Harry's hostess—who now mentioned that she bore the name of Cachama— appeared to be in a singularly communicative mood that day, for she beguiled the time by not only pointing out and naming the principal peaks in sight, but she also related several very interesting legends connected with certain of them and with the country generally, going back to the time before the conquest, and painting in dazzling colours the glories of the Inca dynasty, and the incredible wealth of the ancient rulers of Peru. She appeared to be pretty intimately acquainted with the history of the conquest of the country by Pizarro, and had many bitter things to say of the strange pusillanimity of the Inca, Atahuallpa, on that fatal 16th of November, 1532, when he went, open- eyed, into the trap prepared for him at Caxamalca, and suffered himself to be seized, in the presence of his entire army, by a mere handful of Spaniards. She gave a most emphatic denial to the suggestion that the country had benefited by the civilised conditions that had followed the conquest.

"No, no," said she, "we are infinitely worse off in every way, to-day, than we were under the rule of the Incas. Poverty, misery, oppression, and suffering of every kind are to be met with on all hands and wherever one goes, while four hundred years ago we had a far higher state of civilisation than now exists, in which poverty and oppression, with their countless attendant evils, were unknown. But it will not last for ever, I tell you; brighter and happier days are in store for us of the ancient race, and perhaps even I, old as I am, may live to see it. Yes, I, poor though I am, and compelled to lodge my worn-out body in a cave, have royal blood in my veins, as had my husband, Yupanqui; we are both descended from Huayna Capac, and, but for Atahuallpa's incredible folly, I might have been enjoying comfort and affluence to-day; ay, and possibly my husband might also have been living."

Escombe had read Prescott's Conquest of Peru during his schooldays, and the romantic story had implanted within his mind a keen interest in everything pertaining to the history of the country, which had never waned, and which had received a fresh stimulus when he learned that he was not only to visit and spend some time in Peru but also to explore certain parts of it. And now, to find himself actually conversing with someone who claimed descent from those proud Incas, who appeared to have lived in a regal splendour only to be equalled by that of the potentates of the Arabian Nights, seemed to him to be a rare slice of good luck; he was therefore careful to say nothing calculated to divert the conversation from the channel in which it was so satisfactorily flowing, but, on the contrary, did everything he could to keep it there. He was, however, very much surprised to find his hostess looking forward so confidently to brighter and happier times for the despised Indian race; for if any one thing seemed absolutely certain, it was that the time was not very far distant when the few scattered survivors must perish, and the race vanish from the face of the earth. It was therefore in somewhat incredulous tones that he turned to Cachama and said:

"What grounds have you for the hope—or should I call it the certainty— that better days are in store for your race? To me it seems that there are very few of you left."

"Ay," she answered, "it may so seem to you, for you have as yet seen but little of the country save the terra caliente, and very few of us are now to be found near the coast. But when you get farther up among the mountains, and especially when you get into the neighbourhood of Lake Titicaca, you will find that we have not all perished. Furthermore, it is said—with what truth I know not—that when Atahuallpa fell into the hands of the Conquistadors, and was strangled by torchlight in the great plaza of Caxamalca, many of the nobles who had been with him fled with their families into the heart of the mountains, and, establishing themselves in a certain secret place, set to work, at the bidding of one Titucocha, a priest of the Sun, to build a new City of the Sun—beside the glories of which those of Cuzco were to be as nothing—against the time when our Lord the Sun should again send Manco Capac, the founder of the Inca dynasty, back to earth to restore the dynasty in all its ancient splendour."

"And do you really believe that such a restoration is possible?" asked Escombe with a smile at the old woman's credulity.

"Ay," answered Cachama with conviction, "I more than believe, I know! For I have the gift of foreknowledge, to a certain extent, and from my earliest childhood I have felt convinced that the prophecy is true—I cannot explain how, or why; I only know that it is so. And with the passage of the years I have ever felt that the time for its fulfilment was drawing nearer, until now I know that it is so close at hand that even I, old though I am, may live to see it. I would that I could feel as sure of the continuance of the dynasty as I am of its restoration; but I cannot; I can only see—dimly—up to a certain point, beyond which everything is misty and uncertain, with a vague suggestion of disaster which fills, me with foreboding."



CHAPTER FIVE.

WHAT HAS BECOME OF BUTLER?

On the second day after the dispatch of Yupanqui to the surveyors' camp, he had duly returned with a curt officially worded note from Butler acknowledging the receipt of Escombe's "report" of his accident and its result, and requesting the latter to rejoin the survey party with the least possible delay, "as his absence was the cause of much inconvenience and delay in the progress of the survey". Not a word of regret at the occurrence of the accident, much less anything that could be construed into an admission that the writer's own unreasonable demands and orders were the cause of the mishap; and not even a word of congratulation at Escombe's narrow escape from a terrible death; simply a formal request that he would rejoin, "with the least possible delay", for a certain good and sufficient reason. Poor Harry shrugged his shoulders with something very like contempt for the hidebound creature who was, to a great extent, the master of his fate, and who seemed to be absolutely destitute of the very smallest shred of good feeling. He felt that it would be quite hopeless to look for any praise or appreciation from such a man; he foresaw that the fellow would appropriate to himself whatever credit might result from the expedition, and lay upon his (Harry's) shoulders the onus of any shortcomings of complete success. And he came to the conclusion that since such a chief was not worth putting oneself out for, he would remain where he was until it was quite certain that he could travel with perfect safety, and resume duty immediately upon his return to camp. But he was young, and possessed a thoroughly sound constitution; moreover, he had miraculously escaped with unbroken bones, his recovery therefore was rapid, and on the nineteenth day after the accident he rejoined the camp and formally reported himself as prepared to resume duty.

It had been Butler's custom, from the commencement of the survey, to flag out a certain length of route daily, and to insist—without very much regard to the difficulties of the task—that that amount of work should be done by nightfall. This length of route usually amounted to from two to three miles, and Escombe had once or twice protested—when the natural difficulties of the work were excessive—that he could not undertake to guarantee the accuracy of his work if so much were demanded of him; to which Butler had retorted that, in his opinion, the amount of work demanded was exceedingly moderate, that he should expect it to be done, and that he should hold Escombe responsible for all inaccuracies. Yet, upon Escombe's return to camp he found that, during the nineteen days of his absence, Butler had advanced the survey by a distance of less than four miles! the explanation which the elder man condescended to make being that, during the four days immediately following the accident, no survey work at all had been done, the whole body of peons having been scattered in various directions, seeking some clue to Harry's fate.

For a week or two after Escombe's return to camp matters went very much more smoothly. Whether it was that Harry's accident had given Butler a wholesome fright, or that the conviction had been forced upon the latter that he had been outrageously exacting, there was nothing to show, but certain it was that, for a while, Escombe was allowed to take his own time over his work and do it his own way, with the result that while this state of affairs lasted the lad actually took pleasure in, nay, thoroughly enjoyed, his work. But on the third week after his return Harry began to detect signs that these agreeable conditions were drawing to an end. Thenceforth Butler allowed himself to gradually drift back into his former exacting and autocratic ways, until at length life in the camp again became a veritable purgatory for everybody concerned, Butler himself included, the natural result of his tyrannical conduct being that everybody—Harry excepted—did everything in his power to thwart him, while even the lad himself ceased to attempt the apparently impossible task of pleasing his chief.

In this unpleasant and unsatisfactory manner the railway survey proceeded for the two months following Escombe's return to duty; by which time Butler's behaviour had become so unendurable that nearly three-fourths of the peons originally engaged had deserted, notwithstanding the fact that their desertion involved them in the loss of a sum in wages that, to these humble toilers, represented quite a little fortune, and their places had been filled by others of a much less desirable type in every way. And this was all the more to be regretted since the surveyors were now in the very heart of the mountains, where the natural difficulties to be contended with were at their worst, while the newcomers, being of course utterly strange to such work, had to be taught their duties, down to the simplest detail, under the most adverse conditions possible. It can be readily understood that the attempt to instruct a set of ignorant, stupid, sullen, and lawless half-castes under such conditions was a task of surpassing difficulty, resulting in constant acute friction, and demanding the nicest judgment and the utmost diplomacy upon the part of the teachers. Harry met this difficulty by bringing to his assistance an almost sublime patience, that in the course of time—and not a very long time either—completely wore down the opposition of his unwilling pupils and brought a change in their mental attitude which was as surprising as it was satisfactory. Butler, however, knew not the meaning of the word "patience", nor did his character contain the smallest particle of that valuable quality; his method was what he termed "the rough-and-ready", and consisted in emphasising every order, and item of construction, with a kick! It was not surprising, therefore, that the relations between him and the peons daily grew more strained.

It was when the tension between Butler on the one hand and the peons on the other had developed to such an extent that the labourers had been goaded into a state of almost open mutiny, that the former set out as usual, on horseback, one morning, accompanied by a half-dozen of the new hands, to seek for and stake out a few miles farther of practicable route. Such a duty as this he usually contrived to complete in time to return to the camp for lunch, after which he was wont to saunter out along the line until he encountered Harry, when he would spend the remainder of the day in making the poor lad's life a burden to him by finding fault with everything he did, frequently insisting upon having some particularly awkward and difficult piece of work done over again. Consequently the progress of the survey was abnormally and exasperatingly slow; and when, upon the day in question, Butler failed to put in an appearance on the scene of operations, young Escombe's first feeling was one of gratification, for he was just then engaged upon an exceptionally difficult task which he was most anxious to complete without being interfered with. So absorbed was the lad in his work that he had not much thought to spare for speculation as to the reason for so unusual a piece of good luck, although it is true that, as the afternoon wore on, he did once or twice permit himself to wonder whether "perchance" he had to thank a slight touch of indisposition, or possibly a sprained ankle, for this unexpected and most welcome freedom from interruption. But when at length, upon his arrival in camp at the conclusion of his day's survey work, he learned, to his astonishment, that neither Butler nor his party of peons had returned, the impression forced itself upon him that something serious had happened, and mustering afresh his own gang of tired and hungry assistants, and providing them with lanterns, ropes, and other aids to a search, he led them forth along the survey line in quest of the absent ones.

For a distance of nearly two miles from the camp the route of the missing party was easily followed, being marked by stakes at frequent intervals, indicating the line chosen by Butler as that to be surveyed by Escombe. It ended at the foot of a precipitous slope of bare rock towering aloft some seven or eight hundred feet, with further heights beyond it. Here the searchers were brought to an abrupt halt, for Harry was fully aware that no sane engineer would for a single moment dream of carrying an ordinary railway up that rocky acclivity, while it was well understood that the rack system of construction was to be avoided, if possible, upon the score of expense. The probability was that Butler, upon reaching this point, and finding himself confronted by the necessity to make a wide detour, or, alternatively, to consider the question of a tunnel, had struck off, either to the right or to the left, on a tour of investigation; and there was the chance that, becoming involved in the maze-like intricacies of his surroundings, he had decided to camp out for the night rather than risk an accident by attempting to return in darkness over difficult ground. But this was a question which Harry felt ought to be settled forthwith, and he accordingly issued instructions to his peons to search for the spoor of the party and follow it up. To find the spoor was a very easy matter, for the last stake had been driven in comparatively soft ground, and despite the fact that it was by this time almost pitch dark, a short search, aided by the light of the lanterns, disclosed the hoof prints of Butlers horse, which led off to the left, and which were followed until the searchers found themselves on the borders of an extensive pine wood growing on hard, steeply rising ground over which it was impossible to trace further the trail in the darkness. This impossibility once realised, the search was abandoned for the night, and Harry very reluctantly gave the word for a return to camp, which was reached about nine o'clock.

At daybreak the next morning the camp was roused, breakfast prepared and eaten, and, taking with them rations to last until nightfall, the search party again set out upon their quest, making their way direct to the spot where the trail had been lost on the previous night, where it was again picked up without much trouble. It led in straight toward the heart of the wood, and was followed, with ever-increasing difficulty, for a distance of about three-quarters of a mile until it was lost on hard, shaley ground, nor were the utmost efforts of the party equal to finding it again. After carefully considering the situation, therefore, Escombe detailed one man, an Indian, to accompany him, and, placing the remainder of the peons in charge of a man whom he believed he could trust, with instructions to search the wood thoroughly, returned to the outskirts of the timber, and, beginning at the spot where the trail entered it, proceeded, with the assistance of the Indian, to encircle the wood, carefully examining every foot of the ground as they went, in the hope that, if Butler and his party had passed through the timber and emerged on its other side, the Indian would succeed in picking up the spoor. But the hope was vain, for the wood was completely encircled— the task occupying the entire day—without the discovery of the faintest trace or sign of the passage of the missing party, which was not at all surprising, for when the far side of the wood was reached the soil proved to be of so stony a character, thickly interspersed with great outcrops of rock, that even the most skilled and keen-eyed of trackers might have been excused for failing in the search for footprints on so unyielding a surface. It was a little puzzling to Harry that not even the horse had left any trace behind him; but this was accounted for when, upon rejoining the party who had been detailed to search the interior of the wood, it was discovered that the animal had been found by them, still saddled and bridled, wandering aimlessly about in search of such scanty herbage as the soil there afforded. Upon the horse being brought to him, the young Englishman—mindful of the scarcely concealed hatred which Butler had, almost wantonly, as it seemed, aroused in the breasts of the peons—immediately subjected the animal and his trappings to a most rigorous examination in search of any sign of possible violence, but nothing of the kind could be found, and the only result of the examination was the conclusion, to which everything pointed, that Butler had, for some reason, voluntarily dismounted and at least temporarily abandoned the animal.

Butler and his party had now been missing for full twenty-four hours, and Harry speedily arrived at two conclusions which inexorably led him to a third. The first conclusion at which he arrived was that the peons who had accompanied his chief, accustomed as they had been from their earliest childhood to make their way about the country, were so little likely to have lost their way that that theory might be unhesitatingly abandoned; the second was that Butler would certainly not have absented himself purposely from the camp for a whole night and a day, and that therefore—this was the third conclusion—something had gone very seriously wrong. The next problem that presented itself for solution was: What was it that had gone wrong? Had the entire party met with an accident? It was most unlikely. There were seven of them altogether, and in the event of an accident, surely at least one of the seven would have escaped and returned to the camp for help. Had they been seized and carried off by brigands? When Harry put this question to the peons who remained with him he was laughed at good-naturedly and assured that, in the first place, there were no brigands in Peru, so far as they were aware; and, in the second place, that if perchance there were they would probably not have contented themselves with simply carrying off seven men, six of whom would be only an encumbrance to them, but would almost certainly have attacked and sacked the camp some time during the hours of daylight, when it was left comparatively unprotected. There was but one other probable alternative of which Harry could think, and that was that Butler's peons, exasperated at length beyond endurance by some fresh piece of petty tyranny on the white man's part, had deserted, carrying off their employer with them, either with the purpose of being revenged upon him, or in the hope that by holding him as a hostage they might be able to secure payment of the amount of wages due to them. But when Escombe submitted this alternative to his peons for their consideration and opinion, they shook their heads and emphatically declared that they did not believe that any such thing had happened. And when further asked for their opinion as to what had happened, they simply answered that they did not know what to think. But to Harry it seemed that there was a certain lack of spontaneity in this reply, which caused him to doubt whether the speakers were quite sincere in so saying.

With a very heavy load of responsibility thus unexpectedly thrown upon his shoulders, the young Englishman spent several anxious hours in camp that night pondering upon what was the proper course for him now to pursue, and he finally came to the conclusion that, having ascertained beyond much possibility of doubt that his chief had been abducted, the next thing to be done was to discover whither and under what circumstances he had been carried off, and then to take the necessary steps to effect his rescue. On the following morning, therefore, he mustered the peons who still remained with him, and briefly explaining to them his theory of an abduction, dispatched six of them in as many different directions to seek for traces of the missing party, offering a substantial reward to the one who should bring him such information as should lead to the recovery of the missing white man; and then, taking a couple of sure-footed mules, set off in company with an Indian tracker to scour the entire neighbourhood, in the hope of obtaining some clue to the whereabouts of the missing party from some of the people by whom that particular part of the country was sparsely inhabited. And in order to avoid the loss of time which would be entailed by returning to camp at night, he took with him three days' provisions for himself and his guide, intending to carry out as exhaustive a search as possible in that space of time.

Thus far the search had been prosecuted entirely in a forward direction; but at the last moment, before setting out upon his three days' quest, it suddenly occurred to Escombe that the missing ones might possibly have doubled back and be making their way toward the sea coast, so in order to test the value of this theory he determined to return a few miles along the line of the survey and see whether he could discover any traces of them in that direction.

At this time the surveyors were in the heart of an exceptionally difficult tract of country, where the obstacles to rapid work were such that, since Harry's return to duty after his adventures in the quebrada, they had not advanced very much more than twenty miles from that spot; thus it was still early in the afternoon of the first day when he found himself gazing down into the abyss, wherein he had so narrowly escaped a terrible death. By a natural association of ideas he no sooner beheld the scene so indelibly engraven upon his memory than his thoughts reverted to Cachama, his kind-hearted old Indian nurse, and her son Yupanqui, and he vaguely wondered whether perhaps either of these might be able to afford him any information or suggestion that would assist him in his quest. The more he thought of it the more did the idea grow upon his mind, and at length he came to the decision that he might as well prosecute his search in the direction of their cave as in any other, and he forthwith communicated his decision to his guide, who, somewhat to Escombe's surprise, at once admitted that he was well acquainted with Cachama and her son, and offered to conduct the young Englishman to the cave in which the two resided, by a short route, if Harry would consent to be blindfolded during their passage of certain portions of the way. To this the lad readily agreed—for he was by this time becoming exceedingly anxious on Butler's account—and thereupon the Indian, having hobbled the mules, demanded Harry's pocket—handkerchief and immediately proceeded to blindfold the owner therewith, after which, with joined hands, the pair resumed their way, travelling for two full hours or more over exceedingly broken and difficult ground. Then the pocket-handkerchief was removed, and Harry found himself standing in the midst of a number of enormous fallen boulders at the foot of a stupendous cliff, and facing an opening in the latter which had all the appearance of being the mouth of a cavern. But by what route he had arrived at the spot he could not tell, for he was so completely hemmed in on every side by the boulders in the midst of which he stood that the surrounding landscape was completely shut out, nothing being visible save the boulders and the face of the cliff with the opening in it. That he was correct in his surmise that this opening was a cavern was now demonstrated by his Indian guide, who said:

"Be pleased to take my hand again, Senor, and follow me without fear. This is one of several entrances to the cavern in which Cachama dwells. You will find the ground smooth and even for almost the entire distance, and presently we shall find torches by which to light our way."

And so, as a matter of fact, they did; for after traversing some ten or fifteen yards the Indian halted and, releasing Escombe's hand, was heard groping about in the darkness, and a moment later the rattling of dry branches reached the lad's ears.

"Now, Senor," came the voice of the Indian out of the darkness, "if you will graciously condescend to produce fire by means of those small sticks which you call 'matches' we shall soon have light to guide our steps."

So said, so done; and as the torch kindled and blazed up the pair found themselves standing in a rugged rock passage some five feet wide and about eight feet high, with a perfectly smooth floor which, in the flickering, uncertain light of the torch, presented the appearance of having been brought into this condition by human agency. It was not only smooth, but also level at the point where they stood. But even as they started to resume their journey—the Indian bearing the torch and leading the way—Harry saw that it almost immediately began to dip, and ere they had advanced many paces the dip became so pronounced that the smooth floor gave place to a long flight of roughly hewn steps, at first broad and shallow, but rapidly steepening, until they became so narrow and deep as to necessitate a considerable amount of care in the negotiation of them. To Harry this flight seemed interminable; there must have been hundreds of steps, for—although the lad did not time himself—the descent appeared to have occupied considerably more than half an hour; but at length they once more reached level ground and, leaving the steps behind them, proceeded to traverse a narrow and winding passage, the air in which smelt stale and musty, while here and there they were obliged to squeeze their painful way between long, spiky stalactites and stalagmites until they came to more steps—this time leading upward. Harry counted these; there were only one hundred and twenty-three of them, and they were not nearly so steep as the others; and then they ceased, and the pair came to a gently rising floor, along which they passed for about half a mile, finally entering a spacious chamber or cavern, where, very much to the young Englishman's surprise, they found Cachama awaiting them with a torch in her hand.

It was perfectly evident that the old lady was intensely angry, for upon the appearance of her visitors she darted toward them and, shaking her fist furiously in the face of the Indian—whom, by the way, she addressed as Arima—she poured out upon him a torrent of strange words, the virulence of which could be pretty accurately estimated by the effect which they produced upon their recipient, for poor Arima writhed under them as though they had been the lash of a whip. For fully ten minutes the old woman stormed relentlessly before she was reduced to silence through want of breath, and then the Indian got his chance to reply, and apparently vindicate himself, for, as he proceeded with what appeared to Escombe to be his explanation, Cachama's wrath gradually subsided until she became sufficiently mistress of herself to greet the young white man, which she did with more cordiality than her previous outburst had led him to expect.

"Welcome back to my poor home, Senor!" she exclaimed. "I knew that you were coming, and am glad to see you; but that dolt Arima enraged me, for he brought you by the secret way, although he knew that it is forbidden to reveal that way, or even the fact of its existence, to strangers. He tells me, however, that the matter is urgent, and that he adopted the precaution of blindfolding you so that you might not learn the secret of the approach, therefore I will let the matter pass, especially as I feel certain that I have but to express the wish and you will forget that such a way exists."

"Certainly I will, Mama Cachama," answered Harry cheerfully. "You saved my life not long ago, and I should be an ingrate indeed if I refused to conform to your wishes in so simple a matter as that. But I understood you to say that you knew I was coming to you! How on earth could you possibly know that? I didn't know it myself until a few hours ago!"

"Did not I tell you that I possess the gift of foreknowledge?" remarked Cachama somewhat impatiently. "You had no sooner conceived the idea of coming to me than I became aware of it; nay, I even knew the way by which you were coming, and it was that knowledge which angered me, for I knew that you could not visit the cave by the secret approach except with the help of one of us! But let that pass. Follow me to my living room, where I have provided a meal for you; and while you are partaking of it you may tell me in what manner you think I can assist you."

Ten minutes later Escombe once more found himself in the cavern which he knew so well, partaking of a most excellent stew, and detailing to his hostess between mouthfuls all the particulars relating to the disappearance of Butler and his party of peons. He brought his recital to a close by enquiring whether Cachama or Yupanqui had chanced to see any of the missing ones.

"No," said Cachama. "They have not passed near here, or Yupanqui would certainly have seen something of them and mentioned the fact to me. But you have done well to come to me, for it will be strange indeed if I cannot help you. You wish to know what has become of the Senor whom you call Butler; is not that so? Very well. Seat yourself there before me, hold my two hands in yours, and recall to your mind as vividly as possible all the circumstances, be they ever so trivial, that you can remember relating to the doings of the day upon which the Senor disappeared, beginning with the moment of your awakening. Now begin, for I am ready."

While the old creature spoke she was arranging matters in such a way that she and Escombe could sit facing each other, knee to knee and with their hands clasped, she leaning slightly back in a reclining posture, with her eyes upturned toward the invisible roof of the cavern. As she finished speaking the young Englishman directed his thoughts backward to the morning of two days ago, mentally reproducing every incident of the day, beginning with the moment when he arose from his camp bed, and intending to continue, if need were, to that other moment when, after the long fruitless search in the pine wood, he cast himself on that same bed at the end of the day and, completely exhausted, sank to sleep.

But when he had reached this latter point of retrospection Mama Cachama's eyes were closed and, to Harry's chagrin, she appeared to have fallen into a deep sleep. Before, however, his disappointment had found time to express itself in words the old Indian woman began to speak in a low tone, as though soliloquising.

"Yes," she murmured, "I see it all quite distinctly, the white tents gleaming in the brilliant sunshine of early morning, with their ropes strained tight by the dew that has fallen heavily during the night; the peons moving hither and thither, shivering in the keen air as they make their preparations for the day's work; the horses and mules feeding eagerly; the fires blazing cheerily and the blue smoke streaming straight up in the still air. Yes, and I see the two Englishmen, the old and the young one, sitting at breakfast in their tents. The elder man is tall and thin, with black hair touched here and there with grey, and a close-clipped moustache. He is dressed in dark-grey woollen clothing, and wears brown boots reaching to the knee. He is glancing through a little book as he eats, writing in it from time to time. Now he rises and, taking a whip in his hand, puts on a soft cloth cap and goes to the tent door. He calls to one named Jose to bring him his horse, and then gives the young Ingles certain instructions, speaking sharply as though in anger.

"Now the horse is brought, and the elder Ingles mounts him somewhat awkwardly, as though he were not accustomed to life in the saddle, and rides off, accompanied by six peons who carry long poles with small flags on them, also heavy hammers, axes, machetes, ropes, and bundles of wooden stakes. The young Ingles also prepares to leave the camp, and busies himself in examining certain strange instruments that are packed in boxes of polished wood. But it is the elder Ingles that I must follow. He leads the way over rising ground, riding toward a snow-clad peak that gleams like silver in the far distance, pausing occasionally while his peons drive a stake into the ground where directed by him. They proceed thus until they find themselves facing a bare rocky slope so steep that scarcely might a llama climb it; and here they pause for a time while the Ingles looks about him. Then they move off to the left, skirting the precipice until they come to a great wood growing on a steep spur of the mountain. They enter this wood and penetrate it for a considerable distance, the ground ever rising more steeply and becoming looser and more difficult as they go. Here the horse finds it so hard to keep his feet, and is in such constant danger of falling, that at length the rider dismounts and, leaving the horse standing, presses forward as though anxious to get to the other side of the wood, his peons following and whispering eagerly together. They are encumbered with the various articles which they carry, and consequently cannot travel over that steep, loose ground so rapidly as the Englishman, who carries nothing but his riding whip and one of the poles with a flag on it, which he uses to help him over the rough ground, and he turns upon them from time to time with angry words, urging them to greater exertion. At first they answer nothing; but at length the strictures of the Ingles goad them to retort, humbly in the beginning, but soon with such heat that he lifts his whip and strikes one of them savagely with it across the face. And at that, as though the blow were a signal, every peon flings from him his burden, and the whole of them hurl themselves upon the white man and bear him to the ground, the one who was struck raising his machete as though to split the skull of his enemy."



CHAPTER SIX.

FOUND!

At this point Mama Cachama became greatly agitated, and struggled violently in an endeavour to wrench her hands out of Escombe's grasp, crying that they were going to murder the Englishman, and that she would not remain to see it. But the vision which she had thus far described was of so extraordinary a character, and impressed the young man so strongly with a sense of its reality and truth, that he was determined to follow up the clue as far as possible; he therefore resolutely retained his grip upon the old woman's hands, under the impression that, if he released them, the vision would pass, possibly beyond recall.

But suddenly Cachama's struggles ceased, and she sighed as though relieved of some great fear.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "they will not kill him after all; one of the peons intervenes, pointing out that if the Englishman is killed, none of them may dare to again show their faces in the towns, for information of the murder will be given, and the Peruvian Corporation—who have employed the Englishman to do this work for them—will never rest until every one of the murderers is brought to justice. The others understand this at once, and agree that there shall be no murder; but they are binding the Englishman's hands and feet, so that he cannot escape; and now they are asking each other what will be best to do with him. There is much talk—some urge one thing, some another—now Jose, the man who prevented the murder, speaks—he proposes that the prisoner shall be carried to a certain place and there detained until the whole of their wages be paid them, after which they are to release their prisoner, and each man will go his way, working no more for the Englishman. Now they are pondering on the proposal—yes, they have all agreed to it; and now they are releasing the Englishman's feet, in order that he may walk with them, but his hands remain tied behind him, and one of the peons holds the end of the rope, to make sure that their prisoner shall not escape. Two others grasp him, one by either arm, to help him, for the ground is rough and steep, and the going bad. They move forward again, following an easterly direction—their progress is slow, for the Englishman stumbles at almost every step, his hands being tied. He declares that walking, under such circumstances, is impossible, and angrily demands to be released—but they laugh and jeer at him. He struggles on, falling frequently despite the assistance of the two men who are holding him, and at length the party emerge from the wood on its far side and find themselves on the spur of the mountain, on barren, rocky, open ground. Now they reach the crest of the spur, and, passing over it, still travelling in an easterly direction, descend into the valley beyond until they reach the margin of a small stream flowing northward. Here they pause in the shadow of an enormous granite rock of very remarkable appearance, for it bears a most extraordinary resemblance to the head and neck of an Indian—I know it well; and among us it is called 'The Inca's Head'. They sit down beneath this rock and proceed to eat and drink—for it is now two hours past midday—binding the Englishman's feet and releasing his hands to enable him to feed himself. Now the meal is over, and the party resume their march, going northward along the western bank of the stream and plunging ever deeper into the valley. The soil here is once more rich and fertile, being overgrown with long, rank grass—through which they leave a trail easy to follow—and dense masses of mimosa and other bush. Now it is evening, the valley grows dark, and the party prepare to camp for the night; they have found a suitable spot, quite close to the river bank, and are lighting a large fire. They eat and drink again. Now they have finished, and are disposing themselves to rest, one man of the party undertaking to remain awake for a certain time to watch the prisoner, until relieved by another who will perform the same service.

"The night passes; the light of dawn sweeps down the steep mountain slopes into the valley, and the peon who is watching the prisoner awakes his fellows. Again they eat and drink. Now they have finished their meal and resume their march, still following the western bank of the stream. I go with them as they plod on, hour after hour, until they reach a point where the stream turns westward, and here they take advantage of a shallow spot which enables them to cross to the other side. They are now marching eastward up the slope of the valley, and at length they emerge upon a great plateau, thickly dotted with extensive clumps of bush, interspersed here and there with wide belts of timber through which they pass. For many miles they plod onward, winding hither and thither among the clumps of bush and through the belts of forest trees, but all the while holding steadily toward the east. Night comes again; a fire is lighted, as on the preceding night, they eat and drink, and once more dispose themselves to sleep, one man again undertaking to watch the prisoner. For a time—how long I know not, but it appears to be about an hour—this man remains faithful to his duty; but, as the moments pass and the prisoner appears to be sleeping heavily, the watcher's vigilance relaxes, he grows drowsy, his eyelids close, he dozes, awakes, dozes again, once more awakes, and finally succumbs to sleep.

"Meanwhile the prisoner, who has to all appearance been sleeping heavily, has remained very wide awake, and, observing that his guard is not over watchful, proceeds to strain stealthily upon his bonds, which, he has noticed, are not drawn quite so tight as usual. Gradually he succeeds in loosening them to such an extent that eventually he is able to free one hand. To free the other at once becomes easy, and, this done, the prisoner very cautiously raises himself sufficiently to assure himself that his captors are all soundly sleeping. Satisfied of this, he rolls himself gently over and over, a few inches at a time, until he is outside the circle of his captors, when he rises to his feet and with infinite caution withdraws into the darkness, making for the nearest clump of bush, which, upon reaching, he places between himself and the faint glow of the dying camp fire. Hidden thus from his late captors, should any of them chance to awake and miss him, he now walks rapidly forward, constantly glancing over his shoulder in fear lest he should be pursued; and in this manner he soon places a couple of miles between himself and the sleeping peons. He believes that he is now returning toward the camp over the ground which he has already traversed, and he hastens onward as fast as the uneven nature of the ground will permit. But the night is dark, the stars are obscured by heavy masses of threatening rain-cloud; there is therefore no beacon by which he can guide his footsteps, and, unsuspected by himself, he has gradually swung round until he is heading south-east. And now the gathering storm breaks, the rain falls heavily, and in a few minutes the unhappy fugitive is drenched to the skin, and chilled to the marrow by the fierce and bitter wind which comes swooping down from the snowfields and glaciers of the higher Andes; yet he dares not take shelter from the storm, even in the recesses of a clump of scrub, for he fears that by dawn at the latest, his enemies will be on his track, and—forgetful or ignorant of the fact that the storm will obliterate his trail from all but dogs or experienced trackers—of which the peons have none—the fugitive is madly anxious to put as many miles as possible between himself and his pursuers. On he staggers, blindly and breathlessly, whipped by the pelting rain, buffeted by the furious wind, half-fainting already from exhaustion, yet spurred on by unreasoning terror—I think that unless he is quickly rescued the Englishman will die."

Escombe shuddered and went white to the lips. This man, whose every wandering footstep had been faithfully traced through Mama Cachama's marvellous clairvoyant gift, was a remorseless tyrant in his petty way, so curiously constituted that his one idea of pleasure appeared to be the making miserable the lives of all about him, even to going out of his way to do so, to such extent, indeed, that men had been heard to say bitterly that, as in the case of some noxious animal or reptile, the world would be the better for his death. The young Englishman could recall without effort many an occasion when he had been so harassed and worried, and his existence so embittered by the impish spite of this same Butler that even he, gentle and kindly as was his disposition in general, believed he could have contemplated the demise of the other with a feeling not far removed from equanimity. Yet, now that the man was in actual peril, all that was forgotten, every generous instinct in the lad sprang at once to the surface, his one idea was to hurry to the rescue, and he cried eagerly:

"Tell me exactly where to find him and I will go at once and bring him in."

"Wait, muchacho, wait!" exclaimed Cachama impatiently. "Let me follow him first as far as I may, lest I lose him, for now his way is growing erratic, his mind and body are becoming numb with the misery of his plight, and he no longer has any clear knowledge of anything, the one conviction which haunts him being that he must press onward anywhere—no matter where—otherwise his pursuers will overtake him and put him to a terrible death. Ah! now the dawn breaks, and the storm is subsiding; but the Englishman takes no note of this. He seems quite incapable of noticing anything now, but runs on aimlessly, panting and gasping, his breath bursting from his labouring lungs in great sobs, his eyes staring unseeingly before him, his limbs quivering and staggering beneath him, his thin clothing clinging in saturated tatters to his body, which is streaked here and there with blood where the thorns have torn him, as he burst through them in his headlong flight. Aha! the end must surely now be drawing near, for see, the foam upon his lips is tinged with blood, and rapidly grows a deeper crimson; he reels and stumbles as he runs—he is down—no—yes—he is up again—and staggers onwards for a few yards— now he is down again, falling with a crash—and, rolling over on his back with outstretched arms, lies motionless, his eyes closed, and the blood trickling out of the corners of his mouth."

"Is he dead, Mama Cachama? is he dead?" gasped Escombe, his grievances all forgotten now, and his sense of pity stirred to its uttermost depths by the shocking plight of his chief, so graphically painted by the words of the old Indian woman.

"Nay," answered Cachama, "he still lives, for his chest heaves and he now and then gasps for breath; but his flight is ended, for the present at least, and if you would find him with the life still in his body you must surely hasten."

"But how shall I find him?" demanded Harry. "You must direct me how to go straight to where he lies; for should it be necessary for us to pick up his trail and follow that, he would be dead long ere we could reach him."

"Where is Arima?" demanded Cachama. "Let him come to me."

"I am here," answered the Indian, drawing near to the old woman.

"Then listen attentively, Arima, and mark well what I say," commanded the Mama. She spoke to him for a full minute or more in the Indian tongue, of which Escombe comprehended enough to understand that she was describing what might be termed the bearings of the spot where Butler lay exhausted and senseless, Arima nodding his head understanding and murmuring here and there a word of comprehension as she went on. Her description ended, she paused for a few seconds, then murmured: "It is enough. Now let me awake, for I am old. I have wandered afar, and the journey has wearied me."

Whereupon, after an interval of a minute or two, she slowly opened her eyes, stared about her vacantly for a little, and finally said: "Ah, yes, I remember! I was to tell you something, Senor. Have you learned what you desired to know?"

"Yes, thanks," answered Harry, "always provided, of course, that— that,"—he was about to say—"that your information is reliable"; but substituted for those somewhat ungracious words—"that Arima can find the spot which you have described to him."

"Think you that you can find it, Arima?" demanded the old woman.

"Yes, Mama Cachama," answered Arima, "I shall find it without doubt; for I have listened attentively to all that you have said, and already know the direction generally, in which to seek it, while the particulars which you have given me are so explicit that I can scarcely miss the exact spot."

"That is well," approved Cachama. Then, turning to Escombe, she said: "And now, Senor, if you will remain with me for the rest of the day and the coming night it will give me pleasure, and I will do my best for your comfort; the afternoon is wellnigh spent, and if, as I understood you to say, you started from your camp shortly after daybreak this morning, you can scarcely return to it ere nightfall, and the way is a rough and dangerous one to travel in the darkness."

"Nevertheless, with many thanks for your hospitable offer, I must go," answered Harry, "for the matter is urgent, as you must know, for your last words to me were that if I would find my—friend with the life still in him I must hasten."

"Nay, amigo, I know nothing of what I told you while in my state of trance," answered the old woman; "but, whatever it may have been, you may depend that it was true; therefore if I bade you hasten, it is certain that hasten you must, and in that case it would be no kindness in me to urge you to stay. Yet you will not go until you have again eaten and drank."

"Thanks again, Mama," answered Harry, "but I fear we must. As you have said, the afternoon is far advanced, and there is therefore all the more reason why we should make the best possible use of every remaining moment of daylight. If you will excuse us, therefore, we will bid you adios and go forthwith. You have rendered me an inestimable service, Mama, for which mere words of thanks seem a very inadequate recompense, yet I will not offend you by offering any other reward. Still, if there is a way—"

"There is none—at present—amigo mio" interrupted the old woman; "nor do I wish any recompense beyond your thanks. If, as you say, I have been able to help you I am glad, and shall be glad to help you again whenever and as often as you may need my assistance. Nevertheless,"— looking with sudden intentness into the young Englishman's eyes—"I think—nay, I am certain—that a time is coming when, if you care to remember them, Mama Cachama and Yupanqui will be glad that they befriended you."

"Rest assured, then, Mama, that when that time arrives, you will not be forgotten," answered Harry. "And now, adios, until we meet again. Remember me to Yupanqui, and say that I am sorry I could not stay to see him. Are you ready, Arima? Then march!"

It was close upon midnight when Escombe and his Indian guide rode into camp, after a fatiguing and somewhat adventurous journey; for as Mama Cachama had said, the way was rough and by no means devoid of danger even in the daytime, while at night those dangers were multiplied a hundredfold. Enquiry revealed that none of the six peons whom Harry had that morning despatched to seek for traces of the missing party had returned, and the young man therefore gave Arima instructions to make all necessary preparations to start with him at daybreak, in search of the spot at which Cachama had described Butler as falling exhausted after his terrible flight through the night and storm. Of course Harry scarcely expected to find Butler there, and still less did he hope it, for in that event it would only too probably mean that the missing man was dead, whereas Harry hoped that, after lying exhausted for perhaps some hours, his chief would recover strength enough to make a further effort to return to camp; but he knew that in any case the search must necessarily start from the spot indicated by Cachama, and for that spot, therefore, he must make in the first instance.

It was broad daylight, but the sun had not yet risen above the snow- capped Andes when Escombe, accompanied by Arima, each of them mounted upon a sturdy mule, and the Indian leading Butler's saddled and bridled horse, rode out of camp the next morning on their quest for the missing man, taking with them a week's rations for each, and a similar quantity for Butler's use—should they be fortunate enough to find him—as well as a small supply of medical comforts, the whole contained in a pack securely strapped upon the saddle of the led horse.

For the first hour the route followed by Arima was identical with that described by Mama Cachama while in her clairvoyant state; but when they reached the wood wherein Butler's horse had been found straying, the Indian bore away to the right, and, skirting the belt of timber for some distance, cut through it near its southern extremity, emerging upon the mountain spur some three miles from, and much higher than, the spot where the first search party had come out. The crest of the spur now lay about half a mile in front of them, and upon reaching it the travellers beheld a magnificent prospect before them. The mountain spur sloped away steeply from their feet, plunging down until it was lost in a wide, densely wooded ravine about a mile in width, beyond which the ground again rose somewhat irregularly in a wide sweep of upland, gradually merging into foothills which, viewed from that distance, appeared to be the advance guard of the towering Andes. The atmosphere was exquisitely clear, revealing every object in the landscape with photographic sharpness, and Arima paused for a few minutes, with the double object of breathing the animals and taking a good, long, comprehensive view of the scene before him. For some minutes he gazed intently at the many landmarks, that stretched away before him and on either hand, and at length turned to Escombe and said, pointing:

"You see those twin peaks yonder, Senor?"

"Assuredly," assented Harry.

"And you also see that hill between them and us—the one, I mean, with the cloud shadow resting upon it which causes it to tell up dark against the sunlit mountain slopes beyond?"

"Certainly," again assented Harry.

"It is a few miles on the other side of that hill that we shall find the spot of which Mama Cachama spoke," explained Arima.

"Then you recognise the various marks which she described for your guidance, do you, and believe that she actually saw them in her trance?"

"Without doubt, Senor," answered the Indian in a tone of surprise, as though he wondered at the slight hint of incredulity suggested by the question.

"And do you think that, when we arrive, we shall find the chief there?" asked Harry.

"Nay, Senor, that I cannot say," answered Arima. "But this I know, that if he is still there when we reach the spot he will be dead."

"Yes," assented Escombe, "I fear you are right. And how long will it take us to reach the spot?"

"We shall do well if we get there before the sun sinks half-way down the heavens to-morrow," was the answer.

"To-morrow!" ejaculated Harry incredulously. "How far, then, is it from where we now stand?"

"If we could ride straight to it we might reach it to-day some two hours before sunset," answered Arima. "But that is impossible, Senor; our road lies off yonder to the right, along the slope of the mountain, to the nearest point at which it will be possible for us to cross the ravine; and when we have accomplished that, there will still be a toilsome ride of some three hours before us, ere we can hope to emerge from the ravine on the other side. We shall be fortunate if we accomplish so much before we are overtaken by the darkness."

"Is that so?" questioned Harry. "Then in that case we had better press forward without further delay." And, digging his heels into the ribs of his mule, the young Englishman resumed his march.

It was shortly after three o'clock on the following afternoon when Arima, who for the previous half-hour had been riding slowly and studying the ground intently, suddenly reined up his mule, and, leaping lightly to the ground, knelt down and carefully examined the long, coarse grass that thickly carpeted the soil. For a full minute he remained thus, delicately fingering the blades and gently pushing them aside, then he rose to his feet, and, with a sigh of satisfaction, pointed with his finger, saying:

"Here is the trail of the chief, Senor; he came from yonder and went in that direction."

"Are you sure, Arima?" demanded Harry. "I can see no sign of the passage of a man through this grass."

"Very possibly not, Senor," answered Arima dryly, "because, you see, you are not accustomed to tracking; moreover, this trail is some days old, and was made while the grass was wet and beaten down by the rain. But it is there, nevertheless, for practised eyes to read, and, being found, can now be easily followed. When the chief passed here he was in a terribly exhausted state, and staggered as he ran, exactly as Mama Cachama described, for just here he stumbled—if your honour will take the trouble to dismount you can see the mark where the toe of his boot dug into the soil—and I think the spot where he fell finally cannot be very far from here."

"In that case," said Harry, "let us press on as quickly as possible, for even minutes may be of inestimable value now. As to dismounting and examining the marks for myself, we have no time for that at present, Arima, and I am quite content to take your word for it that matters are as you say. Can you follow the trail mounted, or must you proceed on foot?"

"I can follow it mounted, Senor, seeing that I was mounted when I found it," answered Arima. "But it will be well that you should ride a few yards behind me, lest the trail should swerve suddenly to right or left and be crossed by your mule." So saying, the Indian sprang into his saddle and, turning the head of his animal, rode forward at a foot pace, his eyes intently searching the sea of waving grass before him. For a quarter of an hour he rode on thus, with Harry, leading Butler's horse, following a yard or two in his rear; then he suddenly reined his mule aside and, pointing to a barely perceptible depression in the grass, said:

"See, Senor, there is where the chief first fell, as described by Mama Cachama—yes—and,"—as his keen eyes roved hither and thither—"yonder is the spot where he fell and lay."

A few paces brought them to the spot indicated, and here the signs were clear enough for even Escombe's untrained eyes to read, the grass being still depressed sufficiently to show that a human form had lain there motionless and stretched at length for several hours; moreover, at that part of the depression where the man's head had rested, the grass blades were still flecked here and there with dried, ruddy froth, beneath which lay a little patch of coagulated blood, from which a swarm of flies arose as Arima bent over it and pointed it out to Harry. But the fugitive had disappeared, and the Indian gave it as his opinion that the chief had revived after lying insensible for about six hours, and had immediately resumed his interrupted flight. As to the direction in which he had gone, there was no difficulty in determining that, for, leading away toward the eastward there were two wavering lines, close together, traced through the long grass by the feet of the wanderer, and still distinct enough to be followed by even so inexperienced a tracker as the young Englishman.

"Now, Arima," exclaimed Harry, "is there anything worth knowing to be gained by a prolonged examination of this 'form'? Because, if not, we will press on at once, since time is precious. The chief went in that direction, of course—even I can see that—and the trail is so clear that we ought to be able to follow it at a canter."

"Yes, quite easily, Senor," acquiesced Arima. "There is nothing to be learned here beyond the fact that the Senor Butler fell at this spot, and lay absolutely motionless for so long a time that he must have been in a swoon. Then he revived, sat up, rose to his knees—see, there are the impressions of his two knees, and of the toes of his boots behind them—then he stood for several minutes, as though uncertain whither he would go, and finally struck off to the eastward. But see how the trail wavers this way and that way, even in the short length of it that we can trace from here. He moved quite aimlessly, not knowing whither he would go; and I think that, if he is still alive when we find him, Senor, he will be quite crazy."

"So much the greater reason for finding him as quickly as possible. Mount and ride, Arima," exclaimed Harry, pressing his heels into his mule's sides, and urging the animal into a canter along the plainly marked trail until he was taught better by the Indian.

"Never ride immediately over a trail which you are following, Senor, but close beside it, on one side or the other of it, so that the trail itself is left quite undisturbed. One never can tell when it may be necessary to study the trail carefully in search of some bit of information which might easily be obliterated if it were ridden or walked over."

Harry at once pulled his mule to one side of the trail, Arima following it on the opposite side, and the pair pushed on, winding hither and thither as the track of the fugitive swerved this way and that, until they had travelled a further distance of some nine or ten miles, when they came upon another "form", where Butler had laid himself down to rest for—as Arima estimated—a space of about two hours. There was nothing of importance to be learned here; they therefore pushed forward again with all possible speed, for the sun was now rapidly declining toward the western horizon, and Escombe was anxious to find the wanderer before nightfall, if possible, since another night's exposure in the keen air of that elevated plain might very well prove fatal to a man in Butler's terribly exhausted condition.

For the last hour of the pursuit the track had led over rising ground, and it soon became pretty evident that the fugitive had been making his uncertain way toward a gorge between two mountains, which had gradually been opening out ahead of the pursuers. Meanwhile the spoor had been growing fresher with every stride of the cantering mules, showing that the trackers were rapidly gaining upon the chase, and that the latter was now in the very last stage of exhaustion, for the "forms" where he had paused to rest were ever becoming more frequent and closer together. The Indian, therefore, after attentively studying the last form which was encountered, gave it as his opinion that the hunted man could not now be more than a mile or two ahead, and suggested that Harry should push straight on for the entrance of the gorge, in the hope of sighting the fugitive and running him down, while he (Arima), with the led horse, should continue to follow the trail, for if Butler should gain the gorge before being overtaken, his pursuit over the rocky ground might be slow and difficult. Accordingly, Harry turned his mule slightly aside from the trail, and made straight for a landmark indicated by the Indian, pressing his beast forward at its best pace. He had ridden thus about a quarter of an hour, and was rapidly approaching the entrance of the gorge, when he suddenly caught sight of a moving object ahead, winding its way among a number of masses of granite outcrop; and urging his exhausted mule to a final effort, Escombe presently had the satisfaction of identifying the moving object as a man—a white man—attired in a few tattered remnants of what had once been civilised clothing. That the man was Butler there could be no shadow of doubt, and a few strides farther enabled Harry to recognise him. As he did so, the stumbling, staggering figure paused for a moment, glanced behind him, and saw that he was pursued; whereupon he flung his arms above his head, emitted a most horrible, eldritch scream, started to run forward again, staggered a few paces, and fell forward prone upon the ground, where he lay motionless.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE JEWEL.

Reining up his mule, Escombe at once glanced behind him to ascertain whether Arima happened to be within sight. Yes, there he was, about a mile distant, pushing along at a trot and winding hither and thither, as he persistently followed the erratic twistings and turnings of the pursued man's spoor. Harry therefore drew his revolver from his belt, and, pointing the muzzle of the weapon upward, discharged two shots in rapid succession to attract the Indian's attention, and then waved his white pocket handkerchief in the air as a sign that the lost man had been found, and that the pursuit was at an end. The Indian immediately uttered a peculiar shrill whoop by way of reply, and turned his beast's head directly toward the spot where the young Englishman could be seen sitting motionless in his saddle; whereupon Harry at once sprang to the ground and, throwing his mule's bridle upon the grass—a sign which the animal had been trained to obey by standing perfectly still—rushed toward the prostrate figure, and, turning it gently over, raised it to a sitting posture, passing his arm round the neck as a support to the drooping head.

Yes, the man was Butler, there could be no doubt about that; but oh! what a dreadful change had been wrought by those few days of flight and exposure! Butler had always been a man of somewhat spare build, but now he was emaciated to an extent almost past belief—his cheeks were so hollow that it seemed as though an incautiously rough touch would cause the protruding cheek-bones to burst through the skin; his closed eyes were sunk so deep in their sockets that the eyeballs appeared to have dwindled to the size of small marbles; while the lips had contracted to such an extent as to leave the tightly clenched teeth clearly visible, the general effect being that of a grinning, fleshless skull with a covering of shrivelled skin drawn tightly over it. The once immaculate suit of white clothing was now deeply soiled and stained by contact with the earth and grass, and was a mere wrapping of scarcely recognisable rags, the coat being missing altogether, while great rents in the remaining garments revealed the protruding ribs and the shrunken limbs, the colour of the yellowish-brown skin being almost completely obscured by the latticing of long and deep blood-smeared scratches that mutely told how desperately the man had fought his way through all obstacles in his headlong, panic-stricken flight; his finger nails were broken and ragged; his boots were cut and torn to pieces to such an extent that they afforded scarcely any protection to his feet; and his once iron- grey hair and moustache, as well as his short growth of stubbly beard, were almost perfectly white.

With a quick slash of his knife Escombe severed the filthy wisp of silk that had once been a smart necktie, as it had somehow become tightly knotted round the unconscious man's throat, and then impatiently awaited the coming of Arima, who was leading the horse on the saddle of which were strapped the small supply of medical comforts which had been brought along to meet just such a contingency as this; and a few minutes later the Indian cantered up and, flinging himself from the back of his mule, came forward to render assistance.

Bidding the man kneel down and support the unconscious Butler's head, Harry sprang to the saddle bags and drew forth a flask of brandy, which he held to the sick man's lips, allowing a few drops of the liquid to find their way between the clenched teeth. For fully ten minutes he strove to coax a small quantity of the spirit down his chiefs throat, and at length had the satisfaction of seeing that some at least had been swallowed. The almost immediate result of this was a groan and a slight, spasmodic movement of the emaciated limbs; and presently, after a few minutes of further persistent effort, Butler opened his eyes.

"Ah, that's better!" ejaculated the amateur physician with a sigh of extreme satisfaction. "You will soon be all right now, sir. Let me give you just another spoonful and you will feel like a new man. No, no, please don't keep your teeth clenched like that; open your mouth, Mr Butler, and let me pour a little more down your throat. Do please,"—in a most insinuating tone of voice—"it will do you no end of good. Arima, take hold of his chin and see if you can force his lower jaw open, but be as gentle as you can. There, that's right! Now then!"

With a deft touch and no apparent violence the Indian succeeded in getting the locked jaws apart, and Escombe promptly availed himself of the opportunity to pour about a tablespoonful of spirits into the partially open mouth. For a moment there was no result, then a cough and a splutter on the part of the sick man showed that the potent elixir was making its way down his throat, and, with another groan, the patient made a feeble effort to struggle to his feet. But the attempt was a failure, the last particle of strength had already been spent, and, sighing heavily, Butler subsided back upon the supporting arm of the Indian, and lay staring vacantly at the rich sapphire sky that arched above him. Then Harry took him by the hand, and, calling him by name, endeavoured to win some sign of recognition from him, but all in vain. The utmost that he could accomplish was to extract from his patient a few meaningless, incoherent mumblings, which conveyed nothing save the fact that the speaker's mind was, at least for the moment, a perfect blank. At length, convinced that he could do no more until he had got his patient settled in camp, he called upon Arima to help him, and between the two they soon had the unfortunate man comfortably stretched upon a blanket under the lee of an enormous granite rock, which would at least partially shield him from the keen wind of the fast approaching night. Then, with the help of a few stout saplings cut from a clump of bush close at hand, they contrived to rig a small, makeshift kind of tent over the upper half of his body, as a further protection from the cold, and lighted their camp fire close to his feet. Then, while the Indian, with gentle touch, cut away the soiled rags of clothing from the wasted body and limbs, and swathed them in a waterproof rug, Escombe unsaddled and hobbled the horse and mules, and turned them loose to graze. Next he unpacked the saddle bags and camp equipage, and proceeded to prepare a small quantity of hot, nourishing soup, which, with infinite difficulty, he at length induced his patient to swallow, a few drops at a time; and finally, with a makeshift pillow beneath his head, the invalid was gently laid down in a comfortable posture, when he soon sank into a refreshing sleep. The weary pair seized the opportunity thus afforded them to attend to their own most pressing needs; but neither of them closed their eyes in sleep that night, for they had scarcely finished their supper when Butler awoke and again demanded their most unremitting care and attention, as he evinced great uneasiness and perturbation of mind which speedily developed into a state of such violent delirium, that it was only with the utmost difficulty the combined efforts of the pair were able to restrain him from doing either himself or them some serious injury.

For more than forty hours did that dreadful delirium continue, the patient being extraordinarily violent during almost the entire period; then his unnatural strength suddenly collapsed, leaving him weak as an infant and in an almost continuous state of lethargy, so profound that it was with great difficulty that his two nurses were able to arouse him sufficiently to administer small quantities of liquid nourishment. It was by this time evident, even to Harry's inexperienced eye, that Butler's condition was desperate, even if not altogether hopeless, and he consulted Arima as to the possibility of procuring the services of a qualified physician; but the Indian had no encouragement to offer. Cerro de Pasco, the nearest town in which one might hope to find a doctor, was some fifty miles distant, as the crow flies, but the difficulties of the way were such that, using the utmost expedition, it would take a messenger at least four days to reach the place, and as many to return—assuming that the messenger were fortunate enough to find a doctor who could be persuaded to set out forthwith—by which time, Harry knew instinctively, the patient would be long past all human aid. Besides, there was no messenger to send, save Arima; and, in view of the possible recurrence of delirium, the lad felt that he would not be justified in sending the Indian away. While the two were still engaged in debating the question of what was best to be done under the distressing circumstances, Butler ended the difficulty by quietly breathing his last, crossing the borderland between life and death without a struggle, and without recovering consciousness. Indeed so perfectly quiet and peaceful was the end that it was some time before young Escombe could convince himself that his chief was really dead; but when at length there could no longer be any question as to the fact, the body was at once wrapped in the waterproof sheet which had formed a makeshift tent for the shelter of the sick man, and packed, with as much reverence as the circumstances would allow, upon the deceased man's horse, for conveyance back to camp for interment, the pair having with them no implements wherewith to dig a grave. Moreover, Harry considered that, taking the somewhat peculiar circumstances of the case into consideration, it was very desirable that the body should be seen and identified by the other members of the survey party before burial took place.

This event occurred on the evening of the third day after death, Escombe himself reading the burial service; and he afterwards fashioned with his own hands, and placed at the head of the grave, a wooden cross, upon which he roughly but deeply cut with his pocket knife the name of the dead man and the date of his death. He also, as a matter of precaution, took a very careful set of astronomical observations for the determination of the exact position of the grave, recording the result in his diary at the end of the long entry detailing all the circumstances connected with the sad event.

Escombe now suddenly found his young shoulders burdened with a heavy load of responsibility, for not only did Butler's death leave the lad in sole charge of the survey party, with the task of carrying on unaided the exceedingly important work upon which that party was engaged, until assistance could be sent out to him from England; but it also became his immediate duty to report all the circumstances of the death of his leader to the British Consul at Lima—who would doubtless put in motion the necessary machinery for the capture and punishment of the men who were responsible for the events which had brought about Butler's death— and also to Sir Philip Swinburne, who would, of course, in turn, communicate the sad intelligence to the deceased man's family. And there were also all Butler's private effects to be packed up and sent home forthwith.

Yet, taking everything into consideration, the death of his chief was a relief rather than otherwise to the lad, unfeeling though the statement may appear at the first blush. Butler was a man for whom it was quite impossible for anyone to acquire a friendly feeling; Harry therefore felt that when he had committed his chief's body to the earth with as much respectful observance as the circumstances permitted, had carefully and scrupulously collected together and dispatched to England all the dead man's personal belongings, and had taken such steps as were possible for the capture and punishment of the men who were primarily responsible for Butler's death, he had done everything that a strict sense of duty claimed from him, and was not called upon to feign and outwardly manifest a sorrow which had no place in his heart. Besides, he was now the responsible head of the survey party; upon him depended— for at least the next three months—the conduct of an important and highly scientific operation; and upon the manner in which he conducted it depended very serious issues involving the expenditure of exceedingly large sums of money. This was his opportunity to demonstrate to all concerned the stuff of which he was made; it was an opportunity so splendid that many a young fellow of his age would cheerfully give half a dozen years of his life to obtain such another; for Harry fully realised that if he could carry his task to a successful conclusion his fortune, from the professional point of view, was made. And he felt that he could—ay, and would—do this. The experience which he had already gained since his arrival in Peru had been of inestimable value to him, and he had made the very utmost of it; he therefore felt confident of his ability to carry through his task to the satisfaction of his employers and with credit to himself, and he entered upon it with avidity and keen enjoyment. Moreover, he was tactful, and possessed the happy knack of managing those under him in such a way that he was able to extract the very last ounce of work from them without offending their susceptibilities, or causing them to feel that he was making undue demands upon them.

Under these circumstances, and with the perpetual galling irritation of Butler's presence and influence removed, the survey made rapid and very satisfactory progress, the party arriving at Cerro de Pasco in a trifle under six weeks from the date of Butler's death, thus completing the second section of the survey. The third section was very much longer and more difficult in every respect than either of the two completed, since it extended from Nanucaca—already connected by rail with Cerro de Pasco—along the shore of Lake Chinchaycocha to Ayacucho and Cuzco, and thence on to Santa Rosa, the distance being some four hundred and seventy miles as the crow flies, while the difficulties of the route might possibly increase that distance by nearly one-third. But Escombe was by no means dismayed by the formidable character of the obstacles that lay before him; he had come to realise that, to the man who would achieve success, obstacles exist only that they may be overcome, and he was gaining experience daily in the overcoming of obstacles. He therefore attacked this third and very formidable section, not only without any anxiety or fear, but with a keen zest that instantly communicated itself to his little band of followers, welding them together into a perfectly harmonious, smooth-working whole.

It must not be thought, however, that Escombe allowed himself to become so completely absorbed in his work that he could think of nothing else. On the contrary, he understood perfectly the meaning of the word "recreation" and the value of the thing itself. He knew that no man can work for ever without wearing himself out, and he looked upon recreation as—what its name implied—a re-creation or rebuilding of those forces, mental and physical, which labour wears away, and valued it accordingly, taking it whenever he felt that he really needed it, even as he took food or medicine.

Now it chanced that fishing was one of Escombe's favourite recreations; and no sooner had he started the third section of the survey—which began by skirting the eastern shore of Lake Chinchaycocha—than he made a practice of indulging in an hour or two's fishing whenever the opportunity offered. It was this practice that led to an occurrence which was destined to culminate in an adventure so startling and extraordinary as to be scarcely credible in these prosaic twentieth- century days.

It happened on a Saturday afternoon.

On the day in question, the survey party being then encamped on the shore of Lake Chinchaycocha, as soon as he had squared up his week's work, and snatched a hasty luncheon, the young Englishman brought forth his fishing tackle, and, getting aboard a balsa, or light raft, which Arima had constructed for him, proceeded to paddle some distance out from the shore to a spot which he had already ascertained afforded him a fair prospect of sport. Arrived there he dropped his keeleg—a large stone serving the purpose of an anchor—overboard and settled down comfortably to enjoy his favourite pastime, and also provide an exceedingly welcome addition to the somewhat monotonous fare of camp life.

The sport that afternoon was not so good as Harry had expected, and it was drawing well on toward evening before the fish began to bite at all freely—he was trying especially for a certain particularly delicious kind of fish, something between a trout and a mullet, which was only to be captured by allowing the hook to rest at the very bottom of the lake. Suddenly he felt a smart tug at his line and at once began to haul it in, but he had scarcely got it fairly taut when the tremulous jerk which denoted the presence of a fish at the other end was exchanged for a steady strain, and it soon became perfectly evident that the hook had become entangled in something at the bottom. Now Escombe's stock of fishing tackle was of exceedingly modest proportions, so much so, indeed, that the loss of even a solitary hook was a matter not to be contemplated with indifference, therefore he brought all his skill to bear upon the delicate task of releasing the hook from its entanglement.

But at the end of half an hour he was no nearer to success than at the beginning of his endeavours, while the sun was within a hand's breadth of the horizon, and he had no fancy for being caught by the darkness while on the lake, therefore he adopted other tactics, and strove to bring the object, whatever it might be, to the surface by means of a steady yet not dangerously powerful strain. Ah, that was better! At the very first tug Escombe felt the resistance yield by the merest hairs-breadth, and presently a faint jerk told him that he had gained another fraction of an inch, which success was repeated every few seconds until he was able to lift and drop the line a clear foot. Then the sun's lower limb touched and rested for an instant upon the ridge of the Western Cordilleras before it began to sink behind them, and Harry realised that the moment for energetic measures had arrived; for he was a good two miles from the shore, and it would take him the best part of an hour to paddle his clumsy craft that distance. Therefore he steadily increased the strain upon his line, determined to release himself one way or another, even though at the cost of a hook. But it proved unnecessary for him to make so great a sacrifice, it was the unknown object that yielded, with little momentary jerks and an ever decreasing resistance until it finally let go its hold of the bottom altogether and came to the surface securely entangled with the hook. Upon its emergence from the water Harry gazed at his catch in astonishment; he had expected to see the water-logged branch of a tree, a bunch of weed, or something of that sort, but as it dangled, dripping with sandy ooze in the last rays of the setting sun, certain ruddy-yellow gleams that flashed from it told its finder that he had fished up something metallic from the bottom of the lake. The next moment Escombe was busily engaged in disentangling his find from the fish hook, but long ere he had succeeded in doing so the young man had made the interesting discovery that he had been fortunate enough to retrieve a most remarkable jewel, in the form of a gold and emerald collar, from the depths of the lake. Methodical even in the midst of his excitement at having made so valuable a find, the young Englishman carefully disentangled his hook and line from the jewel, neatly wound up the former, and then proceeded patiently to wash away from the latter the ooze with which it was thickly coated, having done which he found himself in possession of an ornament so massive in material and so elaborate and unique in workmanship that he felt certain it must be worth quite a little fortune to any curio collector. It was, or appeared to be, a collar or necklace, a trifle over two feet in length, the ends united by a massive ring supporting a medallion. The links, so to speak, of the necklace consisted of twelve magnificent emeralds, each engraved upon one side with certain cabalistic characters, the meaning of which Escombe could not guess at, and upon the other with a symbol which was easily identifiable as that of the sun; these emeralds were massively set— framed would be almost the more appropriate word—in most elaborately sculptured gold, and joined together by heavy gold links also very elaborately cut. The pendant was likewise composed of a superb emerald of fully three inches diameter set in a gold frame, chiselled to represent the rays of the sun, the emerald itself being engraved with the representation of a human face, which, oddly enough, Harry recognised, even at the first glance, to be extraordinarily, astoundingly like his own. This was a find worth having, the young man told himself, and might prove worth several hundreds of pounds if judiciously advertised and offered for sale at Christie's upon his return home; for safety's sake, therefore, he put it round his neck, tucking it inside his shirt, snugly out of sight, and, heaving up his keeleg, proceeded to paddle thoughtfully back to the shore.

It was some three months after this occurrence—and in the interim young Escombe had pushed forward the survey so rapidly, despite all difficulties, that he had covered more than half the distance between Nanucaca and Ayacucho—when, as he returned to camp at the end of his day's work, he observed two strange mules tethered near his tent; and presently a stranger emerged from the tent and advanced toward him. The stranger, although deeply tanned by the sun, was unmistakably an Englishman, some twenty-eight years of age, rather above middle height, and with a pleasant though resolute expression stamped upon his good— looking features. Approaching Harry, he held out his hand and smilingly remarked:

"Mr Escombe, I presume. My name is Bannister—John Bannister—and I come from Sir Philip Swinburne to act as your colleague in the completion of the survey upon which you are engaged. These,"—producing a packet of papers—"are my credentials. Grand country this,"—casting an admiring glance at the magnificent scenery amid which the camp was pitched—"but, my word, you must have had some tough bits of work, even before reaching this spot."

"You are right, we have," answered Harry as he cordially returned Bannister's grasp. "I am right glad to see you, and to bid you welcome to our camp, for I have been pretty badly in want of intelligent help lately. These fellows,"—indicating the native helpers who were now scattered about the camp busily preparing for the evening meal—"are all well enough in their way, and since poor Butler's death I have managed to drill them into something like decent, useful shape; but I have often been badly hampered for the want of another surveyor who could work with me in surmounting some of the especially bad places. Now that you have come we shall be able to get ahead nearly twice as fast. I suppose you came out by the last mail, eh? And how are things going in the dear old country?"

Harry led the new arrival into his tent, and proceeded forthwith to discard his working clothes and divest himself of the stains of his day's toil as he chatted animatedly, asking questions for the most part, as is the wont of the old hand—and Escombe had by this time grown to quite regard himself as such—when he foregathers with somebody fresh from "home". Bannister, having arrived at the camp pretty early in the afternoon, had already bathed and changed; he therefore had nothing to do but to sit still and answer Harry's questions, jerking in one or two himself occasionally, until the younger man's toilet was completed, when they sat down to dinner together. By the time that the meal was over each felt perfectly satisfied that he would be able to get on well with the other, and was looking forward to a quite pleasant time up there among the stupendous mountains.

Upon first seeing Bannister, and learning that he had come out from Sir Philip, Harry naturally thought that the new arrival had been dispatched to fill the position of chief of the survey party, rendered vacant by the death of the unfortunate Butler; but upon opening the credentials which Bannister had presented, he found that it was actually as the bearer had stated, that he and Harry were to act as colleagues, not as chief and subordinate, in the completion of the survey, thus making the pair jointly responsible for the work, while they would share equally the credit upon its completion. They spent an exceedingly pleasant evening together, chatting mostly over the work that still lay before them, Harry producing his plans and explaining what had already been done, while Bannister sat listening gravely to the recital of sundry hairbreadth escapes from death in the execution of duty, and of the manner in which a few of the more than ordinarily difficult bits of work had been accomplished; and when the pair again sat chatting together, twenty-four hours later, at the end of their first day together, each felt absolutely satisfied with the comrade with which fortune had brought him into touch. Under these agreeable circumstances the survey progressed with greater rapidity than ever, the two Englishmen conquering obstacle after obstacle, and meeting with plenty of thrilling adventures in the process, until in the fullness of time they reached first Ayacucho and then Cuzco, when the worst of their troubles were over. For there was a road—of sorts—between the ancient capital and Santa Rosa, and the two Englishmen, after riding over it in company, agreed that, for a considerable part of the way at least, the best route for a railway would be found contiguous to the highroad, by following which the surveyors would derive many substantial advantages, in addition to finding a comparatively easy route to survey.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE ABDUCTION.

The survey party had traversed about half the distance between Cuzco and Santa Rosa when the two Englishmen, following their invariable custom of indulging in a swim as often as opportunity afforded, made their way, at the end of a hard day's work, to a most romantic spot which they had encountered. Here a small stream, flowing through a rocky gorge, fell over a granite ledge on to a large flat slab of rock some nine feet below, from which in turn it poured into a noble basin almost perfectly circular in shape, about twenty feet deep, and nearly or quite a hundred feet in diameter, ere it continued its course down the ravine. To stand on the slab of rock beneath the fall was to enjoy an ideal shower bath; and to dive from that same slab into the deep, pellucid pool and thereafter swim across the pool and back three or four times was a luxury worth riding several miles to enjoy; small wonder, therefore, was it that the two Englishmen resolved to make the most of their opportunity, and continue to use this perfect natural swimming bath so long as their work kept them within reach of it.

The camp was situated some two miles back from the pool, the bathers therefore, fatigued with a long day's work, decided to ride to and from the spot, instead of walking, and Arima, the Indian—who had by this time constituted himself Escombe's especial henchman—was directed to accompany them to look after the horses while the riders were enjoying their dip.

Arrived at the pool, the two friends dismounted and proceeded to undress on a small space of rich, lush grass in close proximity to the basin, the Indian meanwhile squatting upon his heels and holding the horses' bridles while the animals eagerly grazed.

Now, Arima's devotion to Harry, originating at the time when the two had made their memorable journey together to Mama Cachama's cave, and very greatly strengthened during the adventurous hunt for the missing Butler, had steadily developed until it had become almost if not quite as strong as that of a parent for an idolised child. The Indian could not bear his young master to be out of his sight for a moment, and was always most unhappy whenever the exigencies of work necessitated a separation of the two. He had been known to resort to the most extraordinary devices to prevent such an occurrence, and when the two were together Arima never allowed his gaze to wander for a moment from his master's form if he could help it. Yet, singularly enough, it was not until this particular evening that the Indian had become aware of Escombe's possession of the jewel so strangely fished up from the depths of Lake Chinchaycocha, or had ever caught sight of it. But he saw it now, as Escombe undressed at a few yards' distance, the light falling strongly upon the dull red gold and the emeralds, as the lad carefully removed it from his neck and laid it upon the top of his clothes ere he rushed, with a joyous shout, and placed himself immediately beneath the foaming water of the fall. The sight appeared to arouse a feeling of very powerful curiosity in the breast of the Indian, for it was only with the utmost difficulty that he contrived to retain his attitude of passivity until the more deliberately moving Bannister had joined his friend upon the slab beneath the fall; but no sooner had this happened than, abandoning the horses to their own devices, Arima crept cautiously forward until he reached Escombe's heap of clothing, and, availing himself of the preoccupation of the bathers, took the jewel in his hand and examined it with the most rapt attention and care. For a space of nearly five minutes he continued his examination, after which he slowly and thoughtfully made his way back to the horses, which were too busily feeding upon the luscious grass to stray far. For the remainder of the evening the Indian seemed to be plunged in a state of meditation so profound as to be quite oblivious of all outward things save his young master, his conduct toward whom was marked by a new and yet subtle attitude of almost worshipping reverence. But when the hands were mustered for work on the following morning, Arima was nowhere to be found; he had vanished some time during the night, saying nothing to anyone, and leaving no trace behind.

Harry was very much upset at this sudden and inexplicable disappearance of the servant who, in a thousand little unobtrusive ways, had ministered so effectually to his comfort that his loss was at once felt as a serious misfortune, and he devoted two whole days to a search for the missing man, fearing that the fellow had strayed away from the camp and that something untoward had befallen him. But the search was quite unavailing, and on the third day it was abandoned, the only conclusion at which Escombe could arrive being that the Indian had deserted under the influence of pique at some unintentional affront and gone back to his own people.

It was some two months later—by which time the party was drawing near to Santa Rosa, and the great railway survey was approaching completion— that in the dead of a dark and starless night three Indians stealthily approached the surveyors' camp and, having first reconnoitred the ground as carefully as the pitch darkness would permit, made their way, noiseless as shadows, to the tent occupied by young Escombe. The leading Indian was Arima, the two who followed were very old men, their scanty locks, white as snow, hanging to their shoulders, their ascetic, clean-cut features sharp and shrunken, yet they carried themselves as upright as though they had been in the heyday of youth, and their sunken eyes glowed and sparkled with undiminished fire. They wore sleeveless shirts of pure white, finely woven of vicuna wool, reaching to the knee, the opening at the throat and arms, and also the hem of the garment, being richly ornamented with embroidery in heavy gold thread. This garment was confined at the waist by a massive belt of solid gold composed of square placques hinged together, and each elaborately sculptured with conventional representations of the sun. Over this was worn a long cloak, dyed blue, also woven of vicuna wool, but without ornament of any description. Their heads were bare, and the lobe of each ear was pierced and distended to receive a gold medallion nearly four inches in diameter, also heavily sculptured with a representation of the sun. Their legs were bare, but each wore sandals bound to the feet and ankles by thongs of leather. To judge from the travel-stained appearance of their garments they must have come a considerable distance, and have been exposed to many vicissitudes of weather.