"It keeps me in touch with the world's news," he explained. "I can get practically every station on the face of the earth. You'll have a chance to hear what's going on tonight."
But it was the laboratory, the work-shop and the observatory that aroused my greatest interest and in which Harris took the most—and well warranted—pride. He must have spent a fortune on them and their equipment, and I felt myself wondering more and more how he ever had brought the stuff in. But, as he said, die mountain Indians are marvelous porters and from Tucin the heavy stuff could be brought by Harris' motor truck—that is after he had really got started. Being neither a chemist, an electrical expert nor an astronomer, I could not of course grasp what all the devices and apparatus were for. But I could appreciate the mechanical equipment of his machine-shops, the lathes, milling-machines, presses, shapers and dozens of other machines. And I could understand and appreciate the farm, the dairy, the gardens, and the perfection of Harris' sanitary and economic arrangements. Much to my surprise I discovered that he used water power for practically everything, for somehow—with his seemingly almost magical feats in evidence—I had expected to find some new and amazing source of energy.
Harris' help, as I have said, consisted wholly of Indians. Not that dull, stupid-looking Quichuas I had become accustomed to throughout Peru, but tall, finely built, intelligent-looking chaps that somehow reminded me of the Navajos of the southwest. I asked Harris about them, for they were wholly new to me and I thought I knew all that was to be known of the South American aborigines.
He chuckled. "That's the greatest compliment you ever paid me," he declared. "Imagine you—one of the most eminent; if not the most eminent of ethnologists, asking me about Indians! Why, old man, it's as if I asked you to explain the formulae for determining the vibratory speed of the Eltham ray!
"And the worst of it is—" he pretended to sigh—"I can't answer your question any more than you could answer that imaginary query of mine. All I know is that they were living here when I found the place--- no, not just here either, for they had a holy fear of the Huaro-Yana, but over to the south a bit. Their village is still there and a few of the older men and women still live there. But after I hired some, and the others found the white man's magic had driven away the devils of the place, the rest flocked over here. I don’t know how many there are. I only know how many I pay—the rest are inquilines, self-invited guests, as you might say. I do know they're superior to the other tribes and they have a lingo of their own. You can while away some of your time making an ethnological study of them."
Naturally, I devoted considerable time to a study of the Indians and found them a most interesting lot, at the same time adding not a little —I flatter myself—to our ethnological knowledge of South America.
To make a long story short, I became convinced that the natives were not of the Quichua race, but were remnants of the far more ancient pre-Incas, in all probability the light-skinned people from whom the reigning Incas came, for they spoke the ancient Hualla language, from which the later Quichua was derived, and they alone, of all Peruvian Indians I had found, still retained legends and folklore regarding the pre-Incan works. And unlike the other natives of Peru they wore—or at least those who had not adopted European garments and had taken to Harris' old clothes, wore, the costumes of the Incan races; short drawers or trousers, loose sleeveless smocks, moccasin-like slippers and the "Ilantu" about the head. But most interesting of all that I learned from them, and that which had the greatest bearing on subsequent events, was the fact that in their legends or myths they had a story to explain the means by, which the pre-Incas had cut the gigantic stones of which their prehistoric walls and buildings were constructed. According to this tale —which of course I put down to folklore and fable—there had once been a very great king, who was also a god, who could call upon die stars and the Sun-God for help. And this man called down giants from the skies and the Sun-God sent his fire and with this fire from the Sun-God the great king cut the rocks and the sky-giants lifted them into place.
But in the end, so the legend stated, other giants or devils followed the good giants and slew them and destroyed the works of the great king, and though the king, in a great battle with the devils, killed them with the fire sent by the Sun-God, yet in the doing of it he was wounded and died, and with him died the knowledge of calling the sun and the stars and the sky-giants to cut the rocks and build the mighty walls.
I told Harris of this and remarked that it was a rather good myth and, ethnologic ally, entirely new.
For a space he was silent, puffing as always at his pipe and evidently thinking deeply. "Hmm," he muttered at last. "I thought you were an imaginative fellow and not bound about with old-fashioned ideas. I thought you were almost as revolutionary in your theories as myself, but I'm afraid you're not unlike the rest. You call that a myth, folk-lore. How do you know it's not true?"
I looked at him in amazement. Then I broke into laughter. "True!" I cried. "Of course it's all bosh! I'm as willing as yourself to admit the possibility of almost any theory, as long as it's reasonable and not contrary to the laws of nature, but I draw the line at the supernatural. Sun-Gods, sky giants, devils—tommy rot!"
"Sometimes," he observed judicially, "things that seem supernatural are actually natural and vice versa. And we're learning new things, new facts about the 'laws of nature,' as you call them. Bosh, tommy-rot, you say. Wouldn't your father—or mine-—have said the same thing if they'd been told we could sit here and listen to someone speaking in London or New York-—or even if they'd heard stories of my car? Mind you, I'm not saying these Indians' legends are true—I don't believe they are literally so—but I don't feel so sure that they're not merely exaggerations —more or less poetical versions of actual historical occurrences. Didn't you tell me that you'd never heard an Indian legend that wasn't based on facts?"
I nodded. "Yes, and I'm willing to admit that much in this case," I told him, "We know the pre-Incan stone work is here. We know someone cut and placed the stones. I haven't any doubt it was done by the orders of some powerful ruler. No doubt, to his subjects, his superior intelligence and knowledge appeared like magic. And I haven't any doubt but that he and his people were destroyed by some savage enemies. As for the rest —fairy tales!"
Harris smiled. "In that case, old man, won't you tell me how the pre-Incans did cut their stones?"
"I wish I could," I replied, "but I admit neither I nor anyone else knows. However, we'll find how simple is the explanation and we'll kick ourselves for not having thought of it before."
"Think so?" he raised his eyebrows and looked at me with a strange half-amused, half-quizzical expression. "Well, I don't. However, we may find the answer much sooner than you expect. Remember what I said when I asked you up here—and hinted that you might learn the answers to some of the puzzles?
"Well—one of the puzzles I hope to solve is this very mystery of the pre-Incan stone work, though that's merely incidental—that will fade into insignificance beside other mysteries I hope to solve before long."
"If you keep on talking like that I'll begin to think you've made some contact with the stars and the Sun-God," I told him with a laugh. "But," I added, "all joking aside, if you can answer the riddle of the stones, you'll confer a tremendous benefit on science and archeology. I don't suppose you'd be willing to give me any more definite idea of your plans or theories?"
He shook his head, refilled his pipe and rose. "Sorry, I can't—not just yet," he said. "Before long perhaps. In the meantime, there are the ruins to occupy your mind and the Huaro-Yana—cut by the 'giants of the sky'!" He grinned mischievously as he left me.
Chapter III
A Mysterious Discovery
If Harris had been an archeologist, whose sole aim in life was the solving of the mysteries of Peru's prehistoric civilizations, he could not have selected a better site for his investigations. He had hinted— quite casually—that there were some interesting ruins on his place. Th
en he had astounded me with his bald statement that the Huaro-Yana, the great basaltic arch, had been artificially formed. I had noticed that his house and most of his buildings were pre-Incan structures restored and repaired. But all this had not prepared me for the astonishing ruins and remains I found on every hand. I had visited every known pre-Incan site in Peru and Bolivia— Tiahuanaco, Cuzco, Viracocha, Pisac, Ollantay, Macchu-Picchu, Chavin and scores of less known ruins, but all together would not have equaled the stupendous remains that I found at Huaro-Yana.
The entire valley—I say valley, yet Huaro-Yana was not a valley but an upjutting spur of land—(a sort of mesa)—rising for a least a thousand feet above the bottom of the real valley between the ranges—with an area of perhaps two hundred and fifty acres, was, or rather once had been, completely covered with the gigantic structures of a prehistoric civilization. So numerous, so immense were the ruins, that it was days before I even obtained a general idea of their plan and arrangement.
And the more I studied them, the more amazed I became. Not only did I find that Harris had been correct when he had stated that the Huaro-Yana itself had been hewn from the living rock, but I discovered that the neck or ridge of rock that connected flat-topped mesa with the neighboring mountain side, and across which I had come in Harris' car, was actually a stupendous piece of masonry. More than this I found that the bed of the river that led across the ridge and flowed through Harris' fields, to fall in a magnificent cataract into the gulf below, was a channel constructed by man, and that the stream itself had been deflected from its natural course down the mountain side and had been led across the mesa. And the only approach to the place was through the stupendous arch of the Huaro-Yana. It was in fact an absolutely impregnable spot, or would have been in the day antedating gunpowder and heavy artillery. A mere handful of men could have held the approach and the arch against thousands, and when, after risking life and limb a dozen times, I managed to reach the summit of the arch, I found—as I had half expected to find—that it had been planned as a fortress. There were the remains of buildings, of walls, of parapets, and there still remained great piles of stones ready to be hurled down upon an enemy attempting to pass under the archway. Evidently the place had been a stronghold, a city and a religious centre combined, for there was an enormous temple topping an artificial mound; there were ruins of magnificent palaces, there were hundreds of low walls marking the homes of the inhabitants, and in one spot I came upon the finest specimen of an Inti-Huatana that I or any other archeologist had ever seen. Not only was this gigantic stone sundial in perfect condition, but the disk—to my unbounded delight and astonishment—was sculptured and bore marks and unquestionable inscriptions—the first evidences of a written or recorded language ever discovered in Peru.
But this story is not a dissertation on ancient Peruvian cultures nor an account of my archeological studies and discoveries at Huaro-Yana. All that will be found in my, "The Cultural, Religious and Astronomical Centre of the Pre-Incan Civilization in Peru. Proceedings of the Museum of American Archeology," and I must apologize to my readers for having, quite unconsciously, been momentarily side-tracked.
But to resume. I had expected to stay a week or two at Harris' place, but with so much to occupy my time, so much to interest me at every turn, the days sped by with miraculous swiftness and a month had gone almost before I realized it. Of course, to dream of making a thorough study of the ruins in the time at my disposal was quite hopeless. There was more than enough work to occupy members of a large expedition for several years, and the most I could hope to do, was to make a general survey, record the most interesting features, make measurements, and possibly carry on some excavatory work. Hitherto, very little material of value—such as human remains and perishable objects—had ever been found in the pre-Incan Andean sites. But Huaro-Yana was in such an excellent state of preservation that I had high hopes. And I was not disappointed. I located several stone tombs, and from these obtained some most remarkable mummies completely clad in magnificent robes, together with a number of specimens of unique pottery, various bronze, silver and a few gold objects, wooden utensils and weapons, beads, ornaments, etc. I was, of course, elated at my success, and Harris was as enthusiastic as myself.
Many, in fact, most of the objects were easily identified, but among them was one vessel that puzzled me. It was a globular vessel with al long neck—something like a carafe in form—and with two smaller openings, both closely stopped with plugs, one on each side of the neck where it joined the body. It was formed of what I took to be gold at first, but the instant Harris examined it he declared it was not of that metal.
"Then what is it?" I demanded. "Obviously it's not bronze, copper or silver. Neither is it iron, lead, tin or brass. What is the metal?"
He shook his head as he examined it with a lens, hefted it and scratched it with his pocket knife. "I don't know," he admitted. "Off-hand, I should say it's some composition —if modern I'd say aluminum-bronze. But of course, that's impossible. If you'll let me, I’ll analyze it." "I'd be glad to let you," I assured him. 'Tin as curious to know what the material is, as I am to solve the puzzle of its use. Can you offer any suggestion?"
He laughed. "It looks more like an" old-fashioned bomb or hand-grenade than anything else," he replied. "But as that's out of the question, we'll have to think up something else. Now let's see. It has three orifices, of which two are closed. Why should it have these two stoppered holes, when the main opening would serve to empty or to fill it? I think you'll find the answer to that question in the inside of the pot. Personally I believe it's a triple affair—that it had three separate compartments and that the two stoppered holes lead to two of these and the neck opens into another. Admitting that for die sake of argument, why is one opening left open and the others closed? Answer: the two contained something that was to remain within them while the third contained material that was to be poured out or used."
I clapped my hands. "Bravo!" I cried. "Go to the head of the class, Harris. But what the deuce could the pre-Incans have had in the secret compartments? Answer me that, old man!"
Harris grinned good naturedly. "May have been a prehistoric thermos bottle!" he laughed. "Or," he added, "one of those gadgets for holding three kinds of liquor—no, that wouldn't do—it would have had three spouts in that case."
"Why don't you suggest it was some sort of a box of tricks belonging to that fabulous old king who was also a great magician?" I asked him banteringly. "Or maybe he kept a couple of genii—two of the sky-god-giants—locked up in the thing!"
"Hmm," observed Harris, who was shaking the pot and listening intently. 'There's something inside. Genii don't rattle, do they?"
'Then let's pull out those plugs and dump it out," I suggested.
"I don't know about that," said Harris, and I stared incredulously at the expression on his face and was amazed at the seriousness of his tones.
"We don't know what might be in it," he continued, staring fixedly at the metal vessel as if trying to penetrate its sides and see what was within. "Somehow I don't approve of taking chances with these old things. You may laugh at me, but don't forget Doctor Ledell—remember how he opened a sealed jar at Ur and dropped dead instantly? And there was Barstow in Yucatan—you told me about him yourself—-how he went raving mad after smelling the contents of an innocent-looking stone box. How do we know this thing doesn't contain some-damnable poison that’ll knock one or both of us out, if we get a whiff of it?"
"Maybe you're right," I admitted, as his words brought vivid memories of Ledell and Barstow. "Perhaps we'd better leave it as it is."
"We can do that and still find out what's in it," declared Harris. "I've got an X-ray machine, a fluoroscope and several more modern devices of the same character at the laboratory. When we go back to the house, we’ll see what we shall see."
Perhaps Harris was more interested than I in the strange metal carafe and its contents, or perhaps my greater interest in the other specimens caus
ed me temporarily to forget the thing. At all events, I gave it no further thought, and during the rest of the day and evening I was busy preparing, studying and labelling my specimens. Not until the next day at breakfast was it mentioned. Then, with a peculiar glance at me, Harris asked; "Remember that metal vessel you found yesterday?"
I nodded. "Been doing anything with it?" I inquired.
"More than you'd guess," he replied. "I've been working on it most of the time since we got back here yesterday."
"We’ll, what did you find?" I asked, helping myself to a luscious grafted mango. "A genie or ice?"
Harris did not smile at my flippancy. "In the first place," he informed me, "I analyzed the metal. It's not what I thought it was—in fact, it's an entirely new and unknown metal. It—"
"What?" I exclaimed suddenly, all attention. "You mean to say it's not an alloy as you thought?"
He shook his head. "I flatter myself I'm as good a chemist and as expert a metallurgist as any living man," he said. "And I'll pledge my reputation that the thing is composed of some metal at present unknown to us. But that's not all. It contains, as I assumed, two lots of material in two separate compartments. But the third compartment is empty."
Monsters of the Ray Page 2