  After a little time the Mexican began to recover his self possession, and with it his tongue. We found he was nearly starved, so we fed him sparingly and gave him a bit more of the spirits. By and by, a little at a time he told his story. His struggles with the priests was much as we had heard it described, except in one important particular. Pedro fought so desperately that he dismayed his opponents, and during the mÊlÉe one of them touched a spring that released a trap in the floor, precipitating the Mexican into a dark cellar underneath. When freed of his weight the block of stone swung into place again, and he found himself in a veritable dungeon, so far as light and air were concerned. The cowardly priests left him there, announcing that he had been sacrificed, as they feared to admit to the people that he had gotten the best of them in the fight. Pedro’s leg had been hurt by the fall, and it caused him a good deal of pain. The air was close and damp and full of musty odors. After a time the prisoner began to crawl around, and found the place was used partly as a storehouse, as it contained many bales and parcels of various wares. Having a few matches in his pocket Pedro lighted one of them and right before his face discovered our electrites and storage-battery belts, all in a heap. He hunted around for our gas-jackets, but they were not there. When his matches gave out he lay still in the dark and wondered what would happen to him. Probably the priests intended he should starve to death, and he was getting weak and hungry when the earthquake came. The earth swayed all around him, the building crumbled away and the marble floor heaved up and burst open, many of the marble blocks dropping into the cellar—fortunately not in his neighborhood. Pedro was frightened nearly out of his wits, but seeing dimly that a way of escape had opened up he climbed upon a heap of marble, stuck out his head, and found Ned Britton watching him. When he had drawn this story from the Mexican—and it took him a long time to tell it—we decided to assume the defensive and aggressive and take a firm stand against the priesthood, our most vicious enemies. The cries and moans of the stricken ones were gradually dying away and white robed priests began to steal back to their dwelling—such as had escaped injury, that is. We examined the doorway to our wing and found the heavy metal doors that sealed it from communication with the rest of the palace. Preferring to have them remain open we managed to bend and wedge them in such a way that they could not again be closed upon us, as had been done when our comrades had been overcome by the anÆsthetic. We fixed the metal window-slide the same way, and being now assured that we could no longer be confined in the room against our will we held a council to decide our future actions. Presently there came to us the tall, thin priest whom we had noted as one in authority under the aged High Priest. His face was shrunken and his eyes, shrewd and roving in expression, were sunk in great hollows. His lips were so thin that they did not cover his protruding teeth and on his chin was a straggling beard of dark red. This fellow—his name was Katalat—had attracted our notice not only because of his repulsive appearance but for the reason that all the other priests deferred to him and he was openly antagonistic to our party. He had had little to say to us until now, but when he came into our room he cast a vengeful, vindictive glance around and said: “The great god is very angry. See how he has punished us for not sacrificing all of you, and at once!” “See how he has punished you for daring to harm any of us,” I retorted angrily. “If your god had desired our lives he would not have saved us from injury and destroyed so many of your own people.” He looked at me wickedly. I think he was clever enough to know that the sun had nothing whatever to do with the earthquake. “The noble High Priest Pentchakoma is dead,” he announced. “That’s bad!” said Paul, heartily. “Did the earthquake frighten the old man, then?” “The roof fell upon him. And now I, Katalat, have by our laws become High Priest in his stead.” “Has Ama appointed you so soon?” inquired Paul. “The High Priestess has nothing to do with the appointment. It is the law,” he retorted. “But she is the Supreme Ruler,” said Chaka. “If she does not approve—” “She must approve!” cried Katalat fiercely. “Otherwise—” “Well, what then?” asked Paul, as he paused. The telephone bell rang. We had placed the instrument just outside our room, in the passage, so it would be convenient to the priests and to us. I started to answer the summons, but the priest blocked my way. “Stop!” he commanded. “I forbid you to communicate again with the High Priestess.” Paul nodded to Ned, who reached out an arm, grabbed Katalat by the collar and whirled him into a corner, where the big mate stood guard over him. “Answer the telephone, Sam,” said Allerton. As I went I heard the priest vowing dire vengeance. It was Ama calling as I had expected. “Are you—is—is—are any of you hurt?” she inquired, stammering in her anxiety. “No; we are all safe. And you, Ama?” “I am broken hearted! My poor people! My poor city!” “Never mind,” said I. “The city can be fixed up again and more people will grow. Do you want us?” “Not now. Come to me early to-morrow.” “We will if the priests let us. There’s an ugly fellow here now, named Katalat, who says he’s the new High Priest and forbids our seeing you again.” There was a brief silence. “Beware of Katalat,” Ama said, in a hesitating voice. “I fear trouble ahead for us all. Come to-morrow, if you can—all of you.” Then she severed the connection and I went back to make my report. “Boys,” said I, “we’d better settle with this High Priest right now—for good and all.” “In what way?” asked Paul. “By wringing his neck.” Then, still speaking in English, I repeated what Ama had said. “But we can’t murder him in cold blood,” remarked our leader, looking at Katalat thoughtfully; “nor can we allow him to lead a rebellion against us, and perhaps against Ama.” “Let us keep him a prisoner until morning,” suggested Chaka, in his quiet way. “After we have seen the Supreme Ruler we can better decide what to do with him.” That seemed good advice, so we told Archie and Joe to bind the priest and gag him. He fought desperately at first, but Joe had a ju-jutsu trick that quickly laid old Katalat on his back, and Archie stuffed a cloth into his mouth and silenced his cries. One or two priests, hearing the scrimmage, came pattering along the passage, but Paul and Chaka met them and sent them away again. Night had fallen by this time and as soon as it was quite dark—it had been gloomy enough before—Allerton suggested that some of us form a party to go for the electrites. We left Nux and Bryonia, quite recovered by this time, with Ned and Pedro to guard our prisoner, while the rest of us set out for the temple by way of the open window. There was not a star in the sky, but fortunately Paul had retained his dark lantern and we depended upon that to assist us when we got to the temple. Until then we dared not show a light. We stumbled over rubbish and debris at every step, and once or twice, as we neared the temple, I recoiled as my foot touched something that I instinctively felt was a dead body. Finally we came to the ruined wall and after climbing over the scattered blocks of marble Paul got out his lantern to guide us. We found the hole in the floor and after lighting up the aperture and sending a ray into the basement to show us the way, Allerton handed the lamp to Chaka and dropped lightly into the cellar. It was a rather risky proceeding, for the great building was in a dangerous condition. Only one wall had actually fallen, but the others were more or less cracked and displaced, while some of the huge blocks of marble that had formed the coping were liable to topple down upon us at any moment. Nor was the flooring any too secure. But Joe and I followed Allerton without hesitation and then Chaka handed us the lamp. Presently, amid bales and boxes of curious shapes we came across our property, and passed the belts and electrites from one to another until Archie and Chaka received them above and laid them in a pile. “Now let’s get out of this,” I said. “It’s too dangerous to suit me.” “Wait a minute,” called Paul, who had been turning the light in every direction. As he spoke he clambered over some bales and then pounced upon some object he had discovered. It proved to be the extra gas-jacket that had been taken from our chest, and Joe and I both uttered shouts of joy at its recovery. “The others may be here, too,” I exclaimed, my fears all forgotten. “Let’s search for them.” We did, but without result. We came across one or two minor articles that had seemed suspicious to the Tcha who rifled our chests, but no firearms nor any more of the gas-jackets were in the cellar of the temple. Finally we climbed out of the hole again and, carefully securing the belts and electrites, made our way back to our quarters. |
|
