The Web of the Golden Spider

by Frederick Orin Bartlett

  CHAPTER VIII

  _Of Gold and Jewels Long Hidden_

  Reluctantly Wilson placed the receiver back upon the hook. It was asthough he were allowing her hand to slip out of his--as though he wereclosing a door upon her. The phrase, "Good-bye," still rang in hisears, but grew fainter and fainter, receding as in a dream. He staredblankly at the telephone instrument. Some one opened the door, anxiousto use the booth. This roused him. He came out into the store, and thelife around him brought him to himself once more. But what did thisnew development mean? Where was Sorez leading her, and what inducementwas he offering? Her father she had said. Doubtless the man washolding out to her promises of locating him. But why? His mindreverted to the idol. It was that. He wished to use her psychic powerfor some purpose connected with this image. And that? He had aparchment within his pocket which might explain it all!

  This furnished him an objective which for the moment gave him restfrom useless speculation. But even while walking to the library hefelt a new and growing passion within him: bitterness towards the manwho was responsible for taking her away from him. That Sorez' claimof being able to find the girl's father was merely to cover a selfishobject was of course obvious. He was playing upon her fancy andsympathy. How the girl must love this father to be lured from home bythe chance phantom in a crystal picture--to be willing to follow astranger half around the globe, perhaps, because of his promise and adream. Yet, it was so he knew that her nature must love--it was so hewould have her love. It was this capacity for fanatical devotion whichstruck a responsive chord in his own heart. Her love would not allowher to have her father dead even though the report came. Her loveadmitted no barriers of land or sea. If so she was inspired by calm,filial love, what would she not do for love of her mate? If thismysterious stranger had but died--he clenched his teeth. That wasscarcely a humane or decent thing to wish.

  He found a chair in one corner of the reading room and borrowed themost powerful reading glass used in the library. It was only byshowing his manuscript that he was able to secure it. Even then theylooked at him a bit askance, and made him conscious once more that hishead was still bandaged. He had forgotten all about this, and inanother minute he had forgotten all about it once again.

  One of the manuscripts which he spread out upon the desk before himcontained but little writing. A crudely drawn map filled almost theentire space. A drawing in the upper left-hand corner represented ablazing sun, and in the lower left-hand corner another gave the pointsof the compass. This doubtless served to illustrate the contents ofthe other manuscript.

  The parchment had been rolled so long and so tightly that it wasalmost impossible to straighten it out. He worked carefully for fearof cracking it. It was a matter requiring some patience, and consumedthe best part of half an hour. He found that the writing had beenpreserved wonderfully well although, as he learned later, many of thewords were so misspelled or poorly written as to be undecipherable.The writing itself was painfully minute and labored--as though eachletter had been formed with the greatest effort and considerableuncertainty. It was as though the author were thoroughly conversantwith Latin--for it was in that tongue--but as a spoken rather than awritten language. It was such Latin as might be written by a manwho knew his Vulgate and prayers by heart, but who had little otheruse for the language. In places, where evidently the author did notknow a word, he had used a symbol as though the common medium ofcommunication with him were some sign language.

  With what sort of an instrument the writing had been done it wasimpossible to conceive, for it was as fine as could be accomplishedwith the finest steel engraving. It occurred to Wilson that possiblythis had been done with a view towards making it illegible to anyordinary eyes which should chance to see it. With all thesedifficulties it was as much as Wilson could do to make anything at allout of the parchment. But he found the work absorbing, and as hebegan to get an inkling of what he really held in his hands, losthimself altogether in his task. At the end of three hours, which hadpassed like so many minutes, he took a piece of paper and wrote downthe result of his work, leaving dashes for words which he had beenunable to make out. He had this broken message:

  "I, Manco Capac, priest of the Gilded Man leave this for my brothers, fearing -- from strangers with --. When I heard Quesada was near and learned that he was about to -- the lake I called twenty of the faithful and with great -- we -- piece by piece, using -- to -- the gifts from the bottom. Many pieces we -- but much gold, gifts of plate, and -- with -- jewels we reached. In all six hundred and forty-seven pieces we carried to where they now rest. I will make a chart so that it may --. But beware for -- the foot stumbles -- death to all -- except those who --. The Gilded Man is strong and will -- blood and the power of the hills. I alone know and I am about to die. The other faithful children, leaped from -- and their bodies I -- where they are protected by --. Never must be taken from this -- for -- if --. Those who -- death.

  The gold I -- in the farther cave where --, but the jewels are -- beneath and --. The place is -- upon the map which I have made. This I have truly written for those who --. The hand of the Gilded Man will crush any who --."

  Wilson, his blood running fast, sat back and thought. It was clearthat the struggle over the image was a struggle for this treasure.Neither man knew of the existence of this map. The priest fought topreserve the idol because of its sacredness as guardian of what to himwas doubtless a consecrated offering to the Sun God; Sorez, acquiringit with the tradition that the image held the secret, thought thatwith the psychic gift of the girl he had solved the riddle. This muchseemed a reasonable explanation. But where was this treasure, and ofwhat did it consist? He turned to the second parchment. At the end ofan hour he had before him a half page of minute directions forapproaching the treasure from the starting-point of a hut in themountains. But where _were_ these mountains? He had two names whichmight be good clues. One was "Quesada," the old Spanish adventurer, ofwhom Wilson had a faint recollection. It was possible that in thehistory of his day some mention might be made of this expedition. Theother name was "Guadiva," which appeared on the map as the name of alake. Many of the old Spanish names still remained. A good atlas mightmention it.

  He investigated the latter hint first. He was rewarded at once."Guadiva" was a small lake located in the extinct volcanic cone of Mt.Veneza, beyond the upper Cordilleras. It was remarkable chiefly for atradition which mentions this as one of the hiding places of asupposed vast treasure thrown away by the Chibcas that it might escapethe hands of Quesada.

  Starting with this, Wilson began a more detailed search through theliterature bearing upon these South American tribes, Spanish conquest,and English treasure hunting. He was surprised to find a great deal ofinformation. Almost without exception, however, this particulartreasure which had sent Quesada to his grave a pauper, which hadlured from quiet England Raleigh, Drake, and Leigh was thought to be amyth. The hours passed and Wilson knew nothing of their passing. Itwas eight o'clock before he paused once more to summarize the resultof his reading. In the light of the key which lay before him, thepossibilities took away his breath. His quick imagination spanned thegaps in the narrative until he had a picture before his eyes thatsavored of the Arabian Nights. It was a glittering quest--this whichhad tempted so many men, for the prize was greater than Cortez hadsought among the Aztecs, or Pizarro in his bloody conquest of theIncas.

  He saw many thousands of the faithful Chibcas, most powerful of allthe tribes upon the Alta plain, which lies a green level between theheights of the white summits of the Andes, toiling up the barren lavasides of Mount Veneza to where, locked in its gray cone, lies the lakeof Guadiva. He saw this lake smiling back at the blue sky, its watersclear as the mountain air which ripples across its surface. The lakeof Guadiva! How many bronzed men had whispered this name and thendropped upon their knees in prayer. To Quesada it was just a mirror ofblue with unsearchable depths, but he lived to learn how much more itmeant to the lit
he bronze men.

  For while the great world beyond was fighting through the rumblingcenturies over its Christ, its Buddha, its Mahomet, a line of othermen plodded the stubborn path to this beloved spot, their shouldersbent beneath their presents, and made their prayer and offered theirgifts to the Gilded Man who lived below the waters. A tenth, moreoften a half, of all the richness of the plains of Alta was offeredthere in tribute to him who was their god. He had blessed these peoplegenerously, and mighty was their offering. Upon a single feast day,tradition had it, a hundred mules with tinkling silver bells followedthe high priest, in scarlet robes, to the tiny cone, their sharp feetclawing the lava road, their strong backs aching beneath the preciousburden. This was then transferred to rafts and gay barges by menblindfolded by the priests and taken to the secret spot which layabove the sunken shrine. The worshipers knelt in prayer beneath theuplifted arms of their pious leaders, then raised high their goldenbowls. For a moment they glinted in the sun, then flashed a mellowpath beneath the waves which leaped to meet them. Jewels, rarer thanany Roman conquerors found, here kissed the sun as they were tossedhigh, then mingled with the crystal lake like falling stars.

  Here it was that Quesada, the adventurous Spaniard, had sought thistreasure. He organized a horde of gold-lustful minions and descendedupon the Chibcas. The latter were not by nature fighters, but theystood their ground for their god, and fought like demons. Quesadaforcing his way over their bleeding bodies, killing even the women whohad armed themselves with knives, pressed up the rocky trail to wherethe tiny lake lay as peaceful as a sleeping child. With hands uponhis hips, he gazed into the waters and smiled. Then he gave his ordersand for many weeks the eager soldiers dug and sweated in the sun underthe direction of the shrewdest engineers of the age in the attempt todrain the lake. An outlet was finally made and the lake sunk foot byfoot while the trusting folk below made their prayers and waited. Theanswer came. One day when Quesada saw the treasure almost within hisgrasp, there was a mighty rumbling, a crash of falling stone, andbehold! an avalanche of granite raged down, killing many of thesoldiers, routing the rest, and filled in the man-made channel.Quesada ordered with fierce oath, but not a man would return to thework. He was forced to retreat, and died in poverty and shame.

  The years rolled on and still the tributes sank beneath the waves. Nowand then some hardy traveler returned with a tale of the unlimitedwealth that was going to waste. One such, driven over the seas, cameto Raleigh and reported that he had seen, in a single processionforming to climb the hill, treasure packed upon mules to the value ofone hundred thousand English pounds.

  "There were diamonds," so ran the chronicle, "larger than a man'sthumb and of a clearness surpassing anything even among the crownjewels. I saw also topaz, sapphires, garnets, turquoises, andopals--all of a beauty greater than any I ever before saw. As forgold, it seems of no value whatever, so generously did they heave itinto the lake."

  Leigh sought three years and came back empty handed, but moreconvinced than ever that the treasure existed. Many of the Spaniardswho swooped down upon the Chibcas did not return empty handed,although they failed to find the source of the El Dorado. They sawmany strange customs which proved that gold in abundance was locatedsomewhere within this small area. They saw the chiefs of the tribescover themselves each morning with resin and then sprinkle powderedgold over their bodies until they looked as though in golden armor.This was washed off at sunset, after the evening prayer to the burningplanet which they believed to be the source of all their wealth. Attheir death their graves were lined with jewels. The Spanish governorswho later looted these tombs recovered enormous amounts; one graveyielding $18,000, another $20,000 in gold strips, and still another$65,000 in emeralds, gold chains, arrows, and other implements ofbeaten gold.

  But the greatest incentive to the search had always been the detailedaccount left by Fray Pedro Simon, who for twenty years lived amongthese tribes as missionary, preceding Valverde, known as the Priest ofthe Hills.

  "But the great treasure was in the lake," he wrote in his letters.

  "There was no stint of gold, jewelry, emeralds, food, and other thingssacrificed here when a native was in trouble. With prescribedceremonies, two ropes were taken and attached to the rafts which weredrawn to that portion of the lake where the altar was supposed to be,below the surface. Two zipas, or priests, would accompany the personwishing to make the sacrifice on rafts which were composed of bundlesof dried sticks or flotsam, tied one to another, or made from planksin the form of a punt holding three or more persons. By this meansthey would reach the altar and, using certain words and ceremonies,throw in their offerings, small or large, according to their means. Infurther reference to this lake, it was the principal and general placeof worship for all this part of the country, and there are those stillalive who state that they witnessed the burial of many caciques wholeft orders that their bodies and all their wealth be thrown in thewaters. When it was rumored that the bearded men (the Spaniards) hadentered the country in search of gold, many of the Indians broughttheir hoarded treasures and offered them as sacrifices in the lake, sothat they should not fall into the hands of the Spaniards. The presentcacique of the village of Simijaca alone threw into the lake fortyloads of gold of one quintal each, carried by forty Indians from thevillage, as is proven by their own statements and those of the nephewof the cacique sent to escort the Indians."

  Forty quintals, Wilson computed, is L8820, which would make thissingle offering worth to-day $26,460,000!

  He looked up from the dry, crisp documents in front of him and glancedabout the room. The tables were lined with readers; a schoolgirlscowling over her notes, pencil to her pouting lips, an old mantrying to keep his eyes open over his magazine, a young student fromTechnology, and a possible art student. Beyond these, there wereworkingmen and clerks and middle-aged bachelors. Truly they were anordinary looking lot--prosaic enough, even mediocre, some of them.This was the twentieth century, and they sat here in this modernlibrary reading, perhaps, tales of adventure and hidden treasure.Outside, the trolley cars clanged past. The young man attendantglanced up from his catalogue, yawned, studied the clock, and yawnedagain.

  Wilson looked at them all; then back at his parchment.

  Yes, it was still there before his eyes, and represented a treasure ofprobably half a billion dollars in gold and precious stones!