The Lost City
Page 13
CHAPTER XIII. THE LOST CITY OF THE AZTECS.
Uncle Phaeton was more than willing to do the honours of his petinvention, and this afforded a most happy diversion, although thedeepening twilight hindered any very extensive examination.
Cooper Edgecombe showed himself in a vastly different light while thusengaged, his shrewd questions, his apt comments, quite effectuallyremoving the far from agreeable doubts born of his earlier words anddemeanour.
"Well, if he's looney, it's only on some points, not as the wholeporker, anyway," confidentially asserted Waldo, when an opportunityoffered. "Coax him to tell how he knocked the redskin out, unclePhaeton."
Little need of recalling that perplexing incident to the worthy savant,for, try as he might, Featherwit could not keep from brooding over thatwondrous collection of relics pertaining to a long-since extinct people.Of course, the last one had perished ages ago; and yet--and yet--
Through his half-bewildered brain flashed the accounts given bythe coast tribes, members of which he had so frequently interviewedconcerning this unknown land, one and all of whom had more or less tosay in regard to a strange people, terrible fighters, mighty hunters,one burning glance from whose eyes carried death and decay unto all whowere foolhardy enough even to attempt to pass those mighty barriers,built up by a beneficent nature. Only for that nearly impassable wall,the entire earth would be overrun and dominated by these monsters inhuman guise.
Then, after the air-ship was cared for to the best of his ability, andthe night-guard set in place so that an alarm might give warning of anyillegal intrusion, the little party returned to the cavern home of theexile where, after another refusal on his part, the professor filled andlighted his beloved pipe.
Almost in spite of himself Featherwit was drawn towards those marvellousarticles depending from the wall, and, as he gazed in silent marvel,Cooper Edgecombe drew nigh, with still other articles to complete thecollection.
"You may possibly find something of interest in these, too, dear sir,although I have given them rather rough usage. This formed a rathercomfortable cap, and--"
"A helmet! And sandals! A sash which is--yes! worn about the waist,mainly to support weapons, and termed a maxtlatl, which--andall sufficiently well preserved to be readily recognised asgenuine--unless--Surely I am dreaming!"
If not precisely that, the worthy professor assuredly was almost besidehimself while examining these articles of warrior's wear, one by one,knowing that neither eyes nor memory were at fault, yet still unable tobelieve those very senses.
Up to this, Cooper Edgecombe had felt but a passing interest inthe matter, forming as it did but a single incident in a more thanordinarily eventful life; but now he began to divine at least a portionof the truth, and his face was lighted up with unusual animation, whenPhaeton Featherwit turned that way, to almost sharply demand:
"Where did you gain possession of these weapons and garments, sir? Andhow,--from whom?"
"I took them from an Indian, nearly two years ago. He caught me off myguard, and, when I saw that I could neither hide nor flee, I fought formy life," explained the exile; then giving a short, bitter laugh, toadd: "Strange, is it not? Although I had long since grown weary ofexistence such as this, I fought for it; I turned wild beast, as itwere! Then, after all was over, I took these things, more because Ifeared his comrades might suspect--"
"His comrades?" echoed the professor. "More than the one, then? Youkilled him, but--there were others, still?"
"Many of them; far too many for any one man to withstand," earnestlydeclared the exile. "I made all haste in bearing the redskin here,obliterating all signs as quickly as possible; yet for days and nights Icowered here in utter darkness, each minute expecting an attack from toopowerful a force for standing against."
Uncle Phaeton rubbed his hands briskly, shifting his weight hurriedlyfrom one foot to its mate, then back again, the very personification ofeager interest and growing conviction.
"More of them? A strong force? Armed,--and garbed as of old? Theclothing, the footwear, and, above all else, the weapons, purelyAztecan? And here, only two short years ago?"
"Sadly long and hideously dreary years I have found them, sir," theexile said, in dejected tones.
The professor burst into a shrill, excited laugh, which sounded almosthysterical, and, not a little to the amazement of his nephews, brokeinto a regular dance, jigging it right merrily, hands on hips, headperked, and chin in air, at the same time striving to carry the tune inhis far from melodious voice.
After all, perhaps no better method could have been taken to work offhis almost hysterical excitement, and presently he paused, panting andheated, chuckling after an abashed fashion as he encountered the eyes ofhis nephews.
"Not a word, my dear boys," he hastened to plead. "I had to do somethingor--or explode! I feel better, now. I can behave myself, I hope. I amcalm, cool, and composed as--the genuine Aztecs! And we are the ones todiscover that--oh, I forgot!"
For Waldo was fairly exploding with mirth, while Bruno smiled, and eventhe exile appeared to be amused to a certain extent at his expense.
Little by little, the worthy savant calmed down, and then, almostforcing the exile to indulge in another delicious smoke, he led up tothe subject in which his interest was fairly intense.
Cooper Edgecombe was willing enough to tell all that lay in his power,although he was only beginning to realise how much that might mean tothe world at large, judging by the actions of the professor.
According to his account, the great lake, or drainage reservoir of theOlympics, was a sort of semi-yearly rendezvous for a warlike tribe ofred men, where they congregated for the purpose of catching and dryingvast quantities of fish, doubtless to be used during the winter.
"As a general thing they pitch their camp on the other side, overtowards the northeast; but small parties are pretty sure to rove far andwide, coming around this way quite as often as not."
"And their garb,--the weapons they bore?" asked the professor.
Edgecombe motioned towards those articles in which such a livelyinterest had been awakened, then said that, while few of the red men whohad come beneath his near observation had been so elaborately equipped,he had taken notice of similar weapons and garments, with additionswhich he strove hard to describe with accuracy.
Nearly every sentence which crossed his lips served to confirm themarvellous truth which had so dazzlingly burst upon the professor'seager brain, and with a glib tongue he named each weapon, each garment,as accurately as ever set down in ancient history, not a little to thewide-eyed amazement of Waldo Gillespie.
"Worse than those blessed 'sour-us' and cousins," he confided to hisbrother, in a whisper. "Reckon it's all right, Bruno? Uncle isn't--eh?"
But uncle Phaeton paid them no attention, so deeply was he stirredby this wondrous revelation. He felt that he was upon the verge of adiscovery which would startle the wide world as no recent announcementhad been able to do, unless--but it surely must be correct!
And then, when Cooper Edgecombe finished all he could tell concerningthose queerly armed and gaudily garbed red men, the professor let loosehis tongue, telling what glorious hopes and dazzling anticipations werenow within him.
"For hundreds upon hundreds of years there have been wild, weird legendsabout the Lost City, but that merely meant a mass of wondrous ruins,long since overwhelmed by shifting sands, somewhere in the heart of thegreat American desert, so-called.
"By some it was claimed that this ancient city owed its primal existenceto a fragment of the Aztecs, driven from their native quarters in OldMexico. By others 'twas attributed unto one of the fabulous 'Lost Tribesof Israel,' but even the most enthusiastic never for one moment dreamedof--this!"
"Except yourself, uncle Phaeton," cut in Waldo, with a subdued grin."This must be one of the marvels you calculated on discovering, thanksto the flying-machine, eh?"
"Nay, my boy; I never let my imagination soar half so high as all that,"quickly answered the professor. "B
ut now--now I feel confident that justsuch a discovery lies before us, and with the dawn of a new day we willascend and look for the glorious 'Lost City of the Aztecs!'"
Again the savant sprang to his feet, wildly gesticulating as he strodeto and fro, striving to thus work off some of the intense excitementwhich had taken full possession. And words fell rapidly from his lipsthe while, only a portion of which need be placed upon record in thisconnection, however.
"A fico for the paltry lost cities of musty tradition, now! They maysleep beneath the sand-storms of countless years, but this--I wouldgladly give one of my eyes for the certainty that its mate might gazeupon such a wondrous spectacle as--Oh, if it might only prove true! IfI might only discover such a stupendous treasure! Aztecs! And in thepresent day! Alive--armed and garbed as of yore! Amazing! Incredible!Astounding beyond the wildest dreams of a confirmed--"
With startling swiftness uncle Phaeton wheeled to confront the exile,gripping his arm with fierce vigour, as he shrilly demanded:
"Opium--are you an eater of drugs, Cooper Edgecombe?"
Even as the words crossed his lips, the professor realised howpreposterous they must sound, but the exile shook his head, earnestly.
"I never ate drugs in that shape, sir. Even if I had been addicted tomorphine and the like, how could I indulge the appetite here, in thesegloomy, lonely wilds?"
"I beg your pardon, sir; most humbly I implore your forgiveness. I havebut one excuse--this wondrous--Good night! I'm going to bed before I addto my new reputation as--a blessed idiot, no less!"