As though a huge door was opening, a section of the cliff was swinging aside. Khaki Shirt was right against the stone, so close that Craig could not tell whether or not the thug had found and operated some mechanism the little ornament had revealed. But whatever was the cause, a door was opening in the cliff. Three or four feet above the ground level, a ten foot section of what had looked like solid stone was swinging aside. Silently, ponderously, as though a tremendous weight was balanced so a slight force exerted at the proper place would move it either way, a door was opening, revealing a slanting tunnel running slightly upward and into the cliff itself. A dim blue glow, like the glow from the statuette, came from the tunnel.
“Hurrah!” Khaki Shirt shouted. “We’ve found it.”
He leaped upward into the tunnel opening, vanished inside. His three companions quickly followed him. Lolita Montez went last. She had difficulty climbing up into the tunnel opening and no one helped her.
“Come on,” Craig said, starting forward.
“Where the hell are we going?” Randall asked.
“After them.”
“It’s all right with me, but they’ve all got guns. We’ve got one pistol with six shots in it and one knife.”
“We’ve, got surprise, too,” Craig answered. “They don’t know we’re within miles of them. If we don’t get them now, while they’re busy gawking, we may never have another chance. Come.”
Pistol in hand, Craig ran across the open space toward the cliff. He heard Randall’s feet pounding behind him. With a single leap, the flier vaulted into the tunnel, and raced on tip-toe upward.
The tunnel slanted upward a few yards, then opened into a single vast room which had apparently been carved from the solid rock. It was filled with a dim blue radiance that came from a single source.
The four thugs and the girl were across the room staring in awe at the source from which the radiance sprang. Piled everywhere within the vast room were—jars, temple ornaments, plates, huge stacks of them.
This was the treasure house of the Incas! Enough gold was here to ransom a dozen kings.
“Great gollywhoppers!” Bat Randall whispered. “We’ve hit the jackpot!”
Khaki Shirt and his gang were gathered at the far end of the temple.
Above them on a stone pedestal was a gigantic statue—of a crouching jaguar. It was the same in every detail as the tiny statuette that had been the key to this treasure house, except that it was many times larger than even a real jaguar. The vanished priests who had built this stronghold had apparently set up the statue as an idol, and as a key to their secret hiding place they had carved a tiny duplicate of the larger image. It was a clever idea. If you follow the cub, you will find the lioness. If you knew how to follow the clue hidden in the tiny statuette, it would lead you here.
Like a gigantic guard, the jaguar seemed to keep watch over the golden-treasury of its vanished master. It crouched, head down, legs drawn up, eyes focused on the tunnel, ready to leap upon any one who entered this forbidden place.
The dim blue radiance that filled the temple came from it. Just as a glow had come from the statuette, a glow came from the statue. Vaguely, it illumined the whole room.
“What is that thing?” Khaki Shirt, was saying, staring at the idol.
“Hands up!” Craig said harshly.
His voice froze the group clustered around the statue.
“I’ll shoot the first man who moves,” he rasped; “Drop those rifles!”
Khaki Shirt turned. “It’s the damned flier!” he gasped. “I thought that guy was dead.”
“I’m not dead, but you will be if you don’t drop that gun,” Craig rasped.
Would they obey him? Or would they defy him? If they chose to leap aside and throw up their rifles, they could mow him down. There were five of them, counting the girl, all armed.
If they chose to start shooting, he wouldn’t have a chance, and he knew it.
Craig saw the same idea occur to Khaki Shirt. The thug glanced sideways at his companions.
“You may get me, but I’ll get the first one,” the flier said harshly. “Drop that gun!”
Khaki Shirt’s tongue ran around his lips, but he still held on to his weapon. Craig tensed himself to shoot.
For a second, the spell held. Then a rifle clattered on the floor. It came from Lolita Montez. She had dropped her gun. As though this was a signal the other four dropped their weapons.
“That’s better,” Craig said, wiping sweat off his forehead.
“Señor Craig,” Lolita Montez cried. “Oh, I’m so glad—” She started toward him. A smile lit her face.
“Keep away from me!” Craig rasped, centering his pistol on her.
She kept coming.
“But you do not understand, Señor Craig. I am really not with these.” A wave of her hand indicated the four men.
“I understand well enough,” Craig said. “If you come another step closer, I’ll shoot.”
She was stalling him, she was trying to get close enough to him’ to grab at his gun, after which the four thugs would swarm over him. She had played him for a sucker once. Now she was trying to take advantage of the fact that she was a woman.
“You would shoot—a girl?” she gasped.
“Not if I can help it. But if you take another step, I won’t be able to help it.”
That stopped her. Amazement, incredulity, fear, showed on her face. But she stopped coming toward him. Craig breathed a little easier.
“Bat, get those guns,” he said.
The mechanic started forward to obey. Lolita Montez opened her mouth and screamed.
Crack!
Something hit Craig from behind, a savage, stunning blow that sent stars whirling before his eyes. He whirled, fired blindly, staggered backward, trying to see who had hit him:
It was Pedro. The Indian had recovered consciousness and by some miracle of jungle trailing, had followed them here. He had slipped up behind them. Now the flier knew why the girl had stalled him. She had seen Pedro entering and had deliberately held Craig’s attention while the Indian slipped up behind him.”
“You little rat!” he gasped. “I should have known you were tricking me!”
“Guns!” Pedro shouted.
Lolita Montez screamed at the top of her voice. Craig knew without looking that the four thugs were grabbing for their rifles. Pedro was coming toward him. He fired again, and missed. Coming from behind, a bullet screamed past him. A rifle roared and echoes whooped back from the interior of the temple.
Craig ducked to the right, ran to the rear. He would have preferred to try to get outside but if he leaped down the tunnel, he would provide a perfect target for the rifles inside. He ran behind the huge idol.
In front of the statue, the four thugs were scurrying for cover. Something came sailing out of the dimness, struck one of them, staggered him. Off to the left Craig caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure. It was Bat Randall. The mechanic had taken refuge behind one of the piles of golden vessels, which he was chunking at the thugs as fast as he could throw them. The heavy golden bowls made excellent missiles. One of them struck Khaki Shirt, knocked him sprawling.
Craig took deliberate aim at one of the thugs, squeezed the trigger. The pistol roared. The man threw up his hands, staggered backward. He fell into the entrance of the tunnel, slid down it and outside.
“Give ’em hell, boss!” Bat Randall was shouting. A barrage of golden ornaments was sailing through the air.
There was pandemonium in the ancient Inca treasure house. Rifles seemed to be barking everywhere. The air was dank with the raw odor of smokeless powder. Bat Randall was yelling at the top of his voice. Rifle bullets were whanging past him but Randall was jumping like a billy-goat and never presented a good target. Craig, except fo
r his head and arm, was out of sight behind the pedestal that supported the idol.
“We’ll win this fight yet, Bat,” he shouted. They had every chance to win it. The attackers could not come at them without exposing themselves.
Spang, spang, spang! Rifles roared. “Eeeyow!” Bat Randall yelled. Craig fired once at a shadowy rifleman, groaned as he missed. He heard an unintelligible shout, saw figures moving, brought up his pistol to shoot, then lowered it. The thugs weren’t charging. They were going in the opposite direction. They were running! Like firemen going to a five-alarm blaze, they were leaping into the slanting tunnel and vanishing outside.
Suddenly the temple was silent. There wasn’t a sound. The air was heavy with the tartness of powder smoke. The dim blue radiance flowed evenly from the huge idol.
“We licked ’em, boss,” Bat Randall broke the silence. “They run out on us. They took a powder. They could dish it out but they couldn’t take it. Hell, boss, we’ve won this fracas.” For a mad second, Craig hoped the mechanic was right. Then he realized the real meaning of this sudden retreat.
“Hell, Bat, we haven’t won!” he gasped. “We’re inside and they’re outside. We can’t get out. We’re caught like rats in a trap.”
“But if we can’t get out, they can’t come in,” the mechanic pointed out. “If we’re stymied, so are they. Of course,” he added doubtfully, “nobody could say we’re in any shape to stand a siege, without anything to eat or drink. Hell, boss, we’re in a mint, but before we get out of here, we may be willing to trade all this gold for a hamburger and a bottle of beer.”
“I’d be willing to make that trade right now,” Craig said. “Especially if I could work it so our necks would be thrown in. The trouble is, those boys outside are not going to be willing to do any trading. They’ve got us behind the eight ball and they know it. All they have to do is wait and we’ll fall into their arms like a couple of over-ripe lemons.”
Waiting was not to be the order of the day for the pirates. Sounds of strenuous activity came from outside. Craig ventured into the tunnel to see what was going on. A rifle bullet drove him back inside. But before he was driven away he had seen enough to know what was going to happen.
“What are they going to do, boss?” Randall asked.
“They’re chopping down small trees, piling them in front of the entrance, and they’ve already got a fire started,” Craig said. “Bat, did you ever smoke a rabbit out of a hole?”
“Huh?” There was apparent horror in the mechanic’s voice.
“That’s what they’re going to do to us,” Craig said. “Smoke us out of here like a couple of rabbits out of a hole.”
Already he could hear the crackle of flames outside, and a streamer of fire, like the tongue of some gigantic and deadly snake, licked into the tunnel. A spume of smoke followed it. Down the tunnel they could catch glimpses of the gang outside busy piling leaves and green branches on the flames. Smoke billowed upward. Apparently there was a draft from an opening somewhere overhead for the tunnel seemed to act like the flue of a fireplace. Smoke, sucked upward, poured into the temple. Craig could hear Randall coughing and spitting.
“Boss,” the mechanic choked. “Let’s go out and take ’em.”
“They would shoot us to pieces before we even got outside.”
“Don’t give a damn—cough—cough. Sitting Bull here,” he gestured up toward the crouching idol, “may be able to eat smoke, but I can’t. I say we go out and have a try at ’em before they finish us off.” The mechanic started toward the tunnel.
“And I say we don’t,” Craig said fiercely, seizing Randall and dragging him back. “I’ve just thought of something.”
“What is it, a way out of here?”
“No,” Craig shouted. “It’s three dead men!”
“Three dead men! Have, you gone off your nut?”
But Craig didn’t answer. He had already leaped to the huge stone block that served as a base for the crouching jaguar. Smoke was swirling faster and faster into the temple, forming a thick, choking cloud, almost blinding him. He groped his way toward the idol. It was as big as an elephant. He reached out and touched it. Of all the things the big flier had done in his life, touching that idol was the most difficult. He suspected anything might happen. But—nothing happened. A faint tingling sensation passed up his arm. That was all.
“You doing any good?” Randall choked from below.
“Not yet,” Craig answered. “Ah!”
He hadn’t known what he expected to find but the mechanism he discovered was so simple a moron could have operated it. Craig did not know that it would work. It had worked once, he knew, but that was long ago.
“Get back!” he screamed at Randall.
From his position on the head of the crouching jaguar, he could look directly down the slanting tunnel. He realized that the position of the idol was purposeful. It had been set in this particular spot and in this exact position for a reason.
Flames were pouring into the opening of the tunnel. Beyond the flames, hurrying up with more green leaves, he could see Pedro. Beside the Indian, staring eagerly up into the tunnel for the two rabbits he was smoking out of this hole, was Khaki Shirt. Two other thugs, plainly illumined by the leaping fire, were in sight. They were standing beside the excavation Craig and Pedro had made in digging for the golden salad bowl. Rifles ready, they were looking upward, waiting for the rabbits to run screaming from the hole in which they were caught, waiting for the smoke to blind and suffocate the helpless rabbits. They were grinning, Khaki Shirt was grinning, even Pedro was grinning.
“Take this, damn you!” Craig shouted. He pressed the left ear of the idol.
The heavens seemed to burst wide open in the roar of sound that followed. A battery of ack-ack, all guns letting go at once, would not have made more noise. In the confined space of the temple, the roar was deafening.
Before the brilliance blinded him, Craig caught a glimpse of a jolting flash of light stab down, the slanting tunnel. It looked exactly like lightning. A bolt of radiance as big as a basketball grooved through the air and smashed headlong into the ground outside. It struck Khaki Shirt dead center, and exploded as it struck. For a blinding second the radiance roared through the air. Where it grounded itself outside, it threw dazzling coruscations of light in every direction. Like a fountain of water that had suddenly spouted into existence, and as it spouted had turned to fire, it sprayed upward from the spot where it was grounding. Craig caught a glimpse of Pedro trying to throw up his arms as he fell. White flame was spouting over him. He fell and wiggled and ceased moving.
Then Craig ceased seeing and ceased hearing. The jolting radiation that had leaped from the crouching jaguar had temporarily blinded him. The roar had deafened him. He clung to the side of the idol, wondering if he would ever see again, if he would ever hear.
Little by little he began to hear again. From a great distance a voice shouted at him.
“Great golly whoppers, boss!” the voice screamed. “What in hell happened?”
“Lightning,” Craig croaked. “This idol was charged. The white flash that leaped from the idol’s nose to the ground outside was a lightning bolt.”
“Huh?” Randall sounded dazed. “How did it happen to go off just when we needed it?”
“I set it off,” Craig choked. He still couldn’t see but he was beginning to hear better. “There’s a place up here for a priest to sit and watch.
The left ear is a switch. You push it and bingo! This whole thing is a trap set up to guard the gold here.”
“Lightning! Boss, those old priests didn’t know anything about electricity,” Randall protested.
“The hell they didn’t,” Craig answered. “You saw what happened, didn’t you? I don’t know what kind of batteries they used—perhaps this whole set-up is recharged every
time a thunderstorm comes along—but whatever they used, it is still in working order. Even that little statuette was charged. The shock I got from it gave me the clue on what to look for here, that and the three skeletons outside. Those three Spaniards who had raided this place were killed by a bolt from this idol. The city must have been almost deserted then, perhaps just one or two priests left. One was enough to knock off all the thieves who tried to raid the joint. Hey, Bat, I can see again!” the flier shouted.
“I’m beginning to see too,” Randall answered. “Come on down from Sitting Bull and let’s see what results your thunderbolt got.”
The fire at the exit had been blown in every direction and smoke was no longer pouring into the temple. Very gingerly Craig stuck his head out. No one took a shot at him and he jumped the rest of the way.
Khaki Shirt had been burned almost beyond recognition. The main bolt had struck him. Tatters of scorched khaki clinging to a charred body served to identify him. The two thugs who had been standing with ready rifles had apparently been killed by the shock. Pedro lay where he had fallen. The fifth man was lying farther away. He had been wounded in the fight in the temple and had been dead before the lightning flashed.
“Boss,” said. Bat Randall dazedly. “We won this fracas.”
“We sure as hell did,” Craig answered. “But—where is that she-cat who tricked us into this business in the first place? Until I find her, I won’t ever feel safe.”
“In that case, Señor Craig,” a voice said from the cliff, behind them, “you can start feeling unsafe, for here I am.”
Lolita Montez was standing in the entrance to the temple. She had never left the underground cavern but had hidden behind one of the piles of golden ornaments. There she had remained in safety until the fight was over.
“Look out!” Bat Randall yelled. “She’s got a gun!”
The girl had her light rifle clasped in her hands.
The Adventure Novella MEGAPACK® Page 4