing strain of music, seeming to come from the grove of stalactites before which they were hurrying. Amazed by so singular an interruption, they stopped short and looked fearfully about them. A sound of scornful laughter blended with the music.
“Raoul!” muttered Leighton.
But there was nothing to be seen of the strange American whose mocking laughter they were sure, nevertheless, they had heard. Then the music grew louder and louder, as if the musicians were steadily approaching in their direction. The music itself was subtly different, in tone and pitch, from anything played in the outside world. The high notes evidently came from wind instruments, but of a unique quality and caliber. Mingling with these notes, and sustaining the bass, were the heavy beatings of drums of the kind still used, although deeper and mellower, by the native Indians in their festivals.
The melody produced—if it could be called a melody—was of an extraordinary character. Its effect, its charm—for it had unmistakable charm—was quite impossible to define. In some respects it resembled the monotonous chantings peculiar to most primitive races, occasionally, as was customary with the latter, rising and falling, whole octaves at a time, in a wailing key. In the main, it carried a sort of theme, emotional and inspiring, that was far too complex to be attributed to the uncultivated musical taste common to savagery. There was an exultant swing to the measure, a lilting cadence that betrayed a fine esthetic sense, a rich imagination coupled with the simplicity and freedom that has not felt the pressure, except very remotely, of our western civilization. Such music was good to listen to—and under ordinary circumstances the explorers would have been content to listen and nothing more. But curiosity, and some remnant of fear the lulling influence of the music had not dissipated, kept them on the alert. Their fate depended, they felt, on these musicians. They must find out who they were before it was too late to retreat. And then—presently—through the clustering green and white stems of the stalactites, they caught sight of them.
They were over twenty in number, moving, as nearly as the unevenness of the ground would permit, in time to the choral march they were playing. At sight of them Mrs. Quayle didn’t know whether to be pleased or terrified. For the music was such an enchanting, soothing sort of thing, and the players so mild, benignant of aspect, anything like fear seemed out of place. But, on the other hand, the strange instruments they carried, their outlandish dress, the whole effect of them, in a way, was distinctly unearthly, supernatural—and Mrs. Quayle drew the line at the supernatural. So, she ended by being simply amazed beyond measure—and her companions shared her feelings in lessening degree. Miranda and Herran, dumbfounded by the apparition, forgot to handle their revolvers in the warlike fashion they had intended with the first approach of a foe; Andrew gaped in an open-mouthed sort of dream, during which his pocket-knife came imminently near doing fatal execution upon himself, while Una and Leighton, forgetting their anxiety, were lost in admiration of the delicious music and of the spectacle before them.
One and all of this singular band of cavemen were clothed after the fashion described by Andrew. Each wore a loose white mantle, or toga, that draped the figure in voluminous folds, adding to the grace and freedom of movement with which they kept time to the music. Their feet were shod with sandals, their heads encircled with bands of white cloth from the flying ends of which hung ornaments of gold and emerald. The musical instruments upon which they played were long, slender tubes, curving upward at the extremity, of a metal that glittered and sparkled like the purest gold.
Most singular of all was the light that each of these musicians carried. This light came from neither torch nor lantern, but radiated in sparks and flashes from oval disks worn, jewel-wise, on the breast. By what fuel these incandescent fires were fed was not apparent. They burned with a clear white brilliance, illuminating each flowing figure with startling vividness, and filling the beholder, ignorant of their nature, with wonder at their admirable adaptability to the needs of a subterranean world.
To Leighton these strange lights were much more mystifying than all the rest of the apparition—for as yet it was difficult to regard the approaching throng as being anything more real than an apparition that one expects to have vanish away almost as soon as it makes its appearance. But these musicians, weird and unearthly though they first seemed when seen at a distance, as they drew nearer, proved to be substantial, flesh-and-blood human beings right enough. Their dark skins and aquiline features gave evidence, for one thing, that they were of Indian origin and not inhabitants of the remote, invisible fairyland that they appeared to the fervid imaginations of some of Leighton’s companions. Doubtless, argued the savant, they were a band of revelers—or bandits—from the city to whom the secrets of the cave were familiar. But where they had picked up such extraordinary means for the illumination of their merry-making was more than he could fathom. Lights? They were unlike any lights he had ever heard of. All that he could make of it was that these illuminated disks belonged to the marvels of a hitherto unknown world of science, marvels among which he counted the Black Magnet and—possibly—that disappearing wall at the entrance to the cave.
As these people showed no sign of hostility, the explorers began to hope that through them they would win their way out of the cave. Certainly, they were worth cultivating with this end in view. Hence, Miranda and Herran looked stealthily at their revolvers and restored them as quickly as possible to their hip-pockets, while such a burst of confidence seized Mrs. Quayle that she prepared and was actually seen to exhibit one of her most ingratiating smiles for the benefit of the approaching Indians, at the same time expressing in a loud voice to Una her approval of their music.
This pleasant feeling, however, that they were about to regain their liberty did not last long. The Indians, although showing no unfriendliness, gave unmistakable evidence that they meant to control the movements of the explorers. Still playing on their trumpets and beating solemnly on their drums, they marched around them, bowing courteously enough, but intimating at the same time that they were acting upon a definite plan that could not be interfered with. Somewhat dashed by this singular behavior, which was the more difficult to meet just because it lacked outward menace, the explorers conferred hastily together, hoping to hit on a safe line of action. The men of the party, suspicious of the friendly attitude assumed by the Indians, favored immediate resistance. Their first flush of confidence in them was gone. Herran and Miranda, especially, were doubtful of the intentions of these strange people. From whatever motive, it seemed to them that the latter had deliberately planned their capture, evidently carrying out in this the orders of some one in authority over them. That these orders might come from Raoul Arthur was their principal cause for alarm. The departure of the American miner, under every appearance of treachery, marked him out as one to be feared. He was not, it is true, among the Indians who were surrounding them in their glittering line of dancers, but his absence was not proof that he had nothing to do with this odd demonstration. But—how resist a party so superior to their own in number, one that had already gained an obvious advantage of position over them. Leighton was doubtful what to do; Andrew was helpless; Mrs. Quayle was temporarily lost in admiration of the picturesque circle of dancing figures, all regarding her with gratifying amiability. Una alone insisted that the friendliness of the Indians was genuine, and that their own safety depended on obeying them. As a compromise it was decided to talk to these people—to find out what they were after. For this diplomatic duty Miranda and Herran were chosen.
Although the energetic little doctor was certainly not gifted with an unusual amount of tact, he had at least the merit of directness, and lost no time in calling the attention of the dancers to his desire to come to an understanding with them.
“Do you talk Spanish?” he shouted brusquely in that language.
“Surely, Senor Doctor,” gravely replied a tall personage whose dignity of bearing and the fact that the border of his flowing toga was distinguished by a decorative design in embroidered gold indicated his superiority in rank over his comrades. “Surely, some of us talk Spanish.”
Having given this assurance, the speaker checked the music and dancing of the others and stood, with the air of one accustomed to ceremonious usage, waiting to hear further from Miranda.
“Yes, I am doctor, famous doctor,” said the latter, bustling up to the speaker and looking him over as if he were about to claim him for medical purposes. “I cure thousands and thousands with my pills. But how you know I am doctor?”
The Indian smiled, inclining his head graciously before answering.
“Doctor Miranda is so famous every one knows him.”
Ordinarily the vanity of Miranda was easily touched, but just now he was too suspicious to be beguiled by the compliment.
“Caramba!” he snorted; “and who are you?”
“I am Anitoo.”
“That is not Spanish,” said Miranda sharply.
“I am not Spanish,” replied Anitoo stiffly. “I come from an ancient race that ruled here long before there were any Spaniards.”
“Well, Senor Anitoo—you say it is Anitoo?—that may be. You are Indian—Chibcha Indian, perhaps—and not Spanish, not Colombian. But what do you make in this cave?”
Anitoo smiled broadly.
“This is the home of my people for many centuries,” he said. “And now, suppose I ask you a question. What do you make in this cave?”
There is no doubt about it; Miranda had much the worst of it in his tilt with Anitoo. The Indian’s point blank question as to why the explorers were in the cave was not easily answered. The more Miranda thought it over the less able was he to discover—or at least explain—just that very thing: why he and his companions were there. To say they were looking in a cave on the Bogota plateau for a man who had disappeared many miles away on the Honda road sounded rather unreasonable, now that he looked at it from the standpoint of a stranger; while to recall the story of foul play that linked this place with David’s disappearance years ago seemed, under the circumstances, dangerous even to the impetuous Miranda. So, he shrugged his shoulders and resorted to a more evasive reply than was his custom.
“We come for a picnic, and we want to get out—that is all.”
Anitoo again smiled broadly, yet with the subtle suggestion of holding in reserve an unuttered fund of wisdom that comes so naturally with the people of his race.
“That is all?”
“We look for one friend who is lost. Then, we come with another who has gone. He is one canaille! You have seen him?”
“Ah!” murmured Anitoo, half to himself. “What is his name? What is he like?”
“He is one Yankee. He is called Senor Don Raoul Arthur. He look—well, he look like this——” and Miranda gave an exaggerated example of Raoul’s rolling and twitching eyes.
“So, he is here!” said Anitoo, startled, apparently, by the information and amused by the grotesque lesson in optics given by the doctor. Miranda, on the other hand, gathered that Anitoo disliked Raoul—and this pleased him immensely. But he could get nothing more from the Indian who, although still friendly, began to show signs of impatience, talking earnestly to his followers in a language unintelligible to Miranda and Herran.
On both sides there was evident uneasiness; and when Anitoo, in a tone that sounded disagreeably like a command, told the explorers that they could not continue their tour of the cave unattended by them, things seemed to come to a climax. Miranda expostulated, the others grumbled and talked of resistance. But Anitoo was inflexible, insisting, all the while, that there was nothing unfriendly in his attitude. He reminded them that they could not possibly find their way out of the cave without his guidance. Miranda jumped at this hint of a rescue, but was again unable to extract a definite promise from Anitoo.
“We will first show the Senores some of the wonders of the Guatavita kingdom,” said the smiling Indian.
“We don’t want to see any more,” said Miranda emphatically. “We have seen enough.”
“No! No!” continued Anitoo. “Whoever comes so far as this must see our queen before he goes away.”
“A queen! A kingdom in a cave! But that is impossible!”
“I like his offer,” interposed Leighton, who understood enough to catch the meaning of this strange proposal. “Anitoo seems honest. We have lost our way. If he has a queen and a kingdom to show us, they may be worth seeing. We can be no worse off, certainly, for seeing them.”
“Once in the land of goblins and fairies,” remarked Una, “queens and kingdoms are a matter of course.”
“It is some idle mummery, I suppose,” added Leighton; “we are too near civilization for anything else. All the same, these lanterns—or whatever you call them—that they carry, are worth knowing more about.”
“What are they?”
“I would give a good deal to know.”
“Well, Senor,” said Anitoo impatiently, “you will come with us?”
Without waiting for Miranda, who seemed reluctant to place himself in the Indian’s power more than he could help, Leighton bowed assent.
“And this Senor Arthur?” inquired Anitoo.
“He has gone,” replied Miranda promptly. “He will not come again.”
“Perhaps,” said Anitoo vaguely.
At his signal the Indians lifted the curved trumpets to their lips, the drums were beaten and, to the same curious spirited music that had heralded their approach—half march, half dance—they moved off, the explorers in their midst, down the path flanked by the forest of stalactites, to the great entrance chamber whence, after finishing their hasty meal, the “picknickers” had first started on their journey of discovery.
The friendly bearing of Anitoo and the other cavemen did not fail to impress the explorers favorably, dispelling whatever suspicions they might have had in the beginning, and giving them a taste of real enjoyment in their adventure. All had this feeling of security except Miranda and Herran. The two South Americans, however, were less easily moved. Instead of sharing Una’s and Mrs. Quayle’s admiration of the picturesque appearance of their guides, they grumbled something to the effect that it was a lot of meaningless foolery. This skeptical attitude grew to open disapproval when, having reached the central rock where they had taken their meal in the main cavern, the Indians, instead of proceeding toward the entrance to the tunnel that had been so mysteriously lost, kept on in the opposite direction. This meant that they were now to explore an entirely new, unknown region; and the possibilities that awaited them, with such uncommunicative guides, in the gloomy depths that stretched before them, stirred up something of a mutinous spirit in the two South Americans. But their protests were futile. Without halting his rhythmic march, Anitoo smiled courteously at their objections, merely repeating his intention of taking them to “the queen.” As this was all he would say, they were compelled to make the best of the vague indication of the course they were following. The others continued to enjoy the oddity of the adventure. The enlivening strains of music, the gala costumes of the Indians—all seemed part of a curious carnival the purpose of which was unknown to them. The novelty was kept up by the strange scenes through which they were passing; it reached its climax at the further wall of the great central chamber.
So far, the natural features of the cave had absorbed their attention; now they were confronted with a series of Titanic specimens of human architecture as amazing in design as they were unexpected. It is misleading, perhaps, to describe this architecture as the product of human genius, because in line, material, and general plan it followed closely the pattern and the workmanship of the cave itself. Man had here adopted the half finished designs of nature and completed them in a way that carried out his own ends. Thus, the gradually widening trail followed by Anitoo and his band of musicians made toward a great archway that swept upward in a glistening half circle of white stone. In the center of this rounded arch, twenty-five feet from the ground, gleamed a huge round tablet upon whose smooth white surface could be distinguished a series of engraved characters. These characters, outlined in gold, were immediately recognized by General Herran as similar in design to the picture-writing, presumably of Chibcha origin, that covered a rocky promontory rising above one of the foothills skirting the Bogota tableland.
The mighty portal to which this tablet formed the keystone, was only partially the work of man. Here the elemental forces that originally hollowed out the great central chamber through which the explorers had passed, had encountered a granitic rock effectually resisting their ravages. Hence, the narrowing of the passage-way to the diameter of the half-circle described by the white arch, and hence the opportunity that had been seized by an aboriginal race of men to complete and embellish what nature had so nobly planned. The sides of the arch rose in majestic columns, shaped and smoothed to the semblance of such pillars as those used in the massive temples of ancient Egypt; and, still bearing out this similarity, each of these pillars stood at the head of a long row that stretched away indefinitely in the darkness beyond. The curve of the arch overhead had also followed the simplest of lines, but with so glowing a symmetry that the beholder yielded to the conviction that here, whether of Nature’s design or Man’s, he stood on the threshold of a realm wherein were garnered treasures of art and science unique in the world’s history. Besides the golden characters engraved on the keystone of this gigantic portal there was but one attempt at sculptural adornment. This was the rudely carved head of a condor, made to curve downward from the central tablet of the arch, as if the sleepless duty had been given to this winged monarch of the Andes of inspecting all who passed beneath its lofty eyrie.
Before this imposing structure the explorers paused in astonishment. Anitoo smiled, somewhat disdainfully, and signed to them to enter. This they were loath to do until they could learn more definitely whither the cavemen were leading them.
“Senores,” remonstrated Anitoo, “when you were lost in this cave, I came to your rescue. Now, you must follow me.”
“That is very good,” said Miranda irritably. “We have enough of this cave. We want to go out.”
“Follow me,” persisted Anitoo.
“You take us out?”
“I take you to the queen,” he retorted.
“Why we go to your queen? We make nothing with your queen.”
“Ah, but perhaps she make something with you.”
“Caramba! What she make with me?”
“You will see.”
The explorers looked at each other helplessly. One thing was evident—the Indians had no intention of parting with them. But they could not tell whether they were hostile or friendly. They were not treated as captives; but they felt that any attempt to escape would be quickly frustrated. They were too far outnumbered by the cavemen to make resistance possible. Leighton therefore decided that there was nothing for it but submission. Upon this the Indians gave a grunt of satisfaction, and Anitoo signaled to advance, pointing upward to the Sign of the Condor.
But the signal came too late.
Out of the darkness, from the portion of the cave they had just left, rose a yell of defiance, followed by a flight of arrows and a volley of pistol shots. Running towards them, but still a good distance off, they could see a huddle of figures, dimly lighted by a few torches of wood, interspersed with lanterns similar to those used by the explorers. There was no time to make out who the enemy was. Evidently they planned to carry things before them by the swiftness of their attack, hoping to catch the cavemen off their guard. They went at it pell-mell, discharging their missiles as they ran—but with deadly enough aim nevertheless. One Indian of Anitoo’s party fell, struck down by an arrow. His comrades, enraged by this, formed a close line of battle around him, taking, as they did so, from the folds of their togas certain innocent looking objects, apparently long metal tubes, which they pointed at their assailants. The explorers failed to recognize these implements at first; then, as the Indians put them to their mouths, they realized that they were nothing more nor less than blowpipes, weapons used to-day only by the most primitive races. But the cavemen handled these weapons skillfully, pouring a goodly shower of darts into the turbulent throng advancing to meet them. As the hail of arrows and shooting of pistols continued, however, it was evident that the damage inflicted by the blowpipes was not enough to check the approach of the enemy, who exceeded the cavemen in numbers and were anxious to engage them at close quarters. This Anitoo determined to prevent. Shouting to his men, he urged them to retreat within the archway before which they were fighting, a command they refused to obey, infuriated as they were by the loss of several of their number. Their assailants, steadily pressing on, were soon near enough to give the cavemen the desired opportunity. Blowguns, bows and arrows were cast aside, and they jumped into a hand-to-hand fight, with short pikes and such weapons as chance provided.
It was then that the explorers seemed to reach the utmost limit of their misfortunes. Except for Andrew’s pocket-knife and the revolvers of Herran and Miranda, they were without weapons, and thus practically defenseless in the thick of a combat that at every moment gained in intensity. They were bewildered by the flashing lights of the torches, and kept getting in the way of Anitoo’s men at the most inopportune times. Naturally, General Herran, as the only one among them who had been in actual military service, did his best to keep the others in some sort of order; but his protests and commands, unintelligible to all but Miranda, went for very little. In vain he looked for some sheltered corner into which he could withdraw his little party; but the fierce fighting all around them shut off any such easy way of escape. There seemed to be nothing to do but stay where they were—and be shot, as Mrs. Quayle hysterically put it. And the shooting certainly increased enough in volume every moment to warrant that lady’s dismal view of the matter.
But Herran, although fighting in caves was quite out of his line, was not the kind of soldier to give up in despair—even with two women on his hands and three men who were quite as inexperienced and helpless in warfare as the women. The fiasco of Panama still rankled in his soul, and he resolved this time to let as few of the enemy escape him as possible. It was a serious business, but—at least he had a revolver, and he intended to use it.
Plunging ahead of the others into the thick of the mob that faced him, he shot right and left, and—according to Miranda, who watched the affair delightedly—every shot found its mark. This was all very well, and cheering enough to the explorers. It looked, indeed, for the moment, as if the tide of battle was about to be turned in their favor by the Hero of Panama. But then, all of a sudden, as was bound to happen, the General’s cartridges gave out, leaving him an animated sort of target in the midst of the men he had been attacking with such ferocity. There were cries of dismay from those who had been watching his brave exploit, a roar of rage from Miranda, who rushed forward, revolver in hand, to defend his old comrade. But Miranda was too late. A burly caveman, one of those who had borne the brunt of Herran’s onslaught, seeing the latter’s plight, whirled aloft a huge club that he carried and brought it down with fatal effect upon the General’s head. It was a Homeric blow, and the fall of the hero under it, sung in epic verse, would be described as the crashing to earth of a monarch of the forest, a bull, a lion, or something equally majestic and thunderous.
But the victor in this deadly encounter had no time to enjoy his triumph. Miranda, not able to ward off the terrible blow that he saw descending upon his friend, at least succeeded in inflicting mortal punishment upon the offending caveman who, before he could raise his club to his shoulder again, received the full contents of the Doctor’s revolver.
It was the first—and probably the last—time that Miranda could count himself a conqueror on the field of battle. His exultation, however, was short-lived. Not only had he to bewail the loss of Herran, a good friend and a brave leader, but the odds in the combat before him were going so unmistakably against Anitoo and his men, the fighting had become so widespread and desperate, that the safety of the explorers seemed, every moment, more and more a matter for miracles. As nothing further could be done with an empty revolver, Miranda shrugged his shoulders, threw away his now harmless weapon and, turning hastily to his companions, ordered them to put out their torches, fall flat upon their faces where they stood, and to stay motionless in that position until the fortunes of the battle were decided. This they all did, some with an almost inconceivable promptness—and to any one who might be looking on it must have appeared that the enemy had over-thrown this little group of people before them with one well directed discharge of their weapons.
In the kind of warfare that now was raging, Anitoo’s cavemen, on account of their lack of numbers and deficient training, were unquestionably getting the worst of it. Their white togas, and the flashing lights that they wore, made their escape difficult; obviously it would have fared badly for them if they had been left to fight their battle out alone. But Anitoo was taking no unnecessary chances. Fearing for his own men from the very first, he had dispatched a messenger into that unknown region of the cave lying beyond the Condor Gate. There was more, indeed, than the fate of his own men at stake. He knew that the majority of the enemy were of his own race, and that with them were associated two or three men from the outside world whose presence there, under such circumstances, proved the existence of a formidable conspiracy against that subterranean realm, of which he had spoken vaguely to the explorers, and to which he belonged. The cavemen he had with him, although brave enough, were undisciplined and without military experience. They could make but a poor defense against an attack directed by leaders trained in the rough school of the guerilla. All this Anitoo knew, and the reinforcements for which he had sent arrived barely in time to save his little party from being completely wiped out. But, fortunately for him, they did arrive in time. With a confused din of war cries and trumpetings, a flash of mysterious torches, waving of banners, brandishing of pipes and blowguns, a body of men, suddenly appearing out of the dim recesses of the cave, rushed, several hundred strong, upon the encircling throng of invaders. The result was decisive. The rebels, with victory almost in their grasp, were quickly surrounded, many of them killed, while the few who failed to make their escape were taken prisoners.
Among the latter was one who had played a leading part in the attack. He was unarmed, his clothes were torn, an ugly thrust from a pike had slashed across his face. But his bearing was undaunted; the dejection of the vanquished was lacking in the composure with which he regarded Anitoo, before whom his captors led him.
“Well?” he asked scornfully.
“I expected you, Don Raoul,” said Anitoo.
The other laughed contemptuously.
“Why are you here?” demanded Anitoo.
“That is a long story. For one thing, your people are tired of living like bats in the dark. With the help of Rafael Segurra, your one great man, I promised to free them.”
“Instead, Segurra is killed and you are a prisoner.”
“Ah! your muddle-headed rabble have killed him, have they? But, where are my American friends?” he asked abruptly.
“They are here. One of them, I think, was killed. But he was a Bogotano.”
“I don’t see them.”
For the first time Anitoo showed amazement. He called to his men, he looked in every possible and impossible place. The explorers were nowhere to be seen. Their disappearance, moreover, was complicated by the fact that after the retreat of Anitoo’s men, the great portal under the Sign of the Condor had been closed. By this means the outer region of the cave had been shut off, thus preventing the escape of any of the combatants in that direction. As the Americans were not now in sight, it seemed probable that they were on the other side of the stone gateway—although there was a faint possibility that they had sought safety in the unexplored portion of the cave whither Anitoo had been leading them. Either way, their disappearance was certain, nor could Anitoo find out anything definite about them from his men. A few, indeed, remembered seeing them during the fight, and recalled Herran’s charge, his subsequent fall, and the swift vengeance brought upon his assailant by Miranda. One man declared that they had all been killed; but as this was quite improbable, and as the statement was uncorroborated, it was promptly put aside as unworthy of belief. The whole thing was very vague. As a matter of fact, every one had been too absorbed in the defeat of Segurra and his men to look after the explorers. Doubtless the latter, it was said, had succeeded in retreating into the darkness of the outer cave. In doing this, it is true, they ran the chance of falling into the hands of Segurra’s men—in which case they would have been recaptured by Anitoo.
One strange feature of their disappearance was that the body of Herran had apparently vanished with them. Anitoo remembered the exact spot where the explorers had been stationed during the battle and, consequently, where Herran had fallen. But now, neither living nor dead explorers could be found. It seemed incredible that these people, two of them women, would have hampered themselves in their flight with the body of a dead man. And yet, there was the evidence of eyewitnesses to the killing of Herran; there was the spot where he had fallen—and as the body was not there now, it was practically certain that the explorers had carried it away with them. In this case they could not have gone very far. As Anitoo was particularly anxious for their capture, and believing that they had returned to the outer cave, where they were in danger of being attacked by what was left of Segurra’s men, he sent most of his troops after them, remaining behind with Raoul and a few others until their return.
“It was to get those strangers and bring them to our queen,” he said, “that I came out here.”
“Well, you have lost them,” sneered Raoul. “But you have me. Why not take me to your queen?”
The two men looked at each other in silence. A faint smile lighted Anitoo’s usually immobile features.
“Yes,” he said; “at last you will reach the place you have plotted against for so many months. But it will do you no good.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” growled Raoul. “I want to see your queen——”
“You shall see her. But what can you do? Your friend, Segurra, the first traitor to the Land of the Condor, is dead. Your men are defeated——”
“Not all!” shouted Raoul. “Look around you!”
With those who knew him Anitoo enjoyed a reputation for astuteness that had led to his being chosen for the command of the diminutive army considered necessary for the defense of the Land of the Condor. He was valiant, absolutely trustworthy. But he was accustomed to deal only with simple problems, with people of comparatively guileless natures. Treachery was out of the domain of his experience. And now he was to pay dearly for the lack of prudence that had allowed him to send away, on an indefinite mission, the troops he should have kept to guard his prisoner.
Startled by Raoul’s exultant cry Anitoo seized a pike from one of the two men who had stayed with him. If he had fallen into an ambush he would at least make a brave fight to free himself. But resistance from the first was hopeless. The slight eminence on which he stood with Raoul was surrounded by a score or more men who had crept up on him, their lights extinguished, and protected by the impenetrable darkness of the cave. As Anitoo and his two followers still carried the mysterious torches that had excited the wonder of the explorers, they offered an excellent mark to their concealed antagonists. And now the latter, dimly visible on the outer edge of the circle of light cast by these torches, jumped to their feet and, with weapons poised, made a rush for their victims.
“So! Now for your queen!” yelled Raoul.
Anitoo made a desperate lunge with his pike at the man beside him. But the latter was too quick for him. Dodging the blow, Raoul managed to wrest the pike from his grasp. There was a tigerish struggle between the two men, shouts of fury and triumph from those looking on. Then, overpowered by the number of his assailants, and mortally wounded, Anitoo fell to the ground. He had been so certain of the defeat of his antagonists that this sudden turn in his fortunes filled him, even at the approach of death, with the gloomiest forebodings.
“Ah! my poor queen—lost!” he gasped with his last breath.
Raoul snatched the torch from the dead man’s tunic and waved it above his head.
“You will be free men now,” he cried, “not miserable bats in a cave!”
Those of his hearers who understood his words, spoken in Spanish, repeated them to the others in their own language. There was wild cheering, in which the two followers of Anitoo joined—amazed at their leader’s fate—and then a rush for the great gateway. But this impulsive movement of his men did not agree with Raoul’s hastily conceived plan of conquest. Delighted by his easily won victory, coming to him in the very hour of defeat, he had no mind to leave Anitoo’s hostile troops in his rear—especially as he heard them approaching from the outer cave, and could even catch the first glimmer of their torches.
“Stop!” he commanded. “We need these men. Better to have them friends than enemies. They will come with us. Some of you warn them—tell them what has happened.”
His followers, halted in their eager flight, looked at Raoul in amazement. Then, hurriedly repeating to each other what he had said, they suddenly broke into another cheer, while two of their number, in obedience to Raoul’s orders, ran towards the approaching troops.
At first the two rebels were met with a flourish of pikes and angry cries that boded ill for their safety. When they succeeded in making themselves heard, however, explaining what had happened and pointing to the dead body of Anitoo in confirmation of Raoul’s victory, the cavemen checked their hostile demonstrations, looking from one to the other of the men before them, and then to the little group surrounding Raoul, in astonishment. They had the most exaggerated trust in Anitoo’s wisdom and prowess; that he could be vanquished by any one impressed them mightily. The death of their leader was, indeed, a potent argument in favor of the man who had killed him. What did this victorious stranger intend to do now? they asked each other. Then the foremost of them put the question to the two rebels, who answered with contagious enthusiasm:
“He will free us! The wealth of the Condor will be ours! We will have the world—not a cave—to live in!”
The instant effect of this assurance was all that could be desired. One by one took up the words they had just heard with a shout of triumph, waving their weapons in air and declaring that they would follow this new-found leader to the death. Then they all broke into a run, saluting Raoul, when they reached him, with the submissive gesture they were wont to accord their superiors.
Elated by the complete success of his strategy, Raoul looked exultantly at the men prostrate before him. Then he spoke to them sternly.
“Where are the Americans?” he demanded.
“Gone,” some of them murmured. “We could not find them.”
“Where have they gone? They must be near—somewhere.”
“To the queen—they have gone to the queen!”
“Ah, yes! to the queen! Follow quickly! We go to the queen!”
Raoul’s words were greeted with a cheer. The men rose to their feet and all, at a signal from their leader, swept forward to the great gateway, shouting as they ran—
“To the queen! To the queen!”
To return to the explorers, left prostrate on the field of battle, it must be recorded that, for once in his career, Miranda, after his first taste of active fighting, and seeing how the fortunes of the day were going against them, repressed his natural impulsiveness and developed a prudence and caution that would have become a general seasoned in strategy.
“For me it is not good to be here,” he whispered sepulchrally to his companions as they lay face downward about him. “We cannot fight. We have no guns. We will be kill. We must go!”
It was a good summary of the situation. Every one agreed to it, so far as their constrained positions would permit an exchange of opinions; but how to act on Miranda’s obviously excellent plan was not clear. If they got on their feet again, they would probably be shot—and even if the enemy failed to bring them down right away, they could not make up their minds in which direction to make their escape. To retrace their steps into the depths of the outer cave would bring them between two fires and, aside from other tragic possibilities, would certainly arouse the suspicions of Anitoo and his cavemen. To seek safety in the other direction, to pass within the section of the cave guarded by the Condor Gate, was to court unknown dangers in a region that loomed dark and mysterious enough. It was this latter course, however, that Miranda chose.
“This Anitoo take us to his queen,” he argued. “Perhaps she is good woman. It is better we go alone. Senor Anitoo, he come after.”
So they made up their minds to set out at once in search of this unknown queen. She might, or might not, be friendly. But anyway, she would be better than lying on one’s stomach between two opposing rows of fighting men. Luckily for the carrying out of their plan, they had extinguished their torches. They were thus in comparative darkness, hidden alike from friend and foe. Indeed, if any one had been able to see them in their present prostrate position they would have been taken for dead, and escaped further notice. This view of the situation becoming clear to Miranda, he cautiously raised his head and peered into the darkness before him. A few feet farther on he could dimly make out the body of the huge caveman who had fallen before his revolver a few moments ago—and at the side of the caveman lay his victim, General Herran. The sight stirred Miranda’s grief for the loss of his friend to a fresh outburst, leading him to abandon, with one of those impulsive changes characteristic of him, his plans for escape.
“Ah, Caramba!” he wailed, with the nearest approach to tears he had ever been guilty of; “he was one great hero! He was a man! I not leave him! He die for me!”
And then he fell to stroking his friend’s face—wet from the blood pouring from his wounds, as he supposed—caressing him somewhat roughly, indeed, in the vehemence of his grief, and absent-mindedly tugging at his great beard, as he had so often seen the General do himself. The more he pondered his loss, the more doleful it appeared to him; and this feeling grew until he reached such a pitch of pathos that he resolved never to leave Herran, dead or alive. Better to die right there with him, he said, than to abandon his mortal remains to the canaille who had killed him.
These lamentations and melancholy vows, however, aroused some feeble objections among Miranda’s companions, who were growing restless in their uncomfortable positions, and saw no relief in the idea of staying indefinitely where they were. But Miranda paid no heed to what they said, except to growl out an expletive or two between his wails of grief, and to stroke his fallen hero’s face with an increased vigor of affection. And then, in the midst of this lugubrious occupation, he suddenly jumped to his feet, regardless of whatever lurking enemy there might be near him, and started capering around Herran’s body.
“This hero, he is not dead!” he cried in a sort of whispered ecstasy. “When I rub the nose of him—Caramba!—he try to breathe! And he cough and say some words in Spanish!”
It was fortunate that the darkness was deep enough to hide Miranda from observation, else his dancing figure and the gestures of delight with which he accompanied this announcement would have brought upon him more attention from the enemy than might have been to his liking. Another fact in his favor, besides the darkness, was that the fighting had drifted away from this corner of the cave, leaving the explorers quite alone, in an obscurity that shrouded them from danger, but that still revealed to them enough of the outlines of the cave in the distance to show them where they were and how they might best steer their way in safety through the Condor Gate, as Miranda had at first proposed. And now all were eager to corroborate the extraordinary news that Herran was still alive.
True to his professional instincts, Miranda plumped down on his knees at the General’s side, and commenced a series of probings, pummelings and rubbings in his search for wounds, mortal or otherwise. He worked with his usual feverish haste, and it was not long before his activities drew from Herran protests that became more and more distinct and emphatic. Then Miranda remembered that he had seen the caveman’s club descend upon the General’s head, so that if there were any wounds to be attended to they would be in that part of his anatomy and nowhere else. And there, sure enough, under Herran’s battered hat and his smashed miner’s lamp, was a massive lump that testified to the magnitude of the blow that had crumpled him up. Indeed, had it not been for the hat and the lamp, serving in this case as a buffer, even Herran’s iron skull must have yielded under the weight of the caveman’s attack.
At first Miranda thought that the skull surely was fractured, and thereupon investigated the lump on top of it. This he did with so much earnestness and nicety of detail that he was soon rewarded by a series of such vigorous oaths and threats as to leave no doubt in his mind of his victim’s ability to look out for himself.
“He’s all right, this General of Panama!” he exclaimed gleefully. “His brains is not smashed. But perhaps he have a headache. Soon he fight again. And now we go to the queen.”
The subject of these optimistic assurances sat up with a groan, blinking his eyes savagely at his companions, who were now crowded around him, and wiping disgustedly from his face some of the kerosene oil that had trickled down from the mangled miner’s lamp, and that Miranda had first taken for Herran’s blood.
“Now, we go—we fly!” urged Miranda, his mind completely absorbed again in the problem of extricating himself and his companions from the dangers of the battlefield. “They not see us. We save our life and go to this queen. You are all right, General—is it not so?” he added impatiently.
The other looked at him venomously and groaned. Then, shaking himself, like a dog who has been temporarily worsted in a rough-and-tumble fight, he got to his feet and staggered along for a few paces.
“Yes, Caramba! I am all right,” he said in Spanish, with painful sarcasm. “It is a headache, as you say, that is all! Let us go!”
“That is good! Come!” grunted Miranda approvingly.
At first Herran was somewhat uncertain of his footing. But Miranda helped him until he got over his dazed feeling sufficiently to walk alone. Then they all followed along, single file, skirting the edge of the darkness, beyond which they could dimly see the cavemen fighting, but without being able to tell how the fortunes of the battle were going, and making for the Condor Gate as quickly as they could. Once beyond that point they would be relieved, they thought, at least temporarily, from the inconveniences of a battle in which most of them had been forced to play the part of target only. Having passed this danger zone, they would set about placing as generous a distance as possible between themselves and their warlike companions. Further retreat, it is true, meant the abandonment of the outer cave for a venture into realms whither Anitoo had been conducting them, practically as captives, to an unknown fate. But the situation left them no alternative. Everything depended on their finding the queen—and then, having found her, their fate depended on the kind of woman she might be.
“A great thing this,” muttered Leighton to himself; “at my age to be in the power of the queen of a race of cavemen!”
“They are good peoples,” remarked Miranda dubiously.
“I trust Anitoo,” declared Una. “His queen will protect us.”
“She will behead us!” exclaimed Mrs. Quayle, whose spirits were hopelessly flustered by the uproar of battle that resounded through the cave. “Queens always behead people. Why did we ever come into this frightful place? We can never escape.”
“Do be quiet, woman!” commanded Leighton, who did not care to hear his own thoughts voiced in this manner.
“Hold the tongue!” growled Miranda savagely.
“We have escaped already,” said Una soothingly. “I believe this path will take us out of the cave.”
“Caramba! that is so,” agreed Miranda delightedly. “It is change—and there is some light.”
“Yes, there actually is some light,” said Leighton. “But—where does it come from?”
Having passed through the great portal that separated them from Anitoo and his men, they were soon following a narrow path that ran between two high walls of rock. This path was at first scarcely discernible. As they turned a sharp corner, however, the darkness gradually lifted and they found it possible, for the first time, to distinguish certain objects a considerable distance ahead of them—and judging by the direction in which the shadows from these objects were thrown, it was evident that the light was not a reflection cast by torches carried by warring cavemen.
This discovery was hailed as a momentous one, open to two interpretations. Since, as every one knows, caves are never lighted from sources contained in themselves, they must now be nearing another party of cavemen, who were carrying lanterns, or else, through some twist in subterranean topography, they had stumbled upon an unexpected passageway to the outer world. No sooner was the latter possibility suggested, however, than its improbability was recognized. No rays from sun or moon were ever like these—blue, flickering, ghostly—illuminating the grotesque forms around them. This light had a tingling quality, as of sparks that snap and glitter when they are thrown off from an electric battery. It was certainly not sunlight, or moonlight either, as the explorers quickly realized. There remained the idea that it came from lights carried by an approaching band of cavemen.
“It is like the torches of Anitoo’s musicians!” exclaimed Una; “it’s not from the sun.”
“It begins to be too bright, and at the same time too far off, for that,” objected Leighton.
“It is one big fire——” said Miranda.
“A bonfire,” interjected Andrew.
“——and when we come there we will see.”
Pressing on along this path, the light steadily increased, although revealing to the explorers nothing of its origin. They could walk now at a fairly round pace, and as their range of vision extended their attention was completely taken up in a study of the strange objects to be seen in the unknown world about them.
Great walls of white basalt, veined with broad bands of glistening emerald, towered on either side, reaching up to a crystalline roof that spread forth, far as eye could reach, at an altitude scorning the limitations of human architecture. The irregularities of the outer cave, with its rough bowlders and piles of fallen débris, its dark masses of shapeless sandstone, was exchanged here for forms of marvelous symmetry, fashioned, one could but imagine, for the enjoyment of a race of beings to whom the majesty of beauty must be an ever-living reality. Seen by the explorers, in the wavering half light that filled the cave, the bold outlines of cliff and battlement were softened and blended in a vague witchery of design suggesting meanings and distances varying with the fancy of the beholder. It was a vale of enchantments, an Aladdin’s cave, from which anything might be expected with the mere rubbing of a ring—or a lamp.
As the path broadened the walls became less precipitous; on their sides objects could be distinguished that, anywhere else, would have been taken for man’s handiwork. Tiny dwellings appeared to be carved out of solid rock that jutted forth from dizzying heights, while feathery forms of dwarf trees and plants, whose leaves were of a spectral transparency, whose branches were twisted in thread-like traceries of lines and figures, found sustenance where not a foothold of earth was discernible. That such evidences of botanical life should appear in a cavern remote from the sun’s heat and light was surprising enough to all the explorers; to Leighton it savored of the miraculous. Ever since the adventure with the Black Magnet the savant, indeed, had drifted into such a state of bewilderment that he was more helpless in grasping and overcoming the difficulties confronting them than those of the party who had little of his learning or experience. Ordinarily he was accustomed to treat with contempt phenomena that to others appeared inexplicable. But here he was as a mariner adrift in midocean, in a rudderless ship, without sails or compass. Everything seemed at odds with the settled beliefs and theories of science as he knew them. Nothing was as it should be. He was thus less capable as a leader than the volatile Miranda who, although fairly well trained in the modern way of looking at things, did not trouble himself to explain the marvels that met them at every turn in their wanderings.
“They live in the walls, these people!” exclaimed the doctor, “and they have trees and plants without the sun and rain.”
That was all that need be said. The fact was a fact, delightful beyond most facts just because it was so outlandish, so opposed to all experience, and it gained nothing in interest or anything else by trying to explain it—although Miranda did, on occasion, take a hand at explaining these puzzling matters.
Entertaining as these discoveries and discussions might be, however, the feeling that they had stumbled into a region inhabited by a race of men who lived in a manner unknown to them—and who, moreover, had already given evidence of unfriendliness towards strangers—was not reassuring to Miranda or any of the rest of them. The end of their adventure grew every moment more puzzling. Since their escape from Anitoo they had not actually met any one. Perhaps this part of the cave was not inhabited after all. Perhaps Anitoo’s talk of a queen was not to be taken too seriously. The curious objects projecting from the walls far above them might not be the human dwellings that at first sight they appeared. Even the signs of an unearthly vegetation might prove a sort of mirage, or they might turn out to be mere specimens of basaltic formation—fantastic enough, certainly—wrought by the subterranean convulsions that had given birth to this cave measureless ages ago. But the air had become so strangely invigorating, the mysterious light so pervasive and even brilliant, that anything seemed possible. This atmospheric vitality, a certain bracing quality in the air, had been noted, indeed, among their first experiences in the outer cave. But, compared with this that now tingled and coursed in their veins like some conquering elixir, the air of the outer cave was chill, dead. Here life might germinate and be sustained—although there lacked, as Miranda had pointed out, “the sun and rain” to aid in these daily miracles of nature.
But it was idle to theorize, useless to harbor doubts that led nowhere. So, they wandered on, marveling at the strangeness and the magnitude of this underground world, and yielding themselves, as familiarity disarmed their fears, to the charm of it all. For there was beauty of a rare and thrilling quality in these majestic cliffs whose perfectly proportioned sides gleamed in all the variegations of color belonging to certain kinds of basalt. Displaying in structure the columnar forms peculiar to this rock, the admirable symmetry produced easily suggested the work of a human architect gifted in all the cunning of his art. And now the widening space before them disclosed unmistakable signs of the human agency they had suspected.
They stood at the verge of a precipice. Below them stretched a wide and comparatively level plain, vaulted over by a crystalline canopy supported by innumerable clusters of slender columns, and sheltering low-storied houses, or huts, collected together in the close companionship of a thriving little village. The familiar accompaniments of such a scene, supposing that it formed a part of some straggling, hospitable highway in the outer world, were there. At the doorways of the houses men and women stopped to talk; children played in the vacant spaces that served for yards and streets; even diminutive animals, that appeared in the distance to be near of kin to the patient, ubiquitous burro, jogged along under their burdens of merchandise. The villagers were evidently of the same race as Anitoo and his companions, dressed like them in white flowing togas, but lacking their indefinable charm and lordliness of bearing. Anywhere else they would have been taken for peasants, attired somewhat fantastically, engaged in the most primitive occupations. Here, remote from everything that lives under the sun, their very simplicity was cause for wonder, if not for fear.
So far the explorers had not attracted the attention of the villagers. Where the former stood they could watch the scene below without being observed themselves. But they knew that this security could not last. Either they had to go on and make themselves known, or return to Anitoo, who by this time, possibly, was at the mercy of Raoul and his party. They hesitated. The problem was a knotty one—but it was not left for them to decide. From an unexpected quarter came an interruption, startling in some respects, that solved their difficulties—temporarily at least—and seemed a promising augury that whatever dangers confronted them they might rely on backing, of a sort. A heavily veiled figure, bent with age and toiling down a precipitous path from the rocky height beneath which they were sheltered, silently approached them. At sight of this singular being, Mrs. Quayle, not yet accustomed to this land of uncomfortable surprises, started to run away. Her frantic efforts at speed restored the confidence of the others and, after she had been unceremoniously brought to order by Leighton, the little party managed to face the newcomer with some show of composure.
Leaning on a long staff, the descending figure, ignoring the others, advanced towards Una, who stood by herself beneath a low shelf of rock. Pausing within a few feet of the wondering girl, the veil was slowly lifted, revealing the seamed and wrinkled face and long flowing white hair of a woman whose great age was visible in every feature. In bygone times she would have been proclaimed a witch, although in her aspect there was nothing of the malevolence tradition attributes to witches. But there was the solemnity, the dramatic gesture of the sibyl—a being who is supposed to rank several grades higher than the witch—when, with uplifted hand, she commanded the attention of those to whom she deigned to speak. Drawn by something of benignity in her glance, and undaunted by her otherwise fantastic appearance, Una came forward to meet her—a movement that at once elicited a sign of approval.
“She is one loca, one crazy woman,” growled Miranda.
“Of course she is dangerous!” exclaimed Mrs. Quayle.
General Herran shrugged his shoulders and muttered vigorous profanities in Spanish.
“Nonsense! The woman is probably slightly demented,” was Leighton’s judgment in the matter. Una, apparently, was without opinion as to the character or the intentions of the singular being whose gaze was fastened upon her, and whose outstretched arm singled her out from the rest.
“Oh! if she would only speak in a language we could understand,” she exclaimed. To the amazement of every one, the wish was gratified as soon as uttered. For the old woman—whether witch, sibyl, or lunatic—answered in plain English, an English somewhat defective in pronunciation, it is true, but correct enough in form to give evidence of an unusual amount of study on the part of the speaker.
“I expected you. Come with me,” she commanded.
Astonishment silenced further comment. For the moment even Miranda had nothing to say. Then, recovering his usual assurance, he expressed himself with emphasis.
“Caramba! She is one witch,” he declared.
The old woman shook her head impatiently. It was with Una alone she wanted to speak; she resented as interference any word from the others. Una, on her part, was strangely drawn to her. The odd dress, the air of mystery that repelled the others, increased her interest. She was impressed by her calm assumption of authority, convinced that she was there to help them. And then, a novel idea flashed through her mind.