  “‘Follow trail—’” Willie mimicked the old medicine man. “That’s all very nice. But where does the darn thing lead?” The Scouts had paused on the path to let Mr. Livingston rest. Since leaving Ino at the spring, they had walked as fast as the rough ground would permit. “This trail leads to the river, I suspect,” commented Ken. “We may find a balsa there.” “Probably with our names engraved on it,” Jack returned ironically. “Everything’s too convenient! Why was Ino so eager to have us get away?” “He felt sorry for us,” War answered. Jack nodded thoughtfully. “I’m convinced Ino isn’t a native,” he said. “He understands English pretty well.” “That ‘follow trail’ of his, popped out very easily,” agreed Ken. “But if he’s a white man, why didn’t he reveal himself to us?” “Yeah, why does he live here with the natives?” Willie demanded. “He’d have to have a strong motive.” “A lost gold mine perhaps, or the Inca city,” Jack suggested reflectively. “You think Ino may be a trader who stumbled onto some secret after getting in the good graces of the Indians?” “It could be. I’m sure Ino wanted to get us away from the village while the natives were gone. You noticed how sharply he spoke when I started to take that other trail by the spring.” “I did!” Willie exclaimed. “He was afraid we’d go that way.” “That path must lead to something Ino doesn’t want us to see,” Jack went on with conviction. “If we weren’t in such a tough spot—” “We have to go on,” Ken urged, glancing at Mr. Livingston. “Right now, too.” Supported by Willie and Ken, the Scout leader dragged himself along. He was shaking again, and his teeth chattered. Finally he halted. “No use kidding ourselves, boys. I’ll never last. You fellows go on without me.” “Never!” Jack replied. “We’ll carry you.” “That wouldn’t work, and you know it, Jack. Even without me, you’ll have a tough time getting back to Cuya.” “We’ll never leave you,” Ken insisted. Mr. Livingston lacked the strength to argue. Sagging down by a tree, he sipped water which War gave him. Jack, Ken and Willie drew aside to discuss their situation. In whispers, they agreed that without natives to help carry their leader, they never could make it. Even if they were lucky enough to find a canoe or balsa, they could not expect to get farther than the broken bridge. “Hap’s got to rest a few minutes, no matter what we do,” Jack said, thinking it over. “Meanwhile, one of us should go ahead to look for a canoe. I’ll slip back to the spring to see where that other path leads.” “Curiosity will prove your finish yet,” Ken predicted soberly. “We may be close to the sacred Inca City, Ken. Before we leave here, I want to satisfy myself on that point.” Further discussion ended with a decision that Jack should explore the trail leading from the spring. Willie would try to reach the river to look for a canoe. “Both of you, hurry!” Ken advised. “If the natives return to their village and discover we’ve walked off—curtains!” “If I’m not back in half an hour—before dawn—start for the river without me,” Jack advised grimly. After the two Scouts had gone their separate ways, Ken settled down to wait beside Mr. Livingston and War. He was plenty worried. Hap kept throwing off a protective jacket. At one moment he suffered chills, and the next, seemed to burn with high fever. “That medicine man’s dope wasn’t so wonderful after all!” War scoffed. “Hap is better today, even so,” Ken replied. “If he had a day to get on his feet, we might make it out of here.” “A day! We’ll be lucky to have another hour of freedom!” The first streaks of light were lining the horizon, and still neither Willie nor Jack returned. Nervously, Ken paced up and down the path. “Listen!” he suddenly exclaimed. From a far distance, high within the mountain, could be heard a strange, weird cry. The sound seemed to arise from many throats. “A chant to the dawn!” Ken declared. “These Indians must be sun worshipers, just as were the ancient Incas!” “There should be a temple near here, Ken. Maybe Jack was right about that hidden Inca city!” “Right or not, I wish he’d get back. It’s clear now why the village was deserted. The natives all went off to greet the dawn with special ceremonies.” “Someone’s coming now.” War suddenly warned. As the two waited tensely, a low whistle told them that it was Willie who approached. He came up a moment later, panting from the fast climb. “Did you reach the river?” Ken demanded. Willie nodded. “Couldn’t find a canoe or a balsa,” he reported. “If we had more time—” “Sure, if we just had more time,” Ken echoed. Sorely beset, he hesitated in making a decision. As he turned over various plans in his mind, Jack came into sight. Greatly relieved that the crew leader had returned safely, Ken grasped his hand. “Learn anything, boy?” he demanded hopefully. “The path leads to a solid wall of rock. But get this! I found a gap that looks as if it may be a tunnel. I didn’t dare take time to investigate it.” “Not the hidden city you were sure you’d find, Jack?” “That passageway may lead to it, Ken! I could hear natives close by, yelling and chanting. Couldn’t see anyone though.” “What’ll we do?” Ken demanded. “Here we are on the verge of an important discovery, but our situation is desperate. If we try an escape by river, we’re not even certain of having a balsa.” “We could hide out for a day and hope Hap will get stronger.” “Our supplies are low now,” Ken said, frowning. “Another thing, once the natives take after us, they’ll try the river first of all. How far away is this tunnel through the rocks?” “Close by, Ken. It’s a steep climb though.” “Any chance to find a good hide-out up there?” “The rocks near the tunnel entrance offer some protection. Better than this, but not good.” “Let’s make for it then,” Ken suddenly advised. They told Mr. Livingston of their plan, and he nodded agreement. Ken hoisted him onto his back in a fireman’s carry, toting him as far as the spring. There they splashed water on his fevered face, and went on again. When the path became very steep, the Scout leader managed to walk with support on either side. Presently they reached the ridge to find themselves surrounded by rocks which had weathered into weird shapes. As they examined the passage entranceway through the great mass of twisted stone, Jack suddenly became tense. “Listen!” he bade the others. The chanting in the distance had ceased. But the Scouts could hear the hum of voices coming closer, and the pounding of feet on hard stone. “The natives are returning this way!” Jack muttered. “Take cover!” Quickly, the party retreated behind the eroded rocks, flattening themselves on the rough floor. Moments passed. Then single file, like a swarm of hornets, the warriors began to pour out of the tunnel. The procession continued for so long that the Scouts lost count of those who passed through. Finally, no more came. After waiting another ten minutes, Jack crept out to investigate. He returned to report that the natives had returned to their village and that the passageway seemed empty. “I went a short distance in,” he told the others excitedly, “I could see daylight ahead, so the tunnel must be short. I thought I could make out the ruins of an old roadway.” “The ancient Inca city,” murmured Mr. Livingston, pulling himself to a sitting position. “Our goal?” “I’m not sure, but I think so! If we dare press on, we’ll soon know. What do you say?” “Let’s go,” War urged instantly. “We can’t be any worse off than we are now.” “Except that the city may be regarded as sacred,” Jack pointed out. “If we were found there, it could mean our finish.” No one spoke for several minutes. Then Mr. Livingston gave answer by trying to pull himself to his feet. “We go on,” he said grimly. “Our chance to escape by the river already is gone. We must hide at least until nightfall.” “Sure, and while we’re waiting, why not learn all we can!” cried War, well pleased with the decision. The passageway, though narrow, permitted the Scouts to walk very nearly upright. With Jack leading they groped their way along the smooth rocks. At length, they came into the open once more. Blinking as they gazed directly into the bright morning sun, the Scouts looked about. Below rolled a green sea of forest and the winding river. Beneath their tired feet were the remains of an ancient roadway, leading on to a large, clear area devoid of all save a few scrub trees. “Where’s the sacred city?” demanded War. Mr. Livingston and the other Explorers were too disappointed to answer. Instead of the old Inca ruins they had expected to find, only a barren scene spread before their eyes. |
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