  The route to the hotel already had been blocked by the approaching villagers. Moving hurriedly down the beach, the Explorers climbed a steep path which wound up a high hill to the rear of the mission. If the Scouts had hoped so easily to elude their pursuers, they learned otherwise. The villagers kept coming on, shouting angry threats, only the general import of which the boys understood. “They’re plenty mad, and I don’t think it’s about those buried boxes either,” Jack said, looking back. “Something has stirred ’em up. If they try to lay hands on us, it could end in a bloody free-for-all.” “Let’s make a stand and face ’em,” pleaded War, halting. Ken pulled him along. “We’d come off badly against so many,” he advised. “Besides, if we get into a fight, we’ll be finished in this village. The Scouts would get a bad name.” “That’s right,” Jack supported him. “But we’ll have to think of something quick! We can’t make it back to our hotel this way. Some of that wild bunch are coming up the street now to head us off!” By this time, the group had reached the mission on the hilltop. Ken studied the high rear wall. “Father Francisco is about to have four uninvited guests!” he announced with a grin. “Over we go!” Quickly, he boosted Willie to the top of the sturdy stone barrier. The latter then helped Jack and War, who in turn, pulled Ken to the safety of the ledge. Just as a group of villagers came pounding up the path, they leaped lightly down into the enclosed garden. At a table beside an under-nourished, stunted tree sat Father Francisco. The missionary calmly was sipping a cup of tea. He seemed more amused than annoyed by the unexpected intrusion. “Excuse us, Father,” Jack apologized, brushing dust from his uniform. “We were a little pressed for time or we would have used the door.” “A mob is after us!” War burst out. “We don’t know why, but the whole village is ready to tear us apart. Hear ’em yell? Any minute, they’ll try to break in here!” “I think not,” smiled the missionary. “You are quite safe within these walls.” Summoning his servant, he ordered the woman to bar the mission door. “And bring four cups and a fresh pot of tea,” he added. The Explorers sat down and tried to relax. As casual as if he were utterly unaware of the shouting crowd on the other side of the wall, Father Francisco told the boys that Mr. Livingston had left the mission only a half hour earlier. “I tried to dissuade him from starting in search of Burton Monahan and the lost city,” he informed the group. “His mind is made up. So I have agreed to give him what assistance I can. All arrangements have been made for you to leave on the morrow.” “Tomorrow?” Willie repeated. “Say, that’s great!” “We’ve worn out our welcome in this village, that’s sure,” Jack added ruefully. “I wonder what stirred everyone against us?” “Drink your tea,” the missionary urged, “and I will seek the answer.” Moving painfully with the aid of a cane, Father Francisco went through the patio and thence to the front entranceway where the mob had gathered. When he rejoined the Scouts fifteen minutes later, his face was grave. “This is more serious than I thought,” he reported. “Lolita has turned the villagers against you.” “We suspected she was at the bottom of it,” Ken nodded. “What’s it all about?” “Lolita has convinced the villagers that your expedition is for the sole purpose of obtaining sacred Inca treasure from the ancient temples.” “But that isn’t so,” Jack denied instantly. “Can’t we explain to them?” “I tried, and I believe my words carried some weight. Nevertheless, my advice is to leave Cuertos as soon as you can. Tonight if possible. Or at the very latest, early tomorrow morning.” “We don’t know much about Mr. Livingston’s plans,” Jack replied, rather worried. “We’ve scarcely seen him all day.” “He is arranging for you to leave here by car,” the missionary disclosed. “At Cuya you will pick up a reliable guide, who will assist in hiring natives to accompany you. That part will be easy. Later steps of the journey will become increasingly hard.” “We’re not expecting an easy time,” Jack replied quietly. “Wherever you are, my prayers will go with you. I must admit that I am greatly relieved that Captain Carter is not to be a member of your party.” Before anyone could reply, the servant woman came hurriedly to the garden. She addressed Father Francisco rapidly in Spanish. “This is most annoying,” the missionary said to the Scouts. “The throng becomes unruly again. Lolita has stirred them up once more. The villagers demand that I turn you over to them.” “We didn’t mean to cause you trouble by coming here,” Ken apologized. “If only we could make them understand—” “That, at the moment, is doubtful. But do not be disturbed. We will retire to the library, and presently they will go away.” “They’re making a worse clatter every minute,” Jack remarked with a shake of his head. “They may try to break down the door.” Unmindful of the noise from outside, Father Francisco guided his visitors to the library. There, he produced a half dozen sheets of beautifully written manuscript. “This is the translation I promised to make for you,” he said, placing the script in Jack’s hand. “Some of the passages are missing because my memory grows faulty with advancing years. I must confess too, that all portions of the manuscript are not strictly accurate. You may have this copy, and I sincerely hope it will be of use to you.” “You never recovered the original parchment?” Jack inquired after he had thanked the missionary for the laborious work. Father Francisco shook his head. “Lolita may have stolen it,” he remarked. “On a number of occasions I have scolded her for her behavior.” Jack skimmed through the closely written pages. “Say, this is rich stuff!” he asserted. “Listen, fellows! ‘Around the camp fire which we lit that night, we held council and decided that next morning all of us would set off cautiously down the trail to the city of the dead....’” “There is a break at that point,” Father Francisco apologized. “My memory failed me completely.” Jack read on: “‘We came into the open from the trail, approached towering walls and passed under a gigantic entrance of three lofty arches. These were built of colossal stones, the center arch dominating the others.’” “That’s an account of the Portuguese explorers’ first view of the ancient city?” War asked in awe. The missionary nodded. “The original offers a most graphic description of ‘an ethereal region that served as a throne for the wind and stars.’ My translation is not the best, and my recollection of it, even poorer. It should, nevertheless, serve your purpose.” “Is the city’s location given?” Ken asked hopefully. “Yes, but the directions are too general to be of much help. Briefly told, the manuscript relates how the explorers, after many hardships came to the mountains, whose sides seemed aflame. This they took to be an omen of good fortune. “Finding the mountains almost impossible to scale, the explorers made camp. Next day, in a search for fire wood, an opening was found between the cliffs. Upon investigating the cleft, they discovered they could climb to the summit. “When finally they emerged, they beheld the hidden city stretched before them. Now, the tale might have been discredited, save for one thing.” “What was that?” War prompted. “Bear in mind that the manuscript was written in the sixteenth century. The description given by the explorers of the ancient Inca city might fit any number of ruins which since have been discovered. Yet at the time the manuscript was written, they were utterly unknown. Uneducated adventurers scarcely could have invented such vivid detail as the manuscript contained.” “So Burton Monahan and other explorers who went before him believe that the city actually existed?” Ken remarked. “That it was never discovered after the Portuguese left it?” “True. Remember that the way is difficult and that cargo animals cannot be taken far on the trail. The climate ranges from cold to extreme heat, so that a considerable amount of equipment must be carried. Few are willing to undertake such a venture.” “What happened after the Portuguese reached the hidden city?” inquired War, eager to hear more of the story. “Here’s a hint,” declared Jack, reading at random from the manuscript. “‘The grandeur of these mighty remains awed every man’s tongue into silence. We tiptoed in the shadow of the ruins. The stones were black with age. No one spoke above a whisper and orders were given in a low voice. High above the crown of the middle arch, strange and unknown characters were engraved.’” The reading at this point was interrupted by loud shouting and pounding on the outer mission door. “They’re going to break in here!” Willie asserted, getting to his feet. “Do not be disturbed,” said Father Francisco. “There is a secret way out. I will show you.” He beckoned for the Scouts to follow him. Crossing the library, he pressed a hidden spring. To the amazement of the Scouts, one of the wide bookshelves swung inward. Behind it was revealed a low, arched-over tunnel. “This escape was very useful in the early days of the mission,” Father Francisco observed cheerfully. “Today it has little practical value, save on a rare occasion such as this.” “Where does it lead?” War asked, peering into the tunnel’s dark interior. He could not see its end. “It twists through the hillside to emerge in a small cave overlooking the sea. Once there, you will be near your hotel. I suggest that you go directly there and remain until your departure from Cuertos.” “We will,” Ken promised gratefully. “Wait,” Father Francisco bade the Scouts as they would have started into the tunnel. “You will need a light to guide you. A candle—” “No need,” Jack said. “I have my pocket flashlight. Thanks for everything.” Switching on the light, he started ahead of the others into the low, narrow passageway. A half dozen wide, well-worn stone steps led downward to a lower level. Moving fast, the Scouts followed an uneven dirt floor in a crazy pattern of turns and zigzags. Soon they had lost all sense of direction. “Shouldn’t this thing be coming to an end?” Willie presently demanded. “We’ve gone a mile.” “Not even half that far,” Jack corrected, pausing to look back. “Anyone behind us?” Willie asked. “Nope. Father Francisco will look after that detail for us. You know, he’s a mighty good egg!” “He pulled us out of a tight spot,” Ken agreed. “When we find the hidden city, we can send him some Inca gold as a token of our gratitude!” “Let’s get out of here,” Willie urged impatiently. “This place makes me feel like a trapped rat.” Jack went on again, closely followed by the other three Scouts. The tunnel widened for a short distance, then became so narrow that they scarcely had space to squeeze through. “We’re coming to steps,” Jack advised those behind him. “I can see daylight too.” A few yards farther on, and the beam of his flashlight focused upon large slabs of rock imbedded in the hillside. The Scouts climbed at a sharp angle. Then, just as the missionary had promised, they found themselves in a cave with ceiling so low that they could not stand upright. The exit to the cave was blocked by stones which at first seemed firmly fixed. But after Willie and Ken had worked a while, they were able to roll them aside and crawl out onto a narrow rock shelf overlooking the sea. “Come on out!” Willie called jubilantly to the others. “The view’s great!” “Any sign of the villagers?” Jack asked, switching off his flashlight. “Nary a sign,” chuckled Willie. “I guess we outwitted ’em.” Before crawling down from the ledge, the Explorers carefully replaced the pile of stones at the exit to the cave. The task accomplished, they cautiously descended the steep slope, took their bearings, and returned to the hotel without encountering anyone. There they learned that Mr. Livingston anxiously had awaited them for nearly an hour. “I’m glad you came,” he told the four. “How soon can you be ready to leave here?” “We can’t pull out too fast to suit us,” Jack replied for the group. “Not after what just happened.” He then related the unfortunate incident of the beach and mission, and their close call with the unruly mob. “That settles it,” Mr. Livingston said tersely. “Captain Carter is behind this, I’m convinced! Once we shake him, I’ll breathe easier. Pack your duds, fellows, and we’ll be off.” “You mean we’re leaving right now?” Ken asked. “Just as soon as we can get off. I’ve already arranged for two cars to take us to Cuya where the road ends. All our equipment, medicines and trading goods have been loaded. So throw your personal stuff together, and we’ll be on our way.” Thrilled that the long period of inactivity at last was to come to an end, the Scouts soon had their gear ready. Within an hour, the hotel bill had been settled and two wretched-looking touring cars were at the door. “Not too modern, boys,” Mr. Livingston said with a smile as the Scouts piled in. “But the tires are sound. With luck, we’ll reach Cuya by late tonight.” Without incident, the two cars chugged through the crooked village streets and out into open country. Mr. Livingston, Willie and War rode in the lead automobile, while Ken and Jack ate dust in the vehicle behind. Speed was impossible. Sections of the highway had been paved, but the many rough patches made driving hazardous. After awhile, the pavement, such as it was, gave way to a road of hard surface clay. Vegetation was scanty, scarcely more than a few tufts of grass and an occasional twisted algarroba tree. The two cars were about an hour out of Cuertos when Jack noticed that a gray car was following some distance behind. At first, he gave it only casual attention. However, when his own driver slowed to a standstill before attempting to cross a narrow log bridge, he was surprised to see the other automobile pull up some distance back. “That’s funny,” he remarked aloud. “What is?” Ken demanded. Half asleep, he pulled himself upright to look back down the road. “No matter how slow we travel, that car behind never tries to pass us.” “The road’s narrow.” “Even so, Ken, not many drivers would eat dust for fifty miles. He’s had several chances to pass.” Now that his attention had been drawn to the vehicle behind the two Scout cars, Ken kept watch. Not until their own automobile had crossed the log bridge, did the following car start up. As the road presently widened, Jack directed the driver to slow down and give the car behind every chance to pass. Instead of doing so, it too, slackened speed. “You were right, Jack!” Ken asserted, completely convinced. “We’re being trailed!” |
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