  Pizzara had been clever, indeed! He had so maneuvered the procession as they left the cells that Mr. Gray, the most feeble one, was in the lead and the Indian and his sister at the rear. Therefore they could not make a dash for escape; and when they saw Pizzara’s menacing look as he showed them that he also had his own revolver, a heavy, serviceable automatic, Mr. Whitley and Bill signaled submission. After all, it was their only chance for liberty. “Look here,” Bill turned on Pizzara. “You had better let the soldier and his sister escape—you can’t ask them to rob their own treasure house. They think the Sun’s gold is sacred!” “I need them,” said Pizzara. “The soldier have his father with rope to wait to help us at the cistern. If we have not these two how shall the others let us take the gold?” “You are vile!” cried Mr. Gray. “To use them as hostages!” “Cease grumbling, my little llamas,” Pizzara said sarcastically. “Come and let the loads be put on your little backs—or!——” he crooked his trigger finger significantly. The situation was too desperate for argument: when they sullenly filed into the room beneath the sun temple, Caya and her brother showed signs of mutiny but Bill whispered to them that if they raised an alarm there it would result in death for them all: he hinted that some way would be found to save the treasure—and they could take only a few choice carved and moulded pieces. Pizzara could not always be on guard. Strangely enough the whites were all in sympathy with the Indians: they were not mercenary or lustful. The safety of Cliff’s father, their own escape and a clear conscience were of more worth to them than the risk of a few thousand dollars and the feeling that they were thieves. They were in such a situation that they had to help a thief but they felt sure that at some time when his vigilance was relaxed they could leave him to dispose of his gains, secured by coercion, as best he might. He had chosen his loot wisely; they saw that as he indicated the lighter statues, beautifully worked, the animals, flowers and a few urns. He made them tear apart woolen weaves that were as fine and as soft as silk to make bundles and thongs with which to carry more than they could handle loose. Cowed but sullen Caya and her brother did what they could to delay, but finally Pizzara had as much as he thought they could care for, and off they started, down the long tunnel, laden heavily. Even Mr. Gray, feeble as he was, had to carry the statue of Chasca, which weighed only about five pounds but which was a marvelously well wrought bit of purest gold: small though it was, for gold is heavy, every feature, every line, was perfect. Herding them before him like the llamas he called them, Pizzara drove his bearers along, prodding the morose Indians with his two ready weapons. They reached the outlet into the dry aqueduct: it was still a tunnel for the distance it ran under the temple gardens, but its stones were carefully fitted and joined with some hard, glasslike cement to help retain the water if the emergency ever arose in which it would inundate the underground ways: and, thought most of them, here was the emergency—if the truth were discovered by the Incas! The first beginnings of dawn were in the Eastern sky when the party, their torch flung aside, came to the point where the water way was no longer under the gardens but ran, as an open, deep cut, to the mighty cistern which distributed the water from the mountain reservoirs. “How are we going to get out of this?” Cliff asked as they saw the open sky through the slit of open stone above them. “Caya’s family waits with ropes near the cistern,” Bill informed them all: he had learned of this from Pizzara who had allowed the young soldier to make his plans before he knew that the gold would be stolen; had Pizzara dropped a hint of his true purpose it is probable that the Indian would have tried to rescue his sister and then informed the Inca’s troop of the Spaniard’s plan; but Pizzara was cunning. “But suppose they discover the escape?” broke in Nicky. “When do they change guards again, Bill—ask Caya!” “It has been done already,” Bill said. “I have asked her. That is why Pizzara is hurrying us. They must know that we are free and maybe they know that the gold is gone!” “How far must we go?” Cliff asked. “At least a mile.” “But won’t they see us in this open aqueduct?” “They probably won’t waste time searching,” Bill answered. “I expect that a chasqui-runner—has already been sent to the guards who handle the sluice gates.” Pizzara, himself, seemed anxious. He urged them to hasten. “Look!” whispered Caya, clutching Cliff’s arm. She pointed behind them. Against the growing illumination of the sky they saw a figure, slim, tall, standing out black against the sky, peering down at them. Suddenly he stood straight. Faintly they heard a hail and then the figure disappeared. “That was a watcher,” Bill said. “It’s an even chance whether there are soldiers close enough to shower us with arrows, or whether they get those gates open before we reach the place where the rope will help us climb out.” They needed no prodding from Pizzara. They ran over the loose pebbles and bits of loosened stone, stumbling, gasping, their lives in their hands; and yet, with all the danger, when Caya dropped her bundle Pizzara compelled her to stop and secure it. “How can we get away, even if we do get out?” Nicky panted as he asked the question. His bundle was getting heavier as the moments passed, and his excitement, even though it lent him strength, seemed to make the needless extra burden seem silly; he wanted to drop it, to run faster; but they could go no faster than they did because of Mr. Gray’s feeble condition. “If we can get to the place my father will help us with the rope,” Caya said. “There is a great hole in the cistern, part way down. If we can get in there before the soldiers see us we can hide and they will not think of looking for us there.” “But won’t the water drown us?” asked Cliff. “I think it may not rise that high,” she said. “But hurry—there we shall be safe!” “Yes,” Cliff panted. “If we can get there in time!” |
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