by Van Powell
CHAPTER V THE CHUMS SHOW THEIR METTLE
In Cuzco, while final plans were made and supplies were being assembled,the chums were free, for several days, to explore. Bill had shown themtheir map, which he had kept out of Mr. Grey's note when he coaxed theeaglet to his camp. The map did not mean much to them, but to Bill, whohad already gone alone over the passes to be sure there was a hiddencity, the map was quite clear. They would go on foot over the mountains,he said. It was safer than by muleback: some of the passes were quitenarrow and dangerous, although he could show the best ones to them.
The chums were rather depressed that they could not accompany Mr.Whitley and Bill: however they agreed to make the best of it, and withthe naturally buoyant spirits of youths in a new place they went aboutand had a fine time.
One of the people they met was a youth, quite near their own ages. Hespoke a little English and acted as their guide.
None of them, nor their older companions, suspected his real purpose,but it was divulged, one day, as they were in a meaner quarter of thecity where some of the natives of Peru, degraded and listless remains ofa once noble race, had their poor homes.
"Come--here--I show--how I live!" said their young guide. They allfollowed him into a low room in an old building, squat and roughly builtof a composition something like the _adobe_ of the Mexicans.
But once they were inside they turned in dismay. The youth was not alonewith them: three fierce looking half-caste men, part Inca, part Spanish,rose from a dark corner: one slammed the rude door and fastened it."Now," he said, "you stay here."
"What's the big idea?" demanded Nicky hotly, relapsing into slang in hisexcitement.
"You see!" said the man. He and his companions held a low-voicedconference and then one of them rose and was gone: his malevolentlooking friends gave the door a vicious slam and shot its bolt.
"What are you going to do with us?" demanded Tom.
"We keep you. When that tall one--" he meant Mr. Whitley,"--start forLima once more, we let you go!"
"You daren't!" cried Nicky, and made a dash for the window. But Tom andCliff restrained him.
"We'll have the police--or whatever they're got here!" Nicky said. Hegave a shout. But one of the men advanced with a very threateninggesture.
"Keep quiet," Tom urged and Cliff added, "we're in a strange place." Hecounseled, "We have to keep our heads. We'll find a way out but not bymaking a disturbance. We don't know these men or this part of town: wedon't know the customs they have. If we keep quiet they may let us go orrelax their guard."
"But then our trip's ruined!" argued Nicky.
"Yes," said Cliff, morosely, "and my father is the worst sufferer if heis still alive. But we are trapped. We must do our best to get out of itbefore they send that man to Mr. Whitley."
"He's already gone," grumbled Nicky.
"No he isn't. He's just outside. I see him through the window. He'srolling a cigarette out there by a post."
"He's waiting for someone," said Tom, "I see him."
"Tom," whispered Nicky, "your uncle gave you a pistol, didn't he? Haveyou got it? Let's shoot our way out!"
That was Nicky all over! He was excitable and quick. He knew that Tomhad been trusted to carry a light .22-caliber revolver given him by hisuncle, because Tom had a cool head and would not abuse the possession.It was more for signalling, than for a fight.
"Easy, Nicky!" counseled Tom, "We don't want to hurt anybody."
"No," chimed in Cliff, "we're outnumbered and we don't know howdangerous this neighborhood may be. Besides, if we do anything to getinto police courts it will make us tell what we are going to do and thatwill upset all Mr. Whitley's plans."
"They're upset already," Nicky grumbled, "That man's gone----"
"No he isn't," Tom replied, "He's waiting outside, by a post--I can seehim through the window. There! Why--I believe the very same Indian wesaw by the temple is giving him money!"
"Yes--I'm sure it's the same one," Cliff said, "He's coming in."
The tall Indian, or Inca noble, for he was really that, was admitted.The two waiting men stretched out eager hands.
"We get them," said one, "You pay. We go." Then he remembered that hespoke a half-halting English, and repeated it in dialect.
The Indian paid them some money and the two men, as if glad to be away,left quickly. The boy came in, acting shamefaced, but trying to lookcheerful. He, too, stretched out a hand.
"Now--if only we had some way to take these two by surprise," began Tom.
"Sh-h-h!" warned Nicky, "They'll hear you."
Cliff reminded him that the Indian had not understood the half-breedswhen one spoke in English, and that the boy had to stop and translate.He spoke in low, eager tones.
"Nicky, what did you do with that little box of magnesium powder youtook out of the supplies this morning? You were going to try to take adaylight kodak picture inside a temple by flashlight. If you had it,now----"
"I have," Nicky whispered, "but----"
"Listen. Here's a plan. It may work. It would play on the superstitionsof these fellows. They are both natives and I don't think either one hasseen a flashlight, or an electric torch. If we could make them think wewere powerful magicians and could burn them, they might be scared enoughto be off guard----"
"It's an idea!" exulted Tom, "I have that small burning glass,Cliff--suppose I got to the window, and set the burning glass so itfocuses, while the man is paying the boy. Then----" That was Cliff'sidea, too. Tom moved quietly over and pretended to look out of thewindow. Really, he was adjusting a small lens, hidden by his hand on thestone window ledge, so it focused the sun rays in one spot. On Cliff'sinstructions Nicky maneuvered his body to help conceal the tiny lensfrom the sight of the others. Tom opened the flash powder box, a small,single charge of magnesium powder which, when ignited, makes a greatwhite flash and a big puff of smoke, but is not dangerous.
The boy turned from being paid.
"Listen," Cliff commanded, "You--tell--that--man--" he spoke slowly andimpressively, "--we--are--going--away--from--here.If--he--tries--to--stop--us, we--will--burn--him--up!"
The boy stared. Cliff repeated his words. The boy, mystified,translated. The man laughed scornfully. Cliff drew a small pocketelectric flashlamp into view. In a dark corner he played the rays whilethe natives stared. Then, suddenly, he pointed a dramatic finger at thetiny box on the window ledge. The natives stared at it curiously, notknowing what to expect.
"Tell--him--we--burn--that--box--to--show--what happen--toyou--if--you--stop us!" Cliff said with a bold and threateningexpression. The boy spoke in dialect and both seemed unable to taketheir eyes off the box.
Cliff made a sign to Tom who pushed the small box into the focus of thelens which Nicky screened from the natives' view. Cliff pressed hislight switch, and pointed the ray with a few signs of his free hand.
Nothing happened!
The man laughed and the boy snickered. Nicky began to feel weak andcold; but Cliff stood his ground.
Then, so suddenly as to startle even Nicky, the focused rays ignited thepowder: there was a dull "boop!" and a blinding glare.
Before the smoke had risen and began to spread Cliff whispered,"Now--make for the door!"
Holding the flashlight pointed at the boy until the latter cowered backagainst the man, Cliff led his chums to the door. He fumbled with thecatch: the man made a move as if to grapple with him but Cliff threw theray into his eyes and he flung up his arm, instinctive fear of somethingnot understood overcoming his wit. Cliff unfastened the clumsy catch,the chums fled to the street and were off like young gazelles.
"They'll find the lens!" Nicky panted.
"What do we care?" demanded Tom, "They won't get us!"
Of course all plans had to be altered; the youths could not be leftbehind. They were glad that in trying to prevent the expedition theIndian had only made their part in it certain.
On a fine evening, with all the natives
engaged, and with all suppliespacked, and with their course through the mountains carefullydetermined, they went to sleep for the last time in a civilizedhotel--if the mean accommodations of the place they had selected couldbe called "civilized." Mr. Whitley's Lima friend had not proved a verygood adviser. However, bright and early the next clear, temperateday--for Cuzco was not in the hotter lowlands where tropical heat wasfiercest--they began their real adventure.
Bill and Mr. Whitley were in advance: then came the natives, laden withquite heavy packs, under which they toiled along on an ever ascendingslope, singing native chants and talking in their unintelligible jargon.Behind them came the Mystery Boys, also laden with packs containingpersonal things and articles they wished to protect from prying eyes.
"We're on our way," they told each other and felt like capering at thecertainty that in trying to frustrate their plans the Indian had made itpossible for them to go along.
Up in the hills a tall, well built Indian stood with several companions,watching the lower passes.
One day, as the comrades toiled along, entering the real mountains, thevigilant watcher turned toward his companions.
"Brother, they come!" he said.
"They come--yes," agreed his nearest aide, a noble of the old and almostextinct true-blooded Incas, "They come--yes."
He made a meaning gesture.
"But--they will not come back!"
That same day Cliff borrowed Bill's field glasses and focused them on asmall band, toiling along far behind them.
"I think we're being followed--I've noticed that group several times,"he told the older members of their party.
They agreed, and frequently thereafter the followers were observed, butalways too far behind to enable the chums to guess their identity. Wasit the Spaniard? Was it the Indian?
Many days passed and they were well in the high cliffs before theylearned the truth!