  “Six days overdue, and no sign of the Shark! What a help Captain Carter proved to be!” Jack delivered the remark as he lay on the steep hillside overlooking Cuertos harbor in Peru. His sentiment was shared by the other Explorers, Willie, Ken and War. Six days of waiting in a desolate coastal town had left the four Rovers decidedly restless and impatient. Behind them now were a thrilling plane journey from the States, exciting days in Lima. But nearly a week had elapsed since they had registered at the little Cuertos Hotel in this sleepy town seldom visited by tourists. To the annoyance of Mr. Livingston and the Scouts, the Shark had not yet made port. What, they wondered, had delayed Captain Carter and their supplies? On this sunny morning, while Mr. Livingston conferred with government officials, Jack and his friends had decided to watch the harbor for a possible glimpse of the long overdue vessel. “Maybe Carter never will show up,” War remarked, tossing a stone into the waves which broke gently on the shore below. “I don’t trust him.” “The Shark may have run into bad storms,” Jack replied. “It’s hard waiting, though—especially when we can’t pick up any information about Burton Monahan.” “Apparently the only one who knows anything about him is that old missionary who lives on the hill,” Ken said thoughtfully. “And he won’t see us.” A week ago, the day of their arrival, the Scouts and Mr. Livingston had called at the crumbling old mission overlooking the sea. Politely but firmly, a servant had informed them that Father Francisco Manoel was ill and would receive no visitors. For five straight days, the answer always had been the same. “It’s an excuse not to see us!” Willie asserted, getting up from the rocks. “Father Francisco just does not want to tell what he knows about Burton Monahan or that old parchment!” “Oh, we can’t be sure,” Jack drawled. “Father Francisco may be sick. We didn’t expect this job to be an easy one. Or did we think Burton Monahan would be sitting conveniently on a rock pile waiting for us?” “I’m getting tired of perching on this one!” War announced. “Let’s move!” “Where?” “We might amble into the village again.” “Okay,” Jack agreed. “We’re not to meet Hap for a couple of hours. Plenty of time.” Slowly, the Rovers climbed a crooked path which twisted up the steep hillside. Midway to the summit they met an old woman with a brilliantly colored parrot perched on her shoulder. “Buenos dias,” croaked the bird. “Good day, yourself!” Jack responded. He halted, intending to inspect the saucy parrot. But the bent old native woman glared angrily at him and shuffled hurriedly on. “Guess she didn’t like the way I spoke to her pet,” Jack said with a shrug. “Or was she suspicious of our Explorers’ uniforms?” At the top of the hill, the four Scouts paused to breathe deeply of the salt air. Willie snapped several pictures of the old mission, and then he and War wandered on. Left behind, Jack and Ken watched the sea for a while before starting in the direction their companions had taken. In passing the old mission door, Jack impulsively paused to knock. “No use,” Ken discouraged him. “There’s never any answer.” But even as he spoke, they heard footsteps. Surprisingly, the massive door swung open and a servant peered out at them. “Father Francisco see you now,” she informed them in broken English. “Enter!” “Well, what d’ you know!” Ken murmured startled. “We must have pressed the magic button!” The servant motioned for the two Scouts to follow her down a tiled corridor. Eventually, they came to a pleasant half-underground library whose long, wide window provided a view of the ocean. On three sides, the walls were lined with books. Father Francisco sat facing the sea, but he turned slowly as the Scouts entered. He was a small, bent old man in a black dressing robe and sandals. Pillows braced his back. Motioning Ken and Jack into well-worn leather chairs, he said in precise but perfect English: “I regret I have been ill and could not see you when first you called. My arthritis has been most painful. Mr. Livingston did not accompany you?” Jack replied that their leader was in conference with government officials. He and Ken both were uncomfortably aware of the old missionary’s intent scrutiny. They had an odd feeling that he not only knew everything about them and their party, but could read their innermost thoughts. “How do you like Peru?” Father Francisco inquired politely. “We haven’t seen very much of it,” Jack confessed. “Cuertos though, isn’t exactly as we pictured it.” “The coastal area is very dry,” the missionary said, fingering a long, gold neck chain. “Here at Cuertos we have a good rain at least once a century. Earthquakes, I regret to say, are more frequent.” An awkward silence fell. Father Francisco broke it by inquiring: “You are Scouts from America?” “Explorers,” Ken said proudly. “I guess you already know why we are here.” Father Francisco eyed the pair quizzically. “You are searching for Burton Monahan? Or is it the treasure which intrigues you?” “We’re trying to find Mr. Monahan,” Jack replied earnestly. “One must be very brave or very foolhardy to venture far into the wilds. A mule-back trip across Peru consumes weeks.” Ken and Jack nodded, remaining silent. “Many of our mountain roads are mere tracks,” Father Francisco continued. “Only caves or stone huts offer shelter. To venture far one must have a trusted arriero or muleteer to act as guide. A dependable man is not easy to find.” To Jack and Ken it was clear that the missionary deliberately was trying to discourage them. They listened attentively as he mentioned the many dangers that might beset a traveler. When he had finished, Jack said quietly: “We realize, Father, that our mission won’t be easy. All the same, a few hardships won’t bother us. You knew Burton Monahan?” “Very well. Ah, he was a reckless one! But with the courage of a lion! From the first, the old tale of treasure fascinated him. Yet in fairness, I must say it was not lust for Inca gold that spurred him on, as it does so many adventurers who come to this country. No, it was the lure of the unknown that drew him irresistibly to his fate.” “His fate?” Ken repeated, startled. “Then you believe that Burton Monahan is dead?” Father Francisco shrugged his thin shoulder. “Quien sabe?” he murmured in Spanish. “Who knows? There is one who might provide the answer, if he would. I fear however, that the truth will never pass his lips. Not if it profits him to remain silent.” “Who is this man?” questioned Jack. The missionary did not answer. The Explorers were certain he heard and that deliberately he withheld his reply. “I would assist you if I could,” Father Francisco resumed after a moment. “Unfortunately, I can do nothing.” “Tell us everything you know about Mr. Monahan’s disappearance,” Jack urged. “For many weeks he studied the ancient parchment which I have here—taking notes, trying to figure out the route of the Portuguese explorers who so faithfully recounted their discovery of the hidden pre-Inca city. Finally, disregarding all advice, he organized a party and set off into the most desolate section of the mountains. That was many months ago.” “And that was the last you ever heard of him?” Ken inquired. “Word filtered back. As the journey became more difficult, his natives began to desert. Finally, even Captain Carter abandoned him.” “Captain Carter!” exclaimed Jack, startled. “The skipper of the Shark?” “The same.” “Why, we didn’t know he had a close association with Mr. Monahan,” Ken declared. “Captain Carter is bringing our equipment here on the Shark. In fact, he promoted the expedition.” Father Francisco eyed the two Scouts with a fixed rigid smile. “So Captain Carter is to be a member of your party?” he asked softly. “Mr. Monahan—Burton’s brother—thought he could be helpful to us,” Ken explained. “Ah, yes, Captain Carter could be of assistance, if he chose,” murmured the old missionary. “I regret to say he is not known in Cuertos for his cooperative qualities. Captain Carter—” Abruptly, the missionary broke off, as if he had been on the verge of making an unintended disclosure. “You must excuse me now,” he said apologetically. “It is the hour of my siesta. As for the temple treasure and Burton Monahan, I advise you for your own safety, to banish all thought of an expedition.” Disappointed by the dismissal, Ken turned to leave. Jack, however, was unwilling to be discharged so easily. He sensed that mention of Captain Carter’s name somehow had been unfortunate. Seemingly, Father Francisco had become distrustful of their association with the skipper of the Shark. “Captain Carter was assigned to our expedition by Burton Monahan’s brother,” he informed the missionary. “We have no liking for him. Right now we’re annoyed because the Shark hasn’t made port with our cargo.” “We’ve counted on your help,” Ken added earnestly. “If we don’t get it, the expedition will bog down right here at Cuertos.” “I believe that you are sincere,” the old missionary said after a long silence. “This much I will tell you. Captain Carter has an ugly reputation among our people.” “Because of the Monahan affair?” interposed Jack. “There were whispers that after Monahan left here, he fell in with Carter,” the missionary explained reluctantly. “Some believe that together they came upon the hidden city and that for lust of gold, Carter removed Monahan from the picture.” “But the captain has claimed to be working to save Monahan!” Jack exclaimed. “I cannot vouch for the truth of the tale. I do know that Captain Carter has unsavory connections, both here and inland. As master of the Shark he has many profitable lines only indirectly connected with the transportation of cargo.” “But why would Carter ask financial assistance from Burton Monahan’s brother?” Jack asked in perplexity. “If he did away with Burton, why pretend to be seeking him?” “Who can fathom the depths of a twisted mind?” murmured Father Francisco. “I cannot vouch for the truth of the rumors. Possibly, Captain Carter has been misunderstood and misjudged.” Seeking to gain information, Jack and Ken asked other questions. The missionary politely evaded them. Abruptly changing the subject, he offered to show the Scouts the ancient Portuguese manuscript which long had been in his possession. Painfully pulling himself from the pillows, he hobbled to a walnut cabinet. “I spent many years translating the manuscript which is written in Portuguese,” he informed the Explorers as he unlocked the heavy double doors. “You are familiar with the history of Peru?” “We’ve read a lot lately,” Jack returned. “Especially about how the Spanish general Pizarro conquered the country in 1532.” “Peru then was under Inca domination,” the missionary said, warming to his subject. “The Inca ruler, you know, was regarded as a representative of the Sun God, head of the priesthood and the army. “When Pizarro took the country, he forced the Indians to turn over vast amounts of treasure to ransom their king, who had been made a captive. But the Incas were betrayed, for their ruler was put to death. Angered, they dumped much of their gold into lakes and streams or hid it in caves. One such treasure lake, so this ancient manuscript discloses, lies hidden ‘inside a mountain.’ The phrase has been variously interpreted. According to ancient belief, the treasure mountain is visible from here.” “From this mission?” Jack asked incredulously. “Yes, but as I presently will show you, the clue has little value.” Almost reverently, Father Francisco spread the parchment on a table before the Scouts. Eagerly, they peered at the fine-grained skin which had been scraped and rubbed with pumice to permit writing on either side. “Imagine being able to read that!” Ken said in awe. “The manuscript begins thus,” the missionary translated. “‘We wandered ten years in the wilds, seeking gold. Little did we find until in the year—’” Abruptly, Father Francisco broke off, his attention diverted toward the door of the library. The Scouts had heard no unusual sound, but the missionary seemed disturbed. “Someone, I believe, loiters in the passageway!” he whispered. “Be quick! See who it is that listens by the door!” |
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