  “This is a splendid place to stop until we can bleach out the copper color from our skins,” Mr. Whitley suggested. “We will have to camp somewhere while Bill goes to the nearest settlement and gets something to take out this coloring: we left Cuzco as white people; we do not want to return in red skins.” “That will enable me to study this old ruin—I think it was a fortress,” Mr. Gray added. “And, besides, I will admit that our last climb tired me greatly.” “Why can’t we go where we had our camp before—down below?” Nicky inquired. “We can guard this place better,” Tom told him. “One man can watch that cleft we came from and we can loosen the osier ladder and draw it up: then no one can surprise us.” “Do you think anybody would try?” Nicky asked. Cliff spoke up: he had been quite silent and thoughtful for many minutes. “I vote to go on,” he said. Even Mr. Whitley looked at him in surprise. “Why?” he asked. “I have been thinking about ‘Whackey,’” Cliff replied. “Something has kept reminding me of him ever since we began to make camp here.” “That is natural,” Mr. Whitley explained. “That is because you captured him, strung him up by the heels, up here.” “Yes,” Cliff admitted: then he frowned. “But that wouldn’t make me feel as though he might be close to us now, would it?” “Do you feel that way?” asked Bill. Cliff nodded. “I keep thinking what I would do if I were in Whackey’s place,” he said. “And what do you think you’d do?” Nicky demanded. “This,” answered Cliff. “Suppose me to be Huayca. Well, I slipped away and tried an ambush in the white pass and then reported to my ruler, the Inca. Then, a little later, I found out that my ambush had not frightened the white invaders away. Do you see what I am trying to make plain?” “Yes,” Tom nodded. “When the white invaders escaped from the dungeons and you heard about it, you might go with a party—or even lead it, as Whackey, of course—to destroy them if they were in the secret pass.” “How would he know that they were not drowned in the tunnel?” Nicky objected. “How could he believe they were in the secret pass?” “Easy!” Cliff said. “We—the white invaders were seen in the open part of the aqueduct by a chasqui—remember? Well, that proved they were not drowned in the flooded tunnels. But they were not found in the aqueduct, either, when daylight came.” “That’s so,” Nicky agreed. “Then what?” “Then—still pretending I am Huayca!—I would think they might have climbed out or someone might have helped—the Spaniard, maybe. The high priest might tell me that Pizzara knew about the secret pass or had heard of it. So I would go there.” “Well,” said Bill, “that all fits in. Pizzara was caught during the night——” “There!” cried Cliff, eagerly. “That is the point. It was at night! His band was wiped out. Now—if I were Whackey, I think I would go back there in daylight! And——” “I see!” Tom put in. “Even at night the party could see that stuff was strewn all around. And in daytime—it was gone!” “That is just what I mean!” Cliff was eager. “By gravy!” Bill broke in, “I didn’t even think about that. Of course the average Peruvian is no detective and might not go as deep as that. But he would wonder what happened to all the stuff!” “Huayca was a very intelligent fellow,” Mr. Whitley admitted. “If he did as Cliff said——” He stopped, thinking deeply. “Then he might gather a party and follow us!” Nicky exclaimed. “Why haven’t they overtaken us sooner, then?” Bill asked. “They can travel faster than we did.” “Well,” said Cliff, “still being Whackey, I think I would follow all by myself.” “Why?” It was like a chorus of well trained voices—all asked the question at one time. “Less chance of being noticed for one thing. For another—and from what I saw of them I think this is how an Inca noble would think—I could let the party get to this ledge and make camp. Then I could wait until dark, slip over and cut away the ladder, wait until the camp was quiet to do it. Then I could pick them off, one by one, with a sling or bow and arrows, in the dawn. If any of the party hid in the ruins I could starve them out.” “And that is exactly the way an Indian’s mind—an Inca, not an American Indian—would work,” Mr. Gray nodded at Cliff. “I prophesy that will happen if we stay here,” Cliff said boldly. And in all but one particular he was exactly right! |
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