Half carrying the girl, Wilson followed the soldiers across the street. Two of them supported Sorez. The house opposite was empty, the occupants having deserted it at the approach of the enemy. It was a rambling, story-and-a-half structure, somewhat elaborately furnished. Wilson placed a guard at the front and rear of the place with orders to admit no one until he had first seen them, and then carried the girl upstairs. She was not asleep, but so nearly numb with the strain that she could neither think nor speak. It seemed to him that there was only one thing to do—let her sleep. Rest at present was more necessary than food. On the second story there was a fine large bedroom, with a big bed covered with snow-white linen. He placed her upon this.

"Sleep as long as you wish," he bade her, though he knew she scarcely heard his voice. "I shall be outside."

Before he closed the door he turned and saw her breathing deeply with closed eyes. It seemed only humane to care for Sorez. On the first floor he found a divan and, with the help of the soldiers, arranged him upon this, where he, too, was soon fast asleep.

Then he returned to the second floor and, lying down before her door, was soon unconscious himself. How long he lay so he could not tell, but he was aroused by the sound of shouting outside the house. Springing to his feet, he listened at her door; there was no sound. He opened it and looked within; she lay where he had left her, still sleeping. Going to the window he looked out and was surprised to find the street crowded with citizens. It must have been long after noon, as he could tell by the sun. From all appearances this was some sort of a patriotic demonstration before the old palace. He watched it with indifferent interest until a closed carriage drove up. At this moment he saw Stubbs himself step from the palace and at the side of Otaballo approach the carriage. Here was his opportunity to make known his whereabouts to his partner. He tiptoed to the stairs and descended to the first floor. He warned the guard at the exit once more to admit no one and hurried out to push his way to Stubbs' side. The crowd recognized him as an American from his dress and opened up a path for him. But even so he would not have reached his goal had not Stubbs seen him and, with a glad shout of welcome neglected his diplomatic duties to grasp the hand of the man he thought dead. At this moment the princess herself stepped from the vehicle and, ignoring the applause of the multitude, turned her attention to Wilson. She hesitated a moment, and then addressed him, speaking faultless English:

"Pardon me, but are not you one—one of Mr. Danbury's friends?"

"We both are," answered Wilson.

"Your name is——"

"Wilson."

"Ah, how fortunate! It is you of all men I wished most to see. If——" A shout from a thousand throats rent the air. She looked dazed.

"If your Highness would bow," suggested Otaballo.

She turned to the gathering, smiled, and bowed. But her scant courtesy was scarcely finished before her eyes were again upon Wilson and the anxious look uppermost in them.

"I must see you," she commanded. "Follow me into the palace."

She raised the hem of her light dress and tripped up the stairs looking more like a schoolgirl than a queen. Wilson and Stubbs followed after Otaballo, who appeared somewhat worried. They entered the palace, and at her request a guard led them into the privacy of a small room—as it happened, the room which Wilson had twice before visited that day.

"I asked you to come," she began a bit nervously, "because you seemed to be the friend of whom Dicky talked to the last——"

"The last!" exclaimed Wilson.

"Oh, not that," she assured him, grasping his fear. "He isn't—isn't dead. But you knew he was wounded?"

"No," he answered quickly, "I had not heard."

"Before the palace here and—he was brought to me. His wound isn't so very serious, the doctor says,—it's in his leg and he won't be able to walk for some time."

"I am sorry for him," said Wilson, sincerely. "If there is anything I can do——"

"There is! There is! I have had him carried to his boat. He was unconscious and the doctor gave him something to make him sleep."

"Drugged him?" he demanded roughly.

"Only so that he would go quietly. Then I gave the sailors orders to sail back home with him."

"But why did you wish him to go back?"

"I must tell you, and you will understand. Oh, please to understand! He wanted to—to stay and—and I wanted him to stay. I think if—if it hadn't been for this trouble we—we would have been married. But now——"

"Your station forbids it," he finished for her with a note of harshness in his voice.

She answered very quietly—so quietly that it chided him.

"No, it is not that. He doesn't need any title men might give him. I would have him King—but my people would only kill him. That is the reason."

"Pardon me," begged Wilson. "I—I did not understand."

"They are very jealous—my people. He would have many enemies here—enemies who wouldn't fight fair."

"And he made you Queen for this!" gasped Wilson.

"He didn't know—did he?"

"I should say not."

"Now I want you to talk to him if he returns, and tell him he mustn't come back and get killed. Won't you?"

"I will talk to him if I see him, but—he will come back just the same."

"He mustn't. You don't understand fully the danger."

"You couldn't make him understand."

"Oh!" she cried.

She put her clasped hands to her hot cheeks a moment.

"If we could keep him away for a month—just a month. Then perhaps I could let someone else—be—be here."

"You mean to abdicate?"

"Yes, couldn't I? The General told me that if I didn't send him away at once you would all be killed; but perhaps later—when things have quieted——"

"There will always be," he warned, "a republic in the heart of your kingdom. The quieter—the more danger."

General Otaballo had remained in the rear of the room doing his best to control his impatience, but now he ventured to step forward. He saluted.

"Pardon me, your Highness, but they wait to make you their Queen."

"Don't! Don't!" she pleaded. "Leave me for to-day just a maid of Carlina. To-morrow——"

"Your Majesty," answered the General, with some severity, "to-morrow may be too late for all of us."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"That the situation now is a great deal more serious than your Majesty seems to understand. We are victorious, yes. But it is as difficult to maintain a victory as to win one. To-day the crowd throw up their caps for Beatrice, but if Beatrice spurns them and ignores their loyal cheers, it takes but a trifle to turn their thoughts the other way. Let me escort your Majesty through the city; let me establish you in the palace which has been graced by so many of your kin; let them see you where their grandfathers saw your brave aunt, and the last drop of blood in their veins is yours."

She pouted like a child, her thoughts still upon other things than crowns of human make.

"But I don't want their blood. I don't want to be Queen. I want to be left alone."

She looked out the window to the blue sky so full of gold and peace, where the birds tumbled at will, their throats bursting with song.

"General," she said, "leave me to-day, at any rate. That is all I ask,—just to-day."

"Your Majesty," he answered slowly, "it is not mine to grant, not yours to take. Many things may happen in a night,—too many. There will be much talking in the cafes this evening, many gatherings of men, much afoot before dawn. The forces brought in by General Danbury already belong to anyone who will pay them. It is not his fault,—they fought well for their money; but now they are equally ready to fight again for someone else. You alone can hold them to your cause. President Arlano escaped us and is doubtless busy. If we gain the crowd, we are safe against anything he may do; without the crowd, we are in jeopardy. Once the people see you crowned—once they can shout for Beatrice with her before their eyes, a living thing to fight for—they are ours forever."

"But——"

"Your Majesty has not fully considered the alternative; it is that you and I and all the brave men who fought to-day for you will be at the mercy of Arlano,—at the mercy of the man whose father slew your aunt,—at the mercy of the man who tortured to death Banaca. It is a bloody mercy we would get. Beside your own, a thousand lives depend upon what you do before night."

The girl drew back from him in fright. With the memory of her quiet yesterday in the sun; the drowsy yesterdays which preceded it; with the picture of this very man who in the past had never stood to her for anything but a pleasant companion at tea, the present situation seemed absurd and unreal. What was she that her insignificant actions should be of such moment? She had but one object in mind: to place Danbury without the power of all this strife, and she was even balked in that. For the first time she realized fully what a serious crisis he had precipitated. But it was too late for her to check its results. If she went now with General Otaballo, it would leave no possible outlet for her to avoid assuming the title of Queen; she must mount the throne at once. To do this meant to give up the greatest thing in her life. There was no possible escape from it. Only by renouncing Danbury utterly, by keeping him from Carlina, could she save his life. The only alternative was to fly, but this meant the sacrifice of too many other lives dear to her. The loyal, aged man before her who had thrown the remnant of his years into the cause was in itself enough to banish such a thought from her mind.

And this was what Dick had come across the seas to accomplish. It was a cruel jest of Fate. In his desire to secure for her all that he in his big heart thought she deserved, he had cheated her of the very thing her soul most craved. Yes, it was cruel, cruel. It would have been easier if he had not told her of his love, if he at least had left it a thing merely to be guessed at, a pleasant dream which she could have kept always as a sort of fairy possibility.

Her cheeks lost their color as she faced the man who watched her with fatherly solicitude. He stood waiting like some Nemesis,—waiting with the assurance that she would act as all the royal women of her race had always acted, bravely and loyally. From without there came a fresh cheer from the impatient men who waited for her.

"You hear?" he asked gently.

Her lips scarcely moved.

"Yes, I hear."

For a moment she smothered her face in her hands. This meant so much to her. It was not a matter of a day, a week, a year; it was for a whole weary, lonesome lifetime. Then she faced him.

"I will come," she said.

He raised her fingers to his lips.

"Your Majesty has the blood of her race."

She turned a white face to Wilson.

"That's it," she said. "They call me Queen, but you see how helpless I am. You must tell him this and you must not let him come back."

Otaballo held the door wide for her and she passed out. From the bottom of his heart Wilson pitied her, but this very pity brought to his mind that other woman whom he himself had left behind. He hurried out of the building after telling Stubbs where he could be found, and across the street. He took the stairs joyously, three at a time. The door of the room where he had left her stood open. The bed within was empty.



CHAPTER XVIII

Blind Alleys

For a moment he stood there staring, wondering if it could be only a dream that he had held her in his arms, that he had brought her up here, that she had lain upon this white bed which now mocked him with its emptiness. Then he took a step into the room, where he saw still the imprint of her head upon the pillow. He turned at this and ran into the hall, shouting her name. He was down the stairs in three bounds. The couch where he had left Sorez was also empty. The guard at the front door would not believe when told; but the proof lay in the absence of the guard in the rear. This door opened upon a small garden surrounded by a low wall. A gate led from this into a narrow street in the rear. If they were gone far they must have left in a carriage, for neither of them was strong enough to walk.

With a feeling of more bitter hatred than he had ever felt against any man, he realized that Sorez must have been in part shamming. That he was weak and exhausted there could be no doubt; but it was equally clear now that he was by no means so weak as he had led Wilson to believe. Not even Stubbs could have drawn Wilson from the house, had he suspected Sorez of being able to move from that couch within twelve hours.

Wilson blamed himself for stupidity, for carelessness, for almost criminal negligence in thus leaving the girl. And yet one might as soon reckon on the dead coming to life, as for this denouement. It was clear that he was dealing with no ordinary man, but he should have known this after the display of nerve he had witnessed as Sorez had climbed the stairs in his own house. He was a man with an iron will, with the ability to focus whatever energy remained within him upon a single objective. Through this Wilson gained a ray of hope; even if he found it impossible to locate him before, he knew that Sorez would press on to the lake of Guadiva. No power, no force less than death would serve to prevent him. Sooner or later Wilson would meet his man there. The present pity of it was that with the information he possessed, the secret of the parchment, he might possibly have prevented this journey and saved the girl much hardship.

So his brain reasoned, but back of this was the throbbing ache that would not listen to reason. He wanted her again within his arms; he wanted again to look into her dark eyes, to feel again the warmth of her breath against his neck. He wanted, too, the sense of protecting and caring for her. He had meant to do so much; to find a comfortable lodging place for her until he could take her back; to forage food and clothing for her. A hundred things unsaid whirled about in his brain; a hundred plans unfulfilled mocked him; a hundred needs unsatisfied. For a few precious moments he had held her in his arms,—a few moments when he craved years, and then he had lost her. Perhaps there was still a chance. His own head was too confused to form a plan at present. He determined to return to the palace and seek Stubbs.

With the aid of two of Otaballo's lieutenants he was able to locate Stubbs, who was assisting the General in an attempt to bring the mercenaries into some sort of order. These men finally worn out, he had succeeded in enticing into one of the big rooms where he had calmly turned the lock upon them. Wilson greeted Stubbs with the single exclamation:

"They've gone again."

"What—the girl?"

"Gone," groaned Wilson. "But within the hour. I want you to help me find them."

"Like huntin' fer a loose dory in th' dark, ain't it?"

"Yes, but you'd hunt even for your dory, wouldn't you?"

"Right, m' boy, an' I ain't suggestin' thet yer change yer course, only—these seas are uncharted fer me. But how'd she git outern yer hands once yer had her?"

"Oh, I was a fool, Stubbs. I thought she would sleep until night, and so came over here to let you know where I was. That would have been all right if I hadn't stayed, but the Queen came and—she told you about Danbury?"

"Yes," nodded Stubbs, "an' I can't figger out whether it's right er wrong. At any rate, he's taken care of fer a couple weeks. I found out she told the truth, and that the boat has gone. But about the girl—have you an idea where this pirate has taken her?"

"No more than you have."

"He isn't a stranger here, is he? Prob'ly has friends, eh?"

"That's so. I know he has. I saw some of his letters."

"Know who they are?"

Wilson shook his head.

"I suppose we might find that out from the General—he must know him, for the man was a surgeon or something in the armies here."

Two hours passed before they were able to reach the General, and then they had but a word with him. The girl had done his bidding and was now crowned Queen of Carlina. Every loyal citizen of Bogova was out, anxious to cheer himself hoarse before his neighbor. From the outlying districts the natives were pouring into the city as fast as they heard of the termination of hostilities. Otaballo had his hands full with prospect of more to do every hour.

"Everyone in Bogova knows Sorez," he answered. "If he had been in the city for the last year I should know more of his possible whereabouts than I do. He was a surgeon in the Republican armies here, but he took no active interest in the Republic. How little his arrest proves. In fact, I think he stands in disfavor, owing to the trouble with the hill men, which they think started with him. I've even heard him accused of having stolen the image. But I don't believe that or I'd arrest him myself. As it is, I'd like to have a talk with him. I can't suggest where he is, but I'll give you a couple of men who know him and know the city to help you."

"Good!" exclaimed Wilson.

"In the meanwhile," he said, turning to Stubbs, "I'm depending on you to keep those men in order. If they only had their pay——"

"They'll get it as soon as we can reach Danbury. It was you who sent him away, General."

There was a note of resentment in Stubbs' voice. He had not at all approved of this act.

"I know, I know. But—I saved his life by it. As soon as things settle down a bit it will be safer for him. In the meanwhile, if we could get those men out of the city. To be frank, I'm afraid of them. Arlano might reach them and he could buy them with a few pieces of gold."

"I'm not denying that," said Stubbs, "unless ye can give them more gold. As fer myself, I can't promise ye nothin'. I've finished my cruise with the captain an' done my best. If he was here, I'd stick by him still, but he ain't, an' I've gut other things in hand. Every mother's son of the crew will git their pay fer their work so far, but further, I dunno. They done what they promised—took the city fer ye. Now if ye doesn't watch 'em I reckon they'll take it fer themselves. As much as they can git in their pockets, anyhow."

"I don't like that," answered the General, darkly. "If you'll look after them——"

"I wash my hands of them from now on," broke in Stubbs. "Havin' other duties."

"Other duties here?" asked Otaballo, instantly suspicious.

"The findin' of this gent Sorez bein' one of 'em," answered Stubbs. "An' I guess we better be about it."

"It is for the sake of the girl," explained Wilson. "The one you saw me bringing from the dungeon. Sorez kidnapped her from America, and now he has taken her again."

The General's face brightened.

"Ah, that is it!"

He summoned a lieutenant and held a brief whispered conversation with him.

"Gentlemen," he concluded, turning to Wilson, "Lieutenant Ordaz—he will give you what assistance you need."

"An' th' same," said Stubbs, in a whisper to Wilson as soon as they were upon the street again, "we'll proceed to lose. I didn't like th' look in Oteerballo's eye when he give us this 'ere travellin' mate."

It was an easy enough task for Stubbs. At the end of three or four blocks he instructed Wilson to detach himself and go back to the last public house they had passed and there wait for him. This Wilson did, and in less than ten minutes Stubbs appeared alone.

"Sorry ter part comp'ny with the gent, but with him we wuz more likely ter find Oteerballo than Sorez. 'Nother thing, we has gotter do some plannin' 'fore we begins work. 'Cause if I ain't mistaken, we has a long chase ahead. In th' fust place, how much gold is yer carryin'?"

"Gold? Not a dollar."

"I thought 'bout thet amount. Next place, is yer papers safe?"

Wilson felt of his pocket where they were tightly pinned in.

"Couldn't lose those without losing my coat."

"Might lose yer coat in this here city. Next, how 'bout weapins?"

Wilson drew out the revolver which he had managed to keep through all the confusion. In addition to that he had some fifty cartridges loose in his pocket.

"Good!" commented Stubbs. Then he took an inventory of his own resources.

"In th' fust place, I has some three hundred dollars in gold in this here leather belt 'bout my waist. Never had less in it since a 'sperience I had forty year ago. Fer weapins we is 'bout equal. Now I figgers this way; it will take us 'bout a week to learn what we has gotter learn 'bout the coast beyond those hills afore we takes chances on crossin' 'em. We can git this information at th' same time we is doin' what we can to locate th' girl, though I ain't reckonin' on seein' her till we reaches th' lake. We can pick up our outfit and our grub at th' same time."

Wilson broke in.

"I don't like the scheme, Stubbs. I want to get to work and find the girl before she gets over the hills. It's too hard a trip for her—it might kill her. She's weak now, but that brute wouldn't care. If——"

"Slow! Slow, m' son. Yer blood is hot, but sometimes th' short course is th' longest. If we wastes a week doin' nothin' but thet, we wastes another perhaps arter we had found they has started. If we makes ourselves sure of our course to th' treasure, we makes sure of our course to th' girl. Thet is th' only sure thing, an' when ye've gut big things at stake it's better ter be sure than quick."

"I suppose you are right."

"'Nother thing, m' son, 'cordin' to my notions this ain't goin' ter be a partic'laly healthy place fer 'Mericans in a day er two. Now thet they have bamboozled the Queen (an' she herself is as squar' a little woman as ever lived) inter gittin' Danbury outer th' city, an' now thet the fight is won fer 'em, an' now thet th' boys we brought is about ter raise hell (as they certainly is), Otaballo ain't goneter be squeamish 'bout removin' quiet like and safe everyone who bothers him. In three days we might not be able to git out long 'nuff to git tergether an outfit er ask any questions. There's a whole lot 'bout thet map o' yourn thet we wanter understan' afore we starts, as I looks at it."

"There is some sense in that."

"It's a simple proposition; does ye want ter gamble on losin' both chances fer th' sake of savin' a week, or does yer wanter make sure of one fer the double treasure—gold and girl?"

"I'd give every penny of the treasure to get the girl in my grip once again."

"Ye've gotter git yer treasure fust afore ye can even do thet."

"I know it. I'm powerless as things are. If there is a treasure there and we can get it, we'll have something to work with. If I had the money now, I'd have fifty men on his track, and I'd post a hundred along the trail to the lake to intercept him."

"If ye'd had the treasure, likely 'nuff ye wouldn't have started. But ye ain't gut it an' ye is a long, long way from gettin' it. But if ye don't divide yer intrests, we is goin' ter git it, an' arter that we is goin' ter git th' girl, if she's anywhere atop th' earth."

"I believe you, Stubbs," answered Wilson, with renewed enthusiasm. "And I believe that with you we can do it. We'll make a bargain now; share and share alike every cent we find. Give me your hand on it."

Stubbs reached his big hand across the table and the two men shook.

"Now," he said, "we'll have a bite to eat and a mouthful to drink and begin work."

During the next week they followed one faint clue after another, but none of them led to anything. Wilson managed to secure the names of many men who knew Sorez well and succeeded in finding some of them; but to no purpose. He visited every hotel and tavern in the city, all the railroad and steamship offices, but received not a word of information that was of any service. The two had disappeared as effectually as though they had dropped from the earth.

At the advice of Stubbs he kept out of sight as much as possible. The two had found a decent place to board and met here each night, again separating in the morning, each to pursue his own errands.

Both men heard plenty of fresh stories concerning the treasure in the mountains. Rumors of this hidden gold had reached the grandfathers of the present generation and had since been handed down as fact. The story had been strongly enough believed to inspire several expeditions among the natives themselves within the last twenty years, and also among foreigners who traded here. But the information upon which they proceeded had always been of the vaguest so that it had come to be looked upon as a fool's quest.

The three hundred dollars was sufficient with careful buying to secure what the two men needed. Stubbs attended to all these details. They wished to make themselves as nearly as possible independent of the country, so that they could take any route which seemed to be advisable without the necessity of keeping near a base of supplies. So they purchased a large quantity of tinned goods; beef, condensed milk, and soup. Sugar, coffee, chocolate, flour, and salt made up the burden of the remainder. They also took a supply of coca leaves, which is a native stimulant enabling one to withstand the strain of incredible hardships.

Each of them secured a good Winchester. They were able to procure what ammunition they needed. A good hunting knife completed the armament of each.

For clothing they wore on their feet stout mountain shoes and carried a lighter pair in their kits. They had khaki suits and flannel shirts, with wide Panama sombreros. At the last moment Stubbs thought to add two picks, a shovel, and a hundred feet or more of stout rope. Wilson had made a copy of the map with the directions, and each man wore it attached to a stout cord about his neck and beneath his clothing.

It was in the early morning of August 21 that the two finally left Bogova, with a train of six burros loaded with provisions and supplies for a three months' camping trip, and a native guide.



CHAPTER XIX

The Spider and the Fly

The sun came warmly out of a clear sky as they filed out of the sleeping town. To the natives and the guide they passed readily enough as American prospectors and so excited no great amount of interest. The first stage of their journey was as pleasant as a holiday excursion. Their course lay through the wooded foothills which lie between the shore and the barren desert. The Cordilleras majestic, white capped, impressive, are, nevertheless, veritable hogs. They drink up all the moisture and corral all the winds from this small strip which lies at their feet. Scarcely once in a year do they spare a drop of rain for these lower planes. And so within sight of their white summits lies this stretch of utter desolation.

It was not until the end of the first day's journey that they reached this barren waste. To the Spanish looters this strip of burning white, so oddly located, must have seemed a barrier placed by Nature to protect her stores of gold beyond. But it doubtless only spurred them on. They passed this dead level in a day and a half of suffocating plodding, and so reached the second lap of their journey.

The trail lies broad and smooth along the lower ranges, for, even neglected as it has been for centuries, it still stands a tribute to the marvelous skill of those early engineers. The two men trudged on side by side climbing ever higher in a clean, bracing atmosphere. It would have been plodding work to any who had lesser things at stake, but as it was the days passed almost as in a dream. With each step, Wilson felt his feet growing lighter. There was a firmness about his mouth and a gladness in his eyes which had not been there until now.

On the third day they reached the highest point of the trail and started down. Both men had felt the effects of the thin air during the last twelve hours and so the descent came as a welcome relief. They camped that night among trees and in an atmosphere that relieved their tired lungs. They also built the first fire they had lighted since the start and enjoyed a hot meal of coffee and toasted porkscraps. They found the steep downward trail to be about as difficult as the upward one, as they were forced to brace themselves at every step. By night they had come to the wooded slopes of the table-lands below, supported by the mighty buttresses of the Andes. It was a fair land in which they found themselves—a land which, save for the vista of snow-capped summits and the lesser volcanic peaks, might have passed for a fertile Northern scene. It was at about sunset that they stopped and Gaspar, the guide, pointed to a spindle lava top against the sky.

"Up there," he informed them, "is the lake of Guadiva. Some say it is there that the great treasure lies."

"So? What treasure?" asked Stubbs, innocently.

"The treasure of the Gilded God which these people worship."

Stubbs listened once again to the story which he had already heard a dozen times. But it came with fresh interest when told within sight of its setting. Then he stared at it until the dark blotted it out. And after that he lighted his pipe and stared at where he had last seen it. Below them a few fires burned in the darkness showing through the windows of the adobe huts.

The next morning they dismissed their guide, as it would be impossible to use him further without revealing the object of their journey. Both Stubbs and Wilson were anxious to push forward to the lake without delay and resolved to reach if possible their goal by night. They figured that as the crow flies it could not be more than twenty-five miles distant. The trail was direct and well enough marked and finally brought them to the village of Soma which is within eight miles of the base of the cone. Here, for the first time since they started, they had a glimpse of the natives. As they entered the small village of adobe huts they were surrounded by a group of the beardless brown men. In a few minutes their number had increased till they formed a complete circle some ten men deep. They did not seem unfriendly, but as they stood there chattering among themselves they made no motion to open a path for the travelers. They were ordinarily a peaceful people—these of the valley of the Jaula—and certainly in appearance looked harmless enough. Yet there was no doubt but what now they had deliberately blocked the path of these two.

Wilson looked to Stubbs.

"What does this mean?"

"Looks as though we had been brought to anchor. D' ye know 'nuff Spanish to say 'Howdy' to 'em?"

"Perhaps a few presents would talk better?"

"Too many of 'em. Try your parley-vous."

"Might move ahead a bit first and see what happens."

"Then get a grip on your gun, m' boy."

"No," objected Wilson, sharply. "You'd have a fight in a minute. Move ahead as though we did not suspect we were checked."

He flicked the haunches of the leading burro and the patient animal started automatically. But soon his nose reached the breast of an impassive brown man. Wilson stepped forward.

"Greeting," he said in Spanish.

He received no response.

"Greetings to the chief. Gifts for the chief," he persisted.

The eyes of the little man in front of him blinked back with no inkling of what lay behind them. It was clear that this was a preconceived, concerted movement. It looked more serious. But Stubbs called cheerily to him:

"See here, m' boy, there's one thing we can do; wait for them to make a move. Sit down an' make yerself comfortable an' see what happens."

They gathered the six burros into a circle, tied them with their heads together and then squatted back to back upon the ground beside them. Stubbs drew out his pipe, filled, and lighted it.

"Keep yer gun within reach," he warned in an undertone to Wilson. "Maybe they don't mean no harm; maybe they does. We'll make 'em pay heavy fer what they gits from us, anyhow."

The surrounding group watched them with silent interest, but at the end of a half hour during which nothing happened more exciting than the relighting of Stubbs' pipe, they appeared uneasy. They found the strangers as stoical as the burros. Many of the men lounged off, but their places were promptly filled by the women and children so that the circle remained intact. Wilson grew impatient.

"It would be interesting to know whether or not we are prisoners," he growled.

"When yer feel like beginnin' the row we can find out that."

"I should feel as though shooting at children to fire into this crowd."

"Thet's what they be—jus' so many naked kids; but Lord, they can swing knives like men if they're like sim'lar children I've seen."

"We're losing valuable time. We might make another move and try to shoulder our way through until the knives appear and then——"

He was interrupted by a movement in the crowd. The men fell back to make a path for a tall, lank figure who stepped forward with some show of dignity. Both Wilson and Stubbs exclaimed with one breath:

"The Priest!"

To Wilson he was the man who had tried to kill him in the dark, the man again whom he in his turn had tried to kill. He reached for his holster, but he saw that even now the man did not recognize him. The priest, however, had detected the movement.

"There are too many of us," he smiled, raising a warning finger. "But no harm is meant."

Save for the second or two he had seen him during the fight, this was the first time Wilson had ever had an opportunity to study the man closely. He was puzzled at first by some look in the man's face which haunted him as though it bore some resemblance to another face. It did not seem to be any one feature,—he had never before seen in anyone such eyes; piercing, troubled dark eyes, moving as though never at ease; he had never seen in anyone such thin, tight lips drawn over the teeth as in a man with pain. The nose was normal enough and the cheek-bones high, but the whole expression of the face was one of anxious intensity, of fanatical ardor, with, shadowing it all, an air of puzzled uncertainty. Everything about the man was more or less of a jumbled paradox; he was dressed like a priest, but he looked like a man of the world; he was clearly a native in thought and action, but he looked more like an American. He stared at Stubbs as though bewildered and unable to place him. Then his face cleared.

"Where is your master?" he demanded.

"The cap'n?" growled Stubbs, anything but pleased at the form and manner of the question. "I'm not his keeper and no man is my master."

"Does he live?"

Briefly Wilson told of what had been done with Danbury. The Priest listened with interest. Then he asked:

"And your mission here?"

Before Wilson could frame a reply, the Priest waved his hand impatiently to the crowd which melted away.

"Come with me," he said. "I am weary and need to rest a little."

The Priest preceded them through the village and to an adobe hut which stood at a little distance from the other houses and was further distinguished by being surrounded by green things. It was a story-and-a-half-high structure, thatched with straw.

On the way Wilson managed to whisper to Stubbs:

"Let me do the talking."

The latter nodded surlily.

Before entering the hut the Priest gave an order to two of his followers to look after the animals. He caught a suspicious glance from Stubbs as the native led them away.

"The brutes look thirsty and I told the boy to give them food and drink. The Sun God loves all dumb things."

The room in which they found themselves contained no furniture other than a table, a few chairs, and against one wall a bunk covered with a coarse blanket. The floor was of hard clay and uncovered. From one side of the room there led out a sort of anteroom, and from here he brought out a bottle of wine with three wooden goblets.

The afternoon sun streamed in at the open windows, throwing a golden alley of light across the table; the birds sang without and the heavy green leaves brushed whisperingly against the outer walls. It was a picture of summer peace and simplicity. But within this setting, Wilson knew there lurked a spirit that was but the smile which mocks from a death's head. There was less to be feared from that circle of childlike eyes with which they had been surrounded outside, burning with however much antagonism, than from this single pair of sparkling beads before them, which expressed all the intelligence of a trained intellect strangely mixed with savage impulses and superstition. The Priest poured each of them a cup of sparkling wine and raised his goblet to his lips.

"If my children," he said, almost as though in apology, "do not like strangers, it is after all the fault of strangers of the past. Some of them have respected but little the gods of my people. You are, I presume, prospecting?"

"After a fashion," answered Wilson. "But we prospect as much for friends as gold."

"That is better. You people are strange in your lust for gold. It leads you to do—things which were better not done."

"It is our chief weapon in our world," answered Wilson. "You here have other weapons."

"With but little need of them among ourselves," he answered slowly.

"But you go a long way to protect your gold," retorted Wilson.

"Not for the sake of the gold itself. Our mountains guard two treasures; one is for whoever will, the other is for those not of this world."

"We go for a treasure very much of this world," answered Wilson, with a smile; "in fact, for a woman. She has ventured in here with one Sorez."

Not a line of his lean face altered. He looked back at Wilson with friendly interest—with no suspicion of the important part he had already played in his life.

"This—this man searches for gold?" he asked.

"Yes—for the great treasure of which so many speak."

There was the very slightest tightening of the lips, the merest trace of a frown between the brows.

"He is unwise; the treasure of the Gilded God is well guarded. Yes, even from him."

A big purple butterfly circled through the sunshine and fluttered a moment above the spilled wine upon the table; then it vanished into the dark. The Priest watched it and then glanced up.

"The maid—what part does she play?"

"She is under some strange spell the man has cast over her, I think, for she has been led to believe the wildest sort of a yarn—a tale that her father, long missing, is somewhere about these mountains."

"Her father—missing?" repeated the Priest, his face clouding uneasily.

"The girl loved him as a comrade as well as a father. The two were alone and very much together. He was a captain, and some fifteen years ago disappeared. It was thought that he sailed for some port along the western coast, but he never came back. In time the report came that he was dead, though this was never proven."

The Priest rubbed a brown skinny hand over his eyes.

"But the maid did not believe the rumor?" he asked.

"No—she did not believe."

Wilson did not dare tell him of the crystal gazing for fear that the Priest might jump to the conclusion that it was this power Sorez was using and so would associate the girl too closely with the treasure hunt. Yet he wished to tell him enough to protect the girl from any scheme of vengeance this man might be planning against Sorez himself.

"She is very immature," explained Wilson, "and so believed the older man easily."

"And you?"

"We have come in search of her—to take her back."

"But does she wish to return?"

"If I can make her see——"

"It is difficult to make a woman see sometimes. It is possible that she was led to come to Bogova in search of her father—but that would not bring her over the mountains. There are other things—like all women she is fond of gold and jewels?"

"That may be," answered Wilson, with heat. "But if you knew her, you would understand that no such motive would lead her to venture so much and endure so much. Nothing could blind her eyes to common sense but such a motive as this which drove her on."

The Priest smiled; he detected the underlying incentive in Wilson's own hazard, but there was still Stubbs and his relation to Danbury. He suspected treachery of some sort.

Wilson grew impatient.

"Night is coming on and we ought to be on our way. I suppose you are in authority over these people. Without your consent we cannot proceed."

"No—but it is far from my intention to interfere with so worthy a mission as yours. I might even assist you. I am always glad to do anything that will help strangers to leave. Sometimes this is done in one way and—sometimes in another. I expected this Sorez to leave by to-morrow."

"To-morrow? Why, he can't have more than reached the lake."

"No, but strangers do not remain long by the lake."

For the last few moments the Priest had seemed more normal, but now the uncanny, fanatical look returned to his eyes. Stubbs nudged Wilson to rise.

The three moved towards the door.

"I shall not interfere with you—at present," said the Priest. "But—a word of advice—work quickly. As far as the girl is concerned I think she will be ready to return by to-morrow."

"You have seen her?"

"Not myself, but I have a thousand eyes seeing for me in these mountains. They have seen the girl and they tell me she is well,—so much for your comfort."

But there was a smile still about the corners of the mouth which Wilson did not like.

The Priest shifted his eyes to the caravan itself. He made a note of the picks and shovels.

"You have the implements," he remarked, "for grave digging. I trust you will not need to use them. Adios, my friends."

He watched them until they disappeared into the woods with a sinister, self-confident smile like a spider watching a fly take the path into his web; a smile that gave him an expression strangely like that of the image itself. Before he turned into the hut again he gave several orders. Three of the brown men melted into the shadows after the caravan.



CHAPTER XX

In the Footsteps of Quesada

Once out of hearing, Stubbs, who had not spoken a word, broke out.

"If there ever was a devil treading the earth, it's that man. I've tol' Danbury so from the first. Ye can't trust that sort. My fingers jus' itched along the butt of my weapin' all the while ye was talkin'. Seems though a man oughter have a right to plug sech as him an' be done with it."

"You're prejudiced, Stubbs. I'll admit the man is queer, but, after all, he is protecting his own beliefs and his own people. I don't know as I would trust him any further than you, but—he is something of a pathetic figure, too, Stubbs."

"Huh?"

"Looks to me almost like an exile. I've got more to hate him for than you have, but I don't very long at a time."

"Ye've got more t' like him for, too; he's doin' his best to git rid of Sorez fer you. But I says, 'Watch him. Watch him day an' night—mos' particlarly at night.'"

"But what did he mean by to-morrow? I don't know but what we ought to let the treasure go and find Sorez first."

"Find Sorez and ye has ter help him; help him and the Priest fixes us immejiate. Then where's yer girl? No, th' thing for us ter do is ter git th' treasure first and get it quick. Then we has somethin' ter work with."

"And if the treasure isn't there?"

"Get the girl an' make a run for home. The Priest won't touch her so long as he thinks she is jus' bein' fooled. If we joins th' band, he won't think so an' will kill us all."

"I don't know but what you're right," answered Wilson.

They pushed their tired animals on to the foot of the mountain and, pausing here just long enough to catch their breath, began the long ascent. It was no child's play from the first. The path was narrow, rocky, and steep, blocked by undergrowth and huge boulders, many of which at a touch became loosened and plunged with a crashing roar down the slope behind them. With any lesser incentive than that which drove them on, they would have stopped a dozen times.

Ahead of them loomed the broken crater edge with just below it a fringe of stubby trees which broke off abruptly where the barren lava began. The cone was like a huge sugar loaf with the upper third cut off unevenly. The edges were sharp and made a wild jumble of crags which were broken by many deep fissures. Here and there the mountain was split into a yawning chasm. But the growth extended to within about an eighth of a mile of the top. Here it stopped and the path became nothing but a dizzy climb up a slope as steep and smooth as a house roof.

They tethered their animals on the edge of the green growth and here Stubbs set about making a camping place for the night.

"I don't want the dark comin' down on me," he growled as Wilson suggested leaving their things and pushing on to the top, "not until I finds a solid place fer my back where nothin' can come up behin'. You go on if ye wants to, an' I'll git things settled."

Wilson hesitated, but in the end he was drawn on. She lay beyond, somewhere upon the shores of the lake. It was a scramble almost upon hands and knees. It looked as though it were an impossibility for men heavily laden ever to make their way to the top. He turned once to look back, and saw behind him the green sweep of the beautiful valley of Jaula—then mile upon mile of heavy timber which extended to where the lusty mountains began once more. He attacked the trail anew and at the end of twenty minutes reached the top, bruised, cut, and exhausted. He looked down within the cone—not upon death and desolation, not upon ashes and tumbled rock, but upon the blue waters of the lake of Guadiva. It lay nestled within the bosom of this cone at a depth of just where, on the outside, the green began. The sun had set early upon it and it now lay a grayish-blue surface surrounded by a luxuriant tangle of growing things. In a circle about it stood the dark buttress of the lava sides. It was like a turquoise set in stone. The contrast to its surroundings was as startling as a living eye of faultless blue in a grinning skull.

He did not have long to look at it—not long to search its borders for some sign of the living. The dark came swiftly. As he was about to turn back, he thought he caught a glimpse of a spiral of smoke upon the farther side, but as he stared at this, it faded until he was not sure it had been at all. He took it for a good-night message from her. Then gold and jewels, though they might be within arm's reach, became as nothing before the deep desire which almost dragged his heart from his body—which almost sent him scrambling down the steep sides within the cone to make a wild dash to reach her side that night.

When he returned, he found Stubbs anxiously waiting for him with supper ready and a shelter for the night picked out beneath two large rocks which effectively guarded their rear.

The next morning, as soon as the sun tipped with pink the snow-capped tops of the Andes, Stubbs was up and studying the map again. The air during the night had been sharp, but snugly wrapped in their blankets both men had secured a sound sleep. Towards the early morning, however, Wilson had begun to toss a little with thoughts of Jo. It was of her he first spoke. Stubbs interrupted him sharply.

"See here, m' son," he said with some irritation, "we ain't got but a darned short time in which to work. So th' only way is to mark out a course now and stick to it. While you've been dreamin' of yer lady-love—which is right an' proper—I've been thinkin' on how we can git her an' the other thing too. Here's the pint I hed reached when you interrupted me: first and foremost, ye can't git th' girl until ye gits suthin' to git her with. Sorez ain't a-goin' to listen to you until ye can show him he's wrong. He ain't goneter b'lieve he's wrong until ye can show him th' treasure. Secondly, the Priest gent ain't goneter sleep till he finds out what fer we are wanderin' 'round here. Thirdly, when he does find out, it ain't goneter be comfortable, as ye might say, to be seen in this here harbor. Fourthly, it ain't goneter be easy to git away with what we does find with a couple of hundred natives at our heels, which they will be mighty soon. So, says I, we'd better quit dreamin' an' begin fishin' right erway."

He paused to see what effect this had. Wilson nodded for him to go on.

"Then we'll take another p'int; this here map starts from the hut where the heathen image lived. Wherefore we've got ter find thet hut afore we can start. We've gotter lay our course from thet. So, says I, there's jus' one thing ter do—hunt fer it lively."

"On the other hand," broke in Wilson, "if Sorez is in danger, the girl is in danger. The treasure is going to be here for a while longer, but maybe the girl won't. If we could combine forces with Sorez——"

"Well, I'm damned!" growled Stubbs. "See here, m' boy, the only thing that will do is to bring the Priest down on us. If Sorez wasn't crazy, he wouldn't have come in here with thet idol with less than a regiment back of him. But he has, an' what we wanter do is ter keep outer the squall he's in."

"You don't understand the man. He is absolutely fearless. He knows the place—he knows the natives—he knows the Priest. He won't be caught napping."

"Maybe so. Then he don't need us."

Wilson sprang to his feet. He was half ashamed of an obsession which shut out thought of everything else but the girl.

"See here, Stubbs," he blurted out, "you're right and I'm a sickly sentimentalist. I've been thinking so much of her that I'm not fit for an expedition of this sort. But from now on I'm under your orders. We'll get this heathen treasure—and we'll take it down and show it to Sorez—and we'll take the girl and fight our way out if we have to. As you say, we haven't much time and we've got to work hard. We know the hut is near the cone and overlooks the lake. Let's see——"

He reached for the map which he had fastened about his neck, but Stubbs checked his hand.

"Easy, boy. Jus' as well not to let the shadders know we has maps. I've gut my copy here hidden in the grass. S'posin' the hut is in the center; this here docyment mentions two peaks—one 'kissed by the sun' which I take it is the highest, and t' other where 'the trees climb highest.' Now at sea we often lays our course inshore by jus' sech marks. I figgers it out this way; these p'ints bein' startin' p'ints from the hut mus' be somewhere nigh the hut. So if we finds the tallest peak on the horizon an' then the peak on the cone where the trees come up the farthest an' gits the two in line, we'll have a straight course for the hut. Ain't thet so?"

"Sounds right."

"Maybe it is; maybe it ain't. Anyhow, it's wuth tryin'. Now I'm for givin' the burros lots er rope an' lettin' 'em nibble here. Then we'll hide our provisions in one place an' our ammunition in another and start immedjiate. I 'spect there's a dozen of them niggers watchin' us. We'll take a good look roun' fore we begin."

Both men beat the bushes for the radius of a hundred rods or more without, however, bringing to light anything but a few birds. Then Stubbs piled the provisions and blankets together with the picks and shovels into a crevice between the rocks and covered them with dry leaves and bits of sticks. He made another reconnoitre before hiding the ammunition. This he finally buried in another crevice, covering it so skillfully that not a leaf beneath which it lay looked as though it had been disturbed. He piled a few stones in one place, notched a tree in another, and left a bit of his handkerchief in a third spot, to mark the cache. Then, shouldering their rifles, the two men began the ascent.

Refreshed by their rest and the brisk morning air, they reached the summit easily and once again Wilson gazed down upon the lake now reflecting golden sunbeams until it looked as though it were of molten gold itself. Even Stubbs was moved by its beauty.

"Sorter makes you feel like worshipin' suthin' yerself," he exclaimed.

But he was the practical one of the two, or they would have got no further. His eyes swept the surrounding circle of peaks until they rested upon a majestic pile which so clearly overtopped its fellows as to leave no doubt that this must be the one "kissed by the sun." To the right from where they stood the second landmark was equally distinct, the green creeping up its sides several hundred rods higher than upon the others.

"There ye are!" he exclaimed, pointing them out to Wilson. "Clear as though they was labeled. An' now we can't stand here admirin' the scenery. There ain't no trolley to where we're bound."

He led the way, keeping as closely as possible to the crater's edge. But the path was a rugged one and frequently broken by half-hidden ravines which often drove them down and in a wide circle around. It was a place for sure feet and sound nerves for they skirted the edge of sheer falls of hundreds of feet. Before they reached a position opposite the crater peak, they found themselves almost down to the green line again. Here they discovered a sort of trail—scarcely marked more than a sheep path, but still fairly well outlined. They followed this to the top again. When they looked down upon the lake and across to the distant summit, they found the two landmarks in line. But neither to the right nor to the left could they see the hut—that magnet which had drawn them for so many miles over the sea. Stubbs looked disconsolate.

"Well," he said finally, "jus' my luck. Mighter known better."

"But we haven't given up yet," said Wilson. "Did you expect to find a driveway leading to it? You get out to the right and I'll explore to the left."

Stubbs had not been gone more than ten minutes before he heard a shout from Wilson and hurrying to his side found him peering into a small stone hut scarcely large enough to hold more than a single man.

As the two stood there they felt for the first time the possibilities which lay before them. The quest loomed larger and more real than ever before. From a half ghost treasure it became a reality. As the first actual proof of the verity of the map which they possessed it gave them a keener vision of what was to come.

"Lord, if it should be true!" gasped Stubbs.

"Man—man, it is!" cried Wilson. "I feel it tingling through every vein. We are on the very edge of the biggest treasure a man ever found!"

"What—did the paper say there was? Can you remember?"

"Gold plate and jewels—over six hundred pieces. No one knows how valuable they are. Each one might be a fortune in itself."

"Gawd!"

Stubbs sat down on the threshold of the little hut. He drew out his pipe.

"Let's jus' think on 't a minute," he said.

It was not so much the money value these things represented that appealed to the men. They could not grasp that. Nor was it the intrinsic beauty of the objects themselves. It was just the thrilling consciousness of being within that golden zone which had been sought by so many during so many centuries. Men from the four corners of the earth had come in search of what now lay within a day's reach of them; brave men, men who had made history. Yet they had failed; the mountains had kept their secret and the little blue lake had laughed at their efforts.

Wilson broke the spell. He was feverish with the desire to go farther. It was the exciting finish to a long race; the last move in a puzzle which had challenged men for centuries.

"The map, Stubbs! We mustn't stop here now."

Stubbs put up his pipe and unrolled once more the bit of parchment. The directions now seemed brutally calm.

"From where the peaks kiss," he read, "take one hundred strides to the right."

"We must go back to there," said Wilson. "Come on."

He led the way at a run. This starting point was a distance of several hundred yards from the hut itself. From there Wilson took the stated number of steps. He stopped with a start upon the brink of a hidden precipice. The chasm was narrow, scarcely ten feet wide, and from where he stood slanted so that the bottom could not be seen. But a little way to the right of here one looked into a sheer drop which ended in darkness. Wilson wiped his forehead.

"I guess we had better remember what the Priest says about those with unsteady steps. Another yard and I would have gone down."

But Stubbs was again bending over the map.

"The brave do not falter," it read, "for the seeming is not always the true. The path leads down twice the length of a man's body, then ten paces to the left. Again the seeming is not true, for it leads back again and under."

"Lord!" exclaimed Stubbs, "Why couldn't he put this in plain English. There is no sense in that."

"The path leads down," repeated Wilson. "That can mean but one thing; it leads over the edge here."

"To what? You get into that hole an'——"

"Let's have a closer look."

The opposite side was smooth and sloped in so that it was lost beneath the side upon which they stood. A man dropping over would strike this slanting surface.

"If we had brought a bit of rope now."

"We'll have to take the next best thing," said Wilson. "Peel off your coat."

"You don't mean to go over the side, m' son?"

"It's only twice the length of a man's body," repeated Wilson. "If that is so, I ought to strike something below—a ledge—that we can't see now."

"Better wait until we can get a rope. If it ain't so, you may drop a mile."

"It would take two hours to go back. I believe that phrase 'the seeming is not always the true' means something. Those things were not put in there for nothing. And it isn't likely that such a treasure as this was hidden where it could ever be found by accident."

He had stripped off his coat and stood waiting impatiently for Stubbs. The latter delayed.

"I'll be damned if you go down there," he said finally. "If anyone goes, it's me. In these sorter hills ye can't tell how deep a hole is."

"I wouldn't drop any farther than you."

"Maybe not. But if anyone gits foolish round here, it's me." He added, looking Wilson squarely in the eyes, "There ain't no one waiting fer me to come back."

But Wilson refused to listen.

"In the first place, I'm the lighter man, Stubbs; and in the second, I'm the younger. This isn't a matter for sentiment, but bull strength. I'm in earnest, Stubbs; I'm going."

For a moment Stubbs considered the advisability of attempting to knock him down. It seemed foolish for the boy to risk his life to save a matter of two hours. But when he met again the stubborn eyes and the jaw which was locked upon the resolution, he recognized the futility of further protest. He took off his coat and they tied the two sleeves together.

"Once more afore ye start, boy,—won't ye consider?"

"Stubbs, this isn't like you. There is no danger. Get a good brace with your feet. You won't have to bear the full weight because I can climb a little."

Without more ado Wilson let himself slowly over the edge. He slipped the length of the sleeves, his feet dangling in the air over what depth he did not know. He swung his toes in either direction and felt them strike the opposite wall. He lowered himself a bit more, and his toe rested upon what seemed a firm platform. He was on a projection from the opposite cliff face which slanted under. He let go the sleeve and looked down. He found he could step from here to a narrow path upon the nigh side where at this point the two walls came almost together. He was now beneath the place where he had started, which hung over him like a canopy. The walls again separated below, revealing a dark cavern.

At the end of a few steps taken with his face flat to the rock, he found himself again on a narrow trail which threaded its way over a yawning chasm. He moved slowly, shuffling one foot ahead and dragging the other after it. In this way he had gone perhaps one hundred feet when the path seemed to come to an abrupt end. His foot dangled over nothing. He almost lost his balance. When he recovered himself, he was so weak and dizzy that it was with difficulty he clung to the rock. In a moment he was able to think. He had been moving on a downward slope and it was probable that this was only a more abrupt descent in the shape of steps. One thing was sure: the path did not end here, if it really was a path, and not a chance formation. The opposite ledge had constantly receded until it was now some thirty feet distant. The path upon which he stood had narrowed until it was scarcely over eighteen inches wide at this spot. There was one other possibility: the ledge at this point might have crumbled and fallen. In his progress he had loosened many stones which rattled downwards out of hearing.

He secured a good balance on his left foot and cautiously lowered the other. Inch by inch he groped down keeping his arms as far outstretched as possible. Finally his toe touched something solid. He ventured an inch farther at the risk of losing his balance. He found a more secure footing and, taking a chance, rested his full weight. The base was firm and he drew down the other foot. He was on a wider path than that above. He paused here for the effort had made his breath come short. It was more the mental than the physical strain which had weakened him. It was nerve-racking work. The dark and the silence oppressed him. There was almost a tomb-like effect in this slit of the earth where man had not been for centuries. Once he had ventured to shout to Stubbs but his voice had sounded so muffled and the effort had produced in him such a panicky feeling that he did not try it again.

Once more he shuffled forward and once more his foot dangled over nothing. But he had gained more confidence now and lowered it to find another firm base. Two more steps came after this, and then the path proceeded on the level once more. He had gone some forty paces on this last lap when he was brought up against a face of solid rock. He moved his hands over it as far as possible in every direction, but he could not detect any boundaries. It appeared to be a part of the cliff itself. But once more he recalled the warning, "The seeming is not always the true." Then he tried to recall the details of the directions. His map was about his neck but he was in such a position that it would be hazardous to attempt to reach it. In spite of the many times he had read it, he could not now remember a word. The more he tried, the more confused he became.

After all, he had gone farther than he had intended. The thought of returning came as a relief. The next time he would have more confidence and could proceed with less of a strain. And so, step by step, he began to retrace the path. He was forced to keep his cheek almost flat to the rock. The dry dust sifted into his nostrils and peppered his eyes so that he was beginning to suffer acutely from the inflammation. His arms, too, began to pain him as he had been unable to relieve them at all from their awkward position. The last fifty feet were accomplished in an agony that left him almost too weak to raise his voice. But he braced himself and shouted. He received no response. He lifted his head and reached up an aching arm for the sleeve which he had left dangling over the cliff. It was not there. With a sinking heart he realized that something must have happened to Stubbs. The coats had probably fallen into the chasm below.



CHAPTER XXI

The Hidden Cave

In the face of this new emergency Wilson, as a real man will, quickly regained control of himself. Some power within forced his aching body to its needs. The first shock had been similar to that which a diver feels when receiving no response to a tug upon the life line. He felt like a unit suddenly hurled against the universe. Every possible human help was removed, bringing him face to face with basic forces. His brain cleared, his swollen and inflamed eyes came to their own, and his aching arms recovered their strength. The fresh shock had thrown these manifestations so far into the background of his consciousness that they were unable to assert themselves.

Stubbs was gone. It was possible, of course, that he lay dead up there within six feet of where Wilson stood,—dead, perhaps, with a knife in his back. But this did not suggest itself so strongly as did the probability that he had been seized and carried off. The Priest, who was undoubtably back of this, would not kill him at once. There was little need of that and he would find him more useful alive than dead. If there had been a fight—if Stubbs had been given a chance—then, of course, the Priest would have struck hard and decisively. If he had been carried away uninjured, Stubbs would find his way back here. Of that he was sure. The man was strong, resourceful, and would use his last ounce of strength to relieve his partner.

Wilson was in a veritable rat trap. One wall of the cliff projected over his head and the other slanted at such an angle that it was impossible to cling to its smooth surface. And so, although within such a short distance of the top, he was as effectively imprisoned as though he were at the bottom of the chasm. There were just two things possible for him to do; wait where he was on the chance that Stubbs might return, or attempt to trace his way further and reach the cave. If he waited, the dark might catch him there and so he would be forced to remain standing until morning. He hadn't the strength left for that. The other course would also be a bitter struggle to the last remaining spark of energy and might leave him face to face with another blank wall. However, that seemed to offer the bigger chance and would bring death, if death must be, more quickly.

He loosened the map from about his throat and, unrolling it, examined it through his smarting eyes. The directions took him almost step by step to the big rock which had barred further progress. He scanned the words which followed.

"The path is locked," it read, "but it opens to the faithful—to children of the Gilded One. Twelve hands' breadth from the bottom and close to the wall lies the sign. A strong man pressing steadily and with faith against this spot will find the path opened to him."

Twelve hands' breadth from the bottom and close to the wall. But supposing that referred to some real door which had since been blotted out by falling rock—by a later avalanche of which this barrier was a relic? There was but one way to find out and he must decide quickly. Also, he must memorize the other directions, for he would be unable to consult his map in the darkness of the lower chasm.

"Thirty strides on. If the foot stumbles here, the fall is long. To the left ten paces, and then the faithful come to the warmth of the living sun again. The door stands before. Enter ye who are of the Sun; pause if ye be bearded man or unclean."

Twelve handbreadths up and close to the wall; thirty paces on, then ten; so an opening of some sort appeared and near it, the cave. The cave—it lost its meaning as a treasure house. It was a place to relieve the ache which was creeping back to his arms; which would soothe his straining legs. It was a place to lie down in—this hole, hiding pretty jewels and gold plate.

He raised his voice in a final call to Stubbs. It was like calling against a wall; his muffled voice was thrown back in his face. With a start he saw that the light about him was fading. He studied his map for the last time to make sure he had made no mistake, and, folding it, adjusted it once more about his neck.

It was the same laboriously slow process all over again. He shuffled one foot ahead, moved his body squat against the wall, and followed with the other foot. Each time he moved the bitter dust sifted down until it checked his breathing and burned his throat. He had learned to keep his eyes fast closed, but it was a constant effort, for this increased the feeling of dizziness. Always there was a power at his back which drew him out as though he were responding to some powerful magnet. This and the temptation to loosen the tight cords back of his knees—to just let go and sink into relaxation—kept him at a more severe strain than did the actual physical effort.

But more than gold was at stake now,—more than jewels, though they sparkled like stars. The prize for steady legs and unflinching nerves was a respite from Death. If he reached the cave, he would have several days at least before him. Neither thirst nor hunger, fierce masters though they are, can work their will except by slow process. Against them Stubbs would be racing and he had faith in this man.

He did not fear Death itself. In thinking of the end, the bitter thing it meant to him was the taking off of her. And every day meant one day more of her—another chance of finding her and getting her back to God's country and the life which awaited them there. It did wait for them; in coming here they had left the true course of their life, but it remained for them to take it up when once they should make the beaten tracks again. Now he was trembling along the ragged edge of losing it all—all that lay behind and all that lay before. But if this was to be so, why had he ever seen that face in the misty dark? why had he come upon her the second and the third time? why had Chance brought him to her across ten thousand miles of sea? why had it brought him here? Why at the beginning could he not have forgotten her as one forgets those who flit into one's life and out again? He did not believe in a jesting God.

One foot forward, the body flat against the wall, a little choke from the dust, then the other foot after. A pause to catch the breath, then—one foot forward, the body flat against the wall, a little choke from the dust, then the other foot after. Also he must pause to remember that it was twelve hands up, close to the wall, thirty paces on, then ten.

Odd things flash through a mind long at a tension. In the midst of his suffering he found time to smile at the thought that life had reduced itself to such a formula. A single error in this sing-song, such as ten hands up instead of twelve,—was it ten or twelve? Ten hands up and close to the wall—twelve hands up and close to the wall—they sounded alike. Each fell equally well into the rhythm of his song. He stopped in the grip of a new fear. He had forgotten, and, trying to recall the rest, he found he had forgotten that too. His mind was a jumble so that now he did not dare to put out his right foot at all without first feeling with his toe a little beyond.

But this passed soon, and his thoughts returned to her, which steadied him instantly. So he came safely to the single step down and accomplished this. Then the other and accomplished that. At the end of a few paces farther he faced the great rock. It had become dark down here now,—so dark that he could not see six inches ahead. His foot had come against the rock, and then he had felt up with his hands. He found it impossible to stoop sufficiently accurately to measure from the bottom. There was nothing for it but to guess—to try again and again until either it gave or he proved that it would not give.

He placed his hand upon the rock at about the height of his chest and threw his weight forward. It was as though he were trying to push the mountain itself to one side. He tried above, below, to the right, to the left without result. Nothing discouraged, he began again, starting from as low as he could reach and pressing with all his strength at intervals of a few inches. Suddenly, like a door opened from within, the rock toppled to the right where it hung balanced over the precipice, leaving an opening two feet wide. It would have been a tight squeeze for Stubbs, but Wilson easily jammed through. He saw that the path continued at a slightly downward slope.

"Thirty paces on and ten to the left."

He repeated the words parrot fashion and his feet obeyed the instructions automatically. The thirty paces ended so near the edge of crumbling rock that it fell away beneath his toe leaving some two inches over nothing. Had a man walked here without directions, he certainly would have taken this last step and been hurled into the space below. It was pitch dark where he stood. He felt along the wall for the opening which should take him to the left ten paces. The wall, the path, the depth below the path were all one save to touch alone. It was as though he himself had been deadened to every sense but this. During the last few minutes his brain, too, had dulled so that all he now grasped of the great happy world outside was a vague memory of blue sky before which a shadowy figure danced like a will-o'-the-wisp. But still propelled by the last instinct to leave man before the soul, he put one foot ahead of him, pressed his body flat to the wall, and drew the other after. As he proceeded thus, counting the steps he took, he became aware that the air was fresher. Ahead, he saw an opening which was a little less dark than this which stifled him. It was light, though he saw it only faintly through blurred eyes. It was a gray slit coming together at the top. He groped his way almost to the edge and then to the left he saw a second opening—an opening into another dark. It was the cave. He staggered the few remaining feet and fell prone upon its granite floor.

How long he remained so he could not tell. He was not wholly unconscious, but in a state so bordering upon it that he realized nothing but the ecstatic relief which came to his aching body. Still he was able to realize that. Also he knew that he had reached his journey's end, so far as anything more he could do was concerned. He would wait—wait as long as possible—cling to the very last second of life. He must do that for her. That was all that was left.

His slowly fading senses flickered back. He roused himself and sat up. In the gloom back of him he made out nothing: the opening was becoming obliterated by the dark without, so that he felt as though in a sealed box—a coffin almost. He felt an impulse to shout, but his dry lips choked this back. He could not sit still. He must act in some way. He rose to his hands and knees and began to grope about without any definite object. There was something uncanny in the thought that this silence had not been broken for centuries. He thought of it as his toes scraped along the granite behind him. Once when he put out his hands near the cave opening, they fell upon what felt like cloth. Something gave before his touch with a dry rattle as of bones. He drew back with the morbid thought that they really were bones. Perhaps some other poor devil had made his way here and died.

He felt a craving, greater at first even than his thirst, for light. If only the moon came in here somewhere; if only he could find wood to make a fire. He had a few matches, but these he must keep for something more important than catering to a fear. He turned back to the cave mouth, pressing forward this time to the very edge. He saw opposite him another sheer face of rock which came in parallel to this in which he was imprisoned. His eyes fell below to a measureless drop. But the moon was shining and found its way down into these depths. With his eyes still down he bathed in this. Then, with returning strength, he turned to the left and his heart came into his throat. There was still more light; but, greater joy than this, he caught sight far below him of a pool of liquid purple. The cold, unshimmering rays of the moon played upon it in silver paths. It was the lake—the lake upon whose borders it was possible she stood at that very moment, perhaps looking up at these cliffs. It looked such a gentle thing—this lake. Within its calm waters another moon shone and about its edges a fringe of dark where the trees threw their shadows. He thrust his body out as far as possible to see more of it. The light and the color were as balm to his eyes. But it brought back another fever; how he would like to thrust his hot head into its depths and drink, drink, drink! The idea pressed in upon him so strongly, with such insane persistence, that he felt as though if he got very near the edge and took a firm grip with his toes, he could reach the water in a jump. It was worth trying. If he took a long breath, and got just the right balance—he found himself actually crouching. He fell back from this danger, but he couldn't escape his thirst. He must find water. The dry dust had sifted into his throat—his lungs.

His thoughts now centered on nothing else but this. Water stood for everything in the world—for the world itself, because it meant life. Water—water—nothing else could quench the fever which tore at his throat like a thing with a million sharp claws—nothing else could clear his brain—nothing else put the strength back into his legs.

Back into the cave he pressed—back into the unknown dark. The flinty sides were cool. He stopped to press his cheeks against them, then licked them with his dry tongue. Back—back away from the temptation to jump, he staggered. Another step, for all he knew, might plunge him into some dark well; but even so, it wouldn't matter much. There might be water at the bottom. Now and then he paused to listen, for it seemed to him he caught the musical tinkling of dripping water. He pictured a crystal stream such as that in which when a boy he used to fish for trout, tinkling over the clean rock surface,—a sparkling, fairy waterfall where at the bottom he might scoop up icy handfuls.

He tried to pierce the dark to where this sound seemed to be. He struck one of his precious matches. The flame which he held before him was repeated a thousand times, in a shining pool to the left. With a throaty, animal-like cry, he threw himself forward and plunged his hands into the pool. They met a cutting surface of a hundred little stones. He groped all around; nothing but these little stones. He grabbed a handful of them and struck another match. This was no pool of water—this was not a crystal spring—it was nothing but a little pile of diamonds. In a rage he flung them from him.

Jewels—jewels when he wanted water! Baubles of stone when he thirsted! Surely the gods here who guarded these vanities must be laughing. If each of these crystals had only been a drop of that crystal which gives life and surcease to burning throats,—if only these bits could resolve themselves into that precious thing which they mocked with their clearness!

Maddened by the visions these things had summoned, he staggered back to the opening. At least he must have air—big, cooling draughts of air. It was the one thing which was left to him. He would bathe in it and drink it into his hot lungs. He moved on his hands and knees with his head dropped low between them like a wounded animal. It was almost as though he had become a child once more—life had become now so elemental. Of all the things this big world furnished, he wanted now but that one thing which it furnishes in such abundance. Just water—nothing else. Water of which there were lakes full and rivers full; water which thundered by the ton over crags; water which flooded down over all the earth. And this, the freest of all things, was taken from him while that for which men cut one another's throats was flung in his face. Yes, he had become just a child once more,—a child mouthing for the breast of Nature.

When he reached the opening he dropped flat with his head over the chasm. His blurred eyes could still see one thing—the big, cool lake where the moon laughed back at herself,—the big cool lake where the water bathed the shores,—the big cool lake where Jo slept.

Jo—love—life—these were just below him. And behind him, within reach of his weak fingers, lay a useless half billion in precious stones. So he fought for life in the center of the web.



CHAPTER XXII

The Taste of Rope

Stubbs was lying flat upon his chest staring anxiously down into the fissure where Wilson had disappeared when suddenly he felt a weight upon his back and another upon each of his outstretched arms. In spite of this, he reached his knees, but the powerful brown men still clung. He shook himself as a mad bull does at the sting of the darts. It was just as useless. In another minute he was thrown again, and in another, bound hand and foot with a stout grass rope. Without a word, as though he were a slain deer, he was lifted to their shoulders and ignominiously carted down the mountain side. It was all so quickly done that he blinked back at the sun in a daze as though awaking from some evil dream. But his uncomfortable position soon assured him that it was a reality and he settled into a sullen rage. He had been captured as easily as a drunken sailor is shanghaied.

They never paused until they lowered him like a bundle of hay within a dozen feet of where he had tethered his burros. Instantly he heard a familiar voice jabbering with his captors. In a few minutes the Priest himself stepped before him and studied him curiously as he rolled a cigarette.

"Where is the other?" he asked.

"Find him," growled Stubbs.

"Either I or the Golden One will find him,—that is certain. There is but one pass over the mountain," he added in explanation.

"Maybe. What d' ye want of us, anyway?"

The Priest flicked the ashes from his cigarette.

"What did you want—by the hut yonder? Your course lay another way."

"Ain't a free man a right up there?"

"It is the shrine of the Golden One."

"It ain't marked sech."

"But you have learned—now. It is better in a strange country to learn such things before than afterwards."

"The same to you—'bout strange people."

The Priest smoked idly a few minutes longer.

"Where is the other?" he asked again.

"Ask your Golden Man."

"He knows only the dead. Shall I wait?"

"Jus' as you damned please," growled Stubbs.

He saw no use in trying to pacify this devil. Even if he had seen a hope, it would have gone too much against him to attempt it. He felt the same contempt for him that he would of a mutinous sailor; he was just bad,—to be beaten by force and nothing else.

The yellow teeth showed between the thin lips.

"The bearded men are like kings until—they lie prostrate like slaves."

Stubbs did not answer. His thoughts flew back to Wilson. He pictured his return to find his partner gone. Would he be able to climb out of that ill-fated hole without aid? It was possible, but if he succeeded, he might fall into worse hands. At any cost he must turn suspicion aside from that particular spot. Apparently it had as yet no especial significance, if its existence were known at all, to the natives.

"My partner," said Stubbs, deliberately, "has gone to find the girl."

"And you waited for him—up there in the sun?"

"Maybe."

"He had better have remained with you."

"There would have been some dead niggers if he had."

"My friend," said the Priest, "before morning I shall know if you have told the truth this time. In the meanwhile I shall leave you in the company of my children. I hope you will sleep well."

"D' ye mean to keep me tied like this till morning?"

"I see no other way."

"Then damn your eyes if——"

But he bit off the phrase and closed his eyes against the grinning face before him. As a matter of fact, he had made a discovery which brought with it a ray of hope. He found that with an effort he was able to bring his teeth against the rope where it passed over his shoulder. His hands were tied behind his back, but with the slack he would gain after gnawing through the rope, he would be able to loosen them. They had taken his revolver, but they had overlooked the hunting knife he always carried within his shirt suspended from his neck—a precaution which had proved useful to him before. The very thing he now hoped for was that they would leave him as he was.

The Priest departed and did not appear again. The three brown men settled down on their haunches and fell into that state of Indian lethargy which they were able to maintain for days, every sense resting but still alert. With their knees drawn up to their chins they chewed their coca leaves and stared at their toes, immovable as images. Stubbs looked them over; they did not appear to be strong men. Their arms and legs were rounded like those of women, and their chests were thin. He wondered now why he had not been able to shake them off.

Stubbs settled back to wait, but every now and then he deliberately tossed, turning from his back to his side and again to his back. He had two objects in mind; to keep the watchmen alert so that the strain would tell eventually in dulled senses, and to throw them off their guard when the time came that the movements really meant something. But they never even looked up; never shifted their positions. Each had by his side a two-edged sword, but neither revolver nor rifle. His own Winchester still lay in the grass near the hut, if they had not stolen it.

In this way several hours passed before he made the first move towards escape. They gave him neither water nor nourishment. So he waited until dark. Then he turned his head until his teeth rested upon the rope. He remained in this position without moving for ten minutes and then slowly, carefully began to nibble. The rope was finely knit and as tough as raw hide. At the end of a half hour he had scarcely made any impression at all upon it. At the end of an hour he had started several strands. The wiry threads irritated his lips and tongue so that they soon began to bleed, but this in turn softened the rope a trifle. The three brown men never stirred. The stars looked down impartially upon the four; also upon the girl by the lake and the man in the cave. It was all one to them.

He gnawed as steadily and as patiently as a rat. Each nibble soon became torture, but he never ceased save to toss a bit that the guards might not get suspicious. The dark soon blurred their outlines, but he had fixed their positions in his mind so that he could have reached them with his eyes shut. At the end of the third hour he had made his way half through the rope. It took him two hours more to weaken one half of the remainder. The pain was becoming unendurable. He quivered from head to foot each time he moved his jaw, for his lips were torn to the quick. His tongue was shredded; his chest damp with blood. Finally he ceased. Then carefully, very carefully, threw back his shoulders so as to bring a strain to the rope. He felt it pull apart, and sank to rest a bit.

Apparently he lay without moving. The brown men were like dead men. But inch by inch he had drawn the rope slack until he was able to unwind it from his wrists. Then by half inches he moved his hands free, slipping one of them from behind him to his side. It seemed to him as though Nature herself had paused to watch and listen. He turned now with his free hand beneath him. Slowly his fingers crept towards his chest, grasped the sheath, freed the blade, and then back to his side once more. He turned to his back, his hand behind him, his fingers grasping the horn handle.

His feet were still bound, but he figured that he could raise himself to a sitting posture and sever these with a single slash at the moment he sprang. But he must be quick—must be strong—must be calm. To this end he stretched himself upon his back and waited. If he were able to kill the first man with a single blow, he felt he would stand more than an equal chance with the two others. He was an adept in the use of the knife.

In a flash he was upright; in another he had cut through the rope on his ankles. He leaped forward, striking deep as his feet touched the earth. The knife sank to the hilt in the brown body. One of the others was reaching for his sword as Stubbs struck home again. But as he drew out his knife, the third was rushing for him with his long sword in his hands. He never reached him. With the skill of long experience, Stubbs threw his knife with the speed of an arrow from a bow. It struck the man just above the heart and he stumbled over his own feet. Stubbs melted into the shadow of the trees.

Once out of sight of the scene of this struggle, he stopped and listened. If this were all of them, there were several things he would get before he returned to the heights. A light breeze rustled the heavy tops above him, but otherwise the world seemed sound asleep. There was not the cracking of a twig—not the movement of a shadow. He ventured back. The three forms, save that they had settled into awkward positions, looked very much as they had a few minutes ago when they had stood between him and freedom. He passed them, stopping to recover his knife, and then moved on to where he had hidden the provisions. He took a rope, a can of beef, some crackers, and a small quantity of coca leaves. Then he went to the spring nearby and soothed his sore throat and mouth with water. He also filled a quart flask which he tied behind him. Returning to the cache, he covered it up again and, placing a roll of the coca leaves beneath his tongue, started on the ascent.

The dawn was just appearing in a flush of pink when he reached the top. A reconnaissance of the rocks around the hut and at the entrance to the crevice convinced him that no guards had been left here. Evidently the Priest had not thought their capture of supreme importance. It was more an act of precaution than anything else.

He felt more refreshed at the top of the peak than he had at the bottom and, wondering at this, it suddenly occurred to him that this was the effect of the coca leaves. He had heard in Bogova that the natives under its influence were able to endure incredible hardships without other nourishment of any kind. He took a larger mouthful. At any rate, they acted as balm upon his tongue and macerated lips. He felt no inclination to rest. Even had he felt fatigue, his anxiety over Wilson would have forbidden further delay.

He fastened one end of his rope securely about a point of rock and then sat down to study the map once more. He realized that he would need the help of every detail of these directions. Already he had committed them to memory,—he was calmer than Wilson about it and so had remembered them better,—but he went over them once more. There was more than treasure at stake this time.

He lowered himself into the crevice which had swallowed up his companion, with almost a sense of relief at being for the moment beyond the power of the Priest. He was tempted to cut the rope behind him, but a brief examination convinced him that this would be foolhardy. He still had sufficient left for an emergency—in case the rope was drawn up from above. Two men should stand a better chance of getting out of here than would a single man.

At the end of the first ten feet along the narrow path Stubbs felt much less confident than at the start that Wilson was alive. And he worked his way along the dangerous course with increasing fear. It was with a gasp of relief that he finally saw the opening ahead of him which marked the end. He paused to shout. He received no reply. He called his comrade's name again. The dark walls about him caught his voice and imprisoned it.

Taking new risks, he pushed ahead. To the left he saw the cave mouth. He stopped once more, half fearing what he should find, and ran the remaining steps. At the entrance to the cave itself he stumbled over a prostrate body.



CHAPTER XXIII

The Spider Snaps

Stooping, Stubbs ran his hand down the length of Wilson's arm and felt for his pulse. He caught a weak but steady beat. Prying open his mouth, he poured a large mouthful of water down the dry throat. Wilson quickly revived and begged for more.

"No, m' son, this'll do fer now. You'll need it worse later on. An' I'm darned glad to see yer again."

"How—how long have I been here, Stubbs?" panted Wilson.

"Nigh twenty-four hours."

"A day—a whole day wasted!"

"An' another cross agin yer fren' the Priest."