  “Amadale is going to be tamer for us, than a sick rabbit,” volunteered Nicky. He and Tom and Cliff were once more in the couch swing on Aunt Lucy’s porch. But this time no mysterious Spaniard, no queer Indian faced them. Instead, a tall, lanky, lean-jawed man with a likeable grin squatted on the floor, idly whittling to a satiny finish a long piece of wood. Had the chums looked through the living room window they could have seen Mr. Gray, Cliff’s father, entirely restored to health, showing his collection of Inca treasures to three scholars. Mr. Whitley, tilted back comfortably in a chair, its back against the porch rail, smiled at Nicky. “First class in History—and ancient history at that!—begins tomorrow,” he chuckled. “Thomas, please tell me what Inca is the most famous.” “Whackey!” grinned Tom. “He gave America back its citizens.” “And now, Nicholas, what was the empire of the Incas most famed for?” “Adventure!” promptly replied Nicky. “Cliff,” continued the instructor, carrying on his joke, “You next. What fact will you remember most about the Incas?” “My father’s rescue,” said Cliff seriously. That rather ended the joke for they all became sober as they recalled how much danger they had faced to save him. “I told you we’d come out all right if we all thought we could!” Nicky said. “We came out better than all right!” declared Tom, fondling the bright tan colored and brand new bank pass book in which his share of the treasure showed as a sizeable deposit. The treasure they had managed to get to Cuzco had been so cleverly packed in among their old dunnage that the sleepy officials who had no idea that these men had been among fabulous treasures did not even bother to examine their old packs, and so, although there would have been a large part of the beautifully wrought objects claimed by the Peruvian government, none was noted and they got it all through. In America, because of its value as art objects and because they did not intend to dispose of any of it for profit, there was no duty charged. Their share of the revenue came from the purse of Cliff’s father. While he did not buy the gold directly from them, to each he gave a substantial sum for deposit. Mr. Whitley had been reimbursed for his expenditures and had refused to take a cent more. Bill, though, had accepted a good amount with which to buy the ranch for which he yearned. For Mr. Gray, scholar and writer of many books, found on his return to America that his volumes already written had brought in a steady royalty and for a series of articles on the life and customs of the Incas he received a large cash payment. They had agreed not to disclose to the world the actual adventures they had experienced: also, each was bound by the most solemn oath of the Mystery Boys not to divulge the fact that the Incas still lived in their valley. To do so, Mr. Gray urged, would send a host of adventurers—or worse—to invade the hills and to rob and harm the Incas. Instead they let it be understood that the scholar had been on an expedition, had found some valuable old things in the hills and had secured them for the gift which he made of them to a National museum. Bill was visiting the four comrades who, with Cliff’s father, had endeared themselves to him. Soon he would go further West to pick out a good ranch location. “I wonder if Bill will find it as much excitement chasing steers and branding them as he found it rescuing my father?” Cliff said. “Nope!” answered Bill. “But don’t forget—I’m one of the Mystery Boys still. One of these days I expect there will be a letter coming by airmail to my ranch—‘Dear Bill, come a-riding! We’re going to try to find Tom’s sister and discover what that cipher is that Nicky’s got.’” “Why must we wait?” urged Nicky. “We’re all here now!” “There is school!” reminded Mr. Whitley. “Yes,” agreed Nicky. “But it will be tame after the Incas.” “But we can do one thing,” Tom broke in. “We can decide how to go about finding out what’s in Nicky’s cipher, can’t we?” “I think it will be wiser to wait until our heads are free from lessons,” smiled Mr. Whitley. “I, for one, cannot go on any further quest for treasure until I have fulfilled my contract with the Amadale Academy.” “Well,” said Nicky, the irrepressible, glancing at his friends as, out of the corner of his eye he saw Aunt Lucy within the living room, approaching the window with a big plateful of cakes and a pitcher of lemonade. “Well, I know one thing we can decide on, right now.” “What?” they all asked him. Nicky grinned. Gently he began stroking his left ear with the middle finger of that hand. It was the call for a council. Promptly, and somewhat curiously, Tom, Cliff, Bill and Mr. Whitley sat with folded arms—the sign that they were in readiness. The Mystery Boys were again in council. “You’ll promise on the oath, ‘Seeing All, I see nothing: Knowing All, I know nothing: Telling All, I tell nothing’——?” “Certainly we’ll promise!” said Tom impatiently. “What is it, Nicky?” “I know!” cried Cliff, as Aunt Lucy stood, smiling, at the window, “We’ve got to decide a great question!” “What?” asked Bill. Grinning from ear to ear Nicky pointed to his watch, then jammed a finger toward his open mouth—and grabbed a cookie! “When do we eat?” he shouted. They all laughed and each elevated his right hand to rub his stomach. “Now!” they replied. And the council of the Mystery Boys was dissolved! THE END |
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