 CHAPTER XXVIII. BROUGHT BEFORE THE GODS. Once again, azotl, the red heron, was bowing humbly before the children of the sun-god, but now there was stern grief, impressed visit, rather than pure devotion, such as one might feel at the feet of a divinity. And the face of Victor was unusually pale, her lips tidally compressed to keep them from trembling too visibly, while her arm clasped, gladdis, with almost fierce love in its warm strength. Azotl glanced upwards for a moment, then slowly spoke. Such are the commands laid upon thy captain of guards, daughter of Quetzal, the fair god. He hath been commanded to fetch Victor and Gladdy to the Diocallili there to be. No! With an outbreak of fierce rebellion, drawing his superb figure erect, and gripping Javelin until the springy ash quivered, as though suddenly winning life for itself. The gods lie, they are speaking falsely, or, or the pubilize, when trying to thus interpret the oracle. Gladdis shrunk away, but her mother stood firm, seeming to gain in coolness, and nerve what this ardent servant was losing. It must be thus, my good friend. She spoke, in low, even tones. The word hath come to a soldier, and obedience is his first duty. Not when obedience means leading to sacrifice. That may never come, good Azotl. We have committed no sin, indeed or in thought. The mother of gods will not lay claim to an innocent victim, or even, then, the right shall triumph. Glacopies powerful, but hath Victor no influence. Lord Hua may throw his influence to the wrong side, but hath truth no answer. If not truth, then death, sternly vowed the captain of the bodyguard. If Donatioa fails to punish the enemies of his daughter, then this right arm shall hurl the false prince down Miklantwetli, grim lord of the underworld. What is it all about, mother? murmured Gladdis, clinging in sore fright to the side of her Amazonian relative. Surely the people will not. Surely we need not go forth, too. A mother's kiss closed those quivering lips, and then with far more assurance than she really could find in her heart, Victoria bade her child fear nothing that all would come aright in a brief while. Little by little, the maidens' terrors were calmed, and then she took position by her parent's side with a greater display of nerve than might have been anticipated. Through all, Azotl, waited fiercely silent, held from open rebellion, only by the influence of the woman whose very life was now menaced. And as the sun-children stood before him in readiness to comply with the commands issued by those in high authority, the red heron broke bonds. Say but one word, dot of Quetzal, and all this shall never come to pass. Give me but permission, too. What would thou do, good Azotl? Surround the sun-children with their loyal bodyguard and defend them, while one brave might strike blow or hold shield in front of their sacred charge. Slowly yet fiercely declared the captain, eyes telling how dearly he longed to receive that permission. But Victor shook her head in slow negation. She was still cool of brain enough to realize how fatal such course would be in the end. If one deadly blow should be dealt, the end could be but one. Annihilation to both defendant and defenders. Then, too, she recalled the wondrous tidings brought the evening before by Ixley and his comrade. Friends were seeking to rescue them, and if only time might be one it must be played for then. And so his petition finally denied, with no other course left open to take, that Red Heron, summoned his picked band, and, with the sun-children in their midst, left the temple, crossed the plain, and slowly marched into the war-gods to Ocalilli. In odd silence, a vast number of Aztecs followed that little procession, silent as they yet clearly anticipating events of far more than ordinary importance. And thus the four doomed women were taken before the great stone of sacrifice, whereupon lay a snow-white lamb, bound past the possibility of struggling. Close beside the prepared sacrifice stood the head priest, Plakopa, robed for the awesome ceremony, sacrificial knife in hand, temples crowned as customs dictated, eyes blazing as vividly as they might if backed by living fire. Not far distance stood Watson, head bandaged, and faced none the better looking for his floundering fall when his sash gave way the evening before. And as he caught the passing gaze of the woman whom he had so basely persecuted, a repulsive smile showed itself the grin of a veritable fiend in human guise. Sturnly cold and outwardly unmoved, the captain of guards performed his sworn duty, then in grim silence awaited the end. And in like manner, each man of that carefully selected band rested upon his arms. A brief pause, during which the utter silence grew actually oppressive, then the head priest lifted a hand as though commanding full attention before he should speak. Then in tones which were by no means loud, yet which were modulated so as to fill that expanse most perfectly, Plakopa recited the grave accusations brought against the false children of the mighty sun god. To their evil influence he attributed the comparative failure of crops which had now cursed their fair people throughout the past years. Unto them he claimed belonged the evil credit of many untimely deaths which had covered so many proud heads with the ashes of mourning and of despair. To their door might be traced all of misfortune with which the favourite children of the mighty gods had been so sorely afflicted. In proud silence Victor listened to this deliberate arraignment, not daining to interpose denial or offer plea in self-defense, until the paba was clearly at an end. And even then she gazed upon Plakopa with eyes of scorn and lips which curled with contempt. A low murmur from the eager crowd told how anxious they were to hear more, and taking her cue from that Victor made a graceful motion with her wide hand, following it by words that sounded rarely sweet in their deep mellowness after the harsh dry notes of the paba. Who dares to bring such base charges against the daughters of Quetzal? Who are our accusers, head priest? Did Plakopa shrink from that queenly presence? If so, it was but another cunning device intended to pave the way to complete success, to catch the fickle fancy of his audience by rendering his retort all the more effective. Who dares accuse us of wrongdoing? Again demanded the Amazonian mother, speaking for her child as well, around whose waist her left arm was clinging as they needed support. The mother of all the gods, forcibly replied the priest, now casting aside all presence of timidity and gazing into that proud face with eyes which were filled with fire of hatred and jealousy. The all-powerful Centuatl hath made known the awful truth through the lips of the infallible oracle, my children. She hath declared that no smile shall be turned toward the children of the Anwak, so long as false prophets disgrace this great city. She hath demanded the sacrifice. Who can bear witness to any such demand? Sternly interposed the captain of the bodyguard, unable to listen longer in silence. Plakopa flashed an evil look his way, but from the audience issued another murmur, rising louder until it took upon itself the shape of words, demanding, indubitable proof that the oracle had indeed spoken thus. And no longer daring to rely upon his own authority, Plakopa turned to the sacrificial stone whereupon lay the helpless lamb, bowing knee and lifting face as he voluply repeated the customary invocation. Just then it appeared far more nearly, and in cantation. Having thus complied with all the requirements of his office, the paba first kissed his blade of sacrifice, then seized the lamb and turned it upon its back, one hand holding it helpless, while with the other he ripped the poor beast wide from throat to tail, then making a swift cross slash laid bare the cavity and exposed the quivering heart. Dropping his knife, Plakopa grasped this vital organ, fiercely tearing it away, drawing back where all might see as he lifted the heart on high for inspection. One brief look appeared to satisfy his needs, for he gave a fierce shout as he hurled the bleeding heart towards the accused, then cried, An omen! An omen! The mother of the gods claims her victims! The lost city by Joseph E. Badger Jr. Chapter 29 Beneath a Sacrificial Stone Contrary to the expectations of Ixley, escape by way of the war god's temple was barred throughout the remainder of that eventful night. Plakopa, the head priest, together with a number of his acolytes, varying as to force yet ever too powerful for any two men to force a passage contrary to the will of their leader, remained on duty each and every hour. And hence it came to pass that those early hours found our fugitives still beneath the temple, worn through loss of sleep and stress of anxiety, yet firmly resolved not to permit that intended outrage without at least striking one fair blow for the children of the sun. Slowly enough the time passed, yet it could hardly be called monotonous. Whenever wearied of their darksome waiting, the young men would still again into the hollow image of Whitzel there to utilize the cunningly arranged peep holes, now looking out upon the priests or listening to catch such words as fell from the lips of those nearest the Stone of Sacrifice. In this manner Ixley contrived to pick up quite a little fund of information, mainly through the confidences reposed in a certain favorite view of the Brotherhood by the Chief Paaba, and this in turn filtered through his lips after the chums once again retreated to the lower regions for both safety and comfort. And then Bruno learned how the adventurous young Aztec, far less superstitious than the vast majority of his people, thanks to the kindly teaching of Victor, child of Quetzal, had in his explorations discovered so many secrets of the temple and priesthood, secrets which he now had no scruple in communicating to another of a different race. Ixley told how on various occasions he had lurked behind the scenes while the miraculous oracle was delivering fiat or prophecy, and then he told his white brother how Tlacopa meant to completely confound the children of the sun when once brought before the gods. He tells Slévois, Slévois come this way, hide in war god, wait for time, then tell Tlacopa's words. A most infernal scheme, yet the danger of which Bruno could readily recognize, together with a serious difficulty of refuting any such supernatural evidence. Surely your people will not suffer a few dirty curses to do such horrible wrong to ladies like. Why, Ixley, even the gods you fellows bow the knee to in worship ought to rise up in their defense. But Ixley merely sighed, then spoke in sad tones, explaining how he alone had been taken wholly into the confidence of the sun-children. Even the captain of their guards knew Victor and Gladdy as but descendants of the great fair god whom the audacious trickery of a rival sent far away from the land of his favorite people to find an abiding place in the sun itself. He good brave, he endeavoured him easy, but he not know all. He think drop from the sun to lead people back to light. If think not so, dad make face turn black, dad make mad come, great big. As was every the case when his feelings seemed deeply stirred, Ixley found it difficult to fully or fairly explain his sentiments, but Bruno caught sufficient of his meaning to give a fair guess at the rest. He found a ray of hope in the belief that Azodl at least would defend the children of the sun and Ixley predicted with apparent confidence that the members of the bodyguard would stand firm under the Red Heron's leadership. Keeping thus upon the alert throughout the remainder of that night, the young men were able to take prompt action when the crisis drew nigh. Ixley caught the first inkling of what was coming and hastily sent Bruno away from the peepholes, dropping a word in his ear as they both prepared for clean work. Through a secret entrance, shaped amidst the drapery which surrounded the pedestal of the mighty Whitsill, a slave of the temple crept to play the part of echo to Lakopa's evil will, and scarcely had he secured what was to be a place of waiting and watching, then the attack was made from out the darkness. Ixley flung his tunic over the slave's head twisting both ends tightly about his throat, effectually smothering all attempt at crying aloud for aid, while Bruno clasped arms about his middle, holding hands powerless to strike or to draw a weapon. A brief struggle, which produced scarcely any noise, certainly not sufficient to reach the ears of priest or helper, then the trembling, unnerved slave was bundled down that narrow passage to be dumped in a remote corner and there effectually bound and gagged by the young men. All this was performed without hitch or mishap, and then, nerved to fighting pitch, Ixley and Bruno went back beneath the stone of sacrifice, resolved to play their part to the end in manful fashion. There was no further fear of intrusion, for of course Lakopa would never think of endangering his own evil scheme by risking an exposure, such as would follow discovery of his slave oracle. As Ixley truly said, such discovery would end in the Pabas being slain by his befooled people. Their patience was sorely tried even then, though a goodly portion of the blame belonged to their fears for the son-children rather than to the actual length of waiting. But then, amidst the solemn invocations led by the high priest, the bodyguard marched into the hall of sacrifice, and Bruno caught his breath sharply as he beheld, Gladys, not her mother just then, for the first minute only, Gladys. Then came the bitter denunciation by Delacopa, followed by the coldly dignified words of Victor, after which the innocent lamb yielded up its life in order that the future might be predicted through the still quivering heart. With a fiercely exultant cry, Delacopa hurled the vital organ towards the accused, it striking the mother upon an arm, then glancing further to leave an ugly smear upon the daughter's shoulder, air falling among the eager multitude, who fought and struggled to secure at least a morsel of the hideous thing. Behold, the gods hath marked their own! cried the high priest, his harsh tones fairly filling the hall of sacrifice. They are guilty of all crimes laid at their door, they merit death, a thousandfold, the mother of gods hath spoken. To whom but thou, Delacopa, sternly cried the captain of the guards as he stood firm in spite of the ominous sounds which were rising from the rear as well as from either side. She hath spoken unto me, as her worthy representative on earth. And there are those who say much religion hath turned thy brain good Delacopa, retorted Azobal, holding his temper fairly well under control, yet with blazing eyes and stiffening sinews. Are thy ears alone to receive such important communications as? Silence, thou scoffer! fiercely cried the high priest, lifting quivering hands on high, as though about to call down the thunders of an outraged deity upon that impious head. She who hath spoken once may dain to speak again. Harken, hear the oracle! Doubtless this was cue for the slave of the temple to repeat the words placed within its mouth, but that slave was literally unable to speak a word for himself, let alone others. Yet the oracle was not wholly silenced. Talk out, or I will! fiercely muttered Bruno, giving X-slave violent punch in the side. Talk out for the son-children! The young Aztec needed no further prompting, loving Victor and Gladius he did, hating and despising the high priest. And in shrill clear tones came the wondrous oracle. Delacopa lies! Delacopa is an evil dog, the mother of the God's loves, and will defend her friends, the children of the great and good Quetzal. How much more, X-li might have said, had he been granted further grace, will never be known. Delacopa shrank away from the speaking statues from a living death, but then he rallied, savagely thundering. Tis a lying oracle, tis an evil imposter who has an omen, a true omen, my children. The evil ones hath been branded for the knife, seize them to the sacrifice. That vicious cry was swiftly taken up, but the bodyguard closed in around the menaced women, presenting arms to all that maddened horde, while their captains sternly warned all good people to fall aside and make way for the children of the son. Then that secret entrance was flung wide, permitting two excited young men to issue. Delacopa reeling aside from a blow dealt him by Bruno's clenched fist, as that worthy hastened to join forces with the bodyguard. by Joseph E. Badger, Jr. This double appearance, for X-li kept fair pace with his hot-headed white brother, caused no little stir, and added considerable to the partial bewilderment which had fallen over that audience. Prince Huwa shouted forth savage threats, but he, as well as the Papa, was fairly demoralized for the moment by the totally unexpected failure of their carefully laid schemes. Seeing his chance, Azodl, Bates' men escorted the son-children from the Hall of Sacrifice back to their own abiding place, barely noticing his son, and paying no heed at all to the disguised pale-face. With spears ready for stroke or perry as occasion might demand, the guard faced about and slowly moved away from that great stone of sacrifice, rigid of face, cool of nerve, ready to die if must be, yet never once thinking of disobedience to orders or of playing cur to save life. Almost involuntarily the crowd parted before that measured advance, giving way until a fair pathway lay open, along which the bodyguard moved with neither haste nor hesitation, outwardly ignorant of the fact that ugly cries and dangerous gestures were coming thicker and faster their way. Scores of other voices caught of the fierce cry given by the head priest, and now the temple was ringing throughout with demands that the false son-children should pay full penalty, should be hailed to the sacrificial stone, there to purge themselves without further delay. Others showed an inclination to favor the descendants of Quetzal, and thus the widely conflicting shouts in cries formed a medley which was fairly deafening. For one of his fierce temper the red heron showed a marvelous coolness throughout that perilous retreat, and never more than during the first few seconds, then a single injudicious word or two hasty movement might easily have precipitated a fight where the vast audience would surely have brought disaster, whether the majority so willed or not. Holding his men well in hand, moving only as rapidly as prudence justified, yet losing neither time nor ground where both were of such vital importance, Azotl forced a passage from the great hall of sacrifice, down to the level then out into the open air where one could help see and fight if needs be. Through all this, Bernard Gillespie held the position he had taken, one hand gripping tightly his maquahuitl, but placing his main dependence upon the revolver which nestled conveniently within the folds of his sash, one nervous forefinger touching the curved trigger. He could not help seeing that the danger was great. He felt certain that they could not retreat much farther without coming to blows, when the odds would be overwhelmingly against them. Yet never for an instant did he regret having taken such a decided step, not for one moment did he give thought to himself. Almost within reach of his hand, if extended at the length of his arm, moved the fair maiden whose face and form had made so deep an impression upon his mind and his heart. She was in peril, she needed aid, that was enough. Then the briefly stunned Dlacopa, rushed forth from his desecrated temple, wildly flourishing his arms, furiously denouncing both the son-children and their bodyguard, thundering forth the curses of all the gods upon the heads of those who refrained from arresting the evil ones. The mighty mother of gods calls for her own! Seize them! Strike down the impious dogs who dare attempt to defraud our mother! Seize them! To the sacrifice! To the sacrifice! Equally loud a voice, the prince Pua came leaping down to the sandy level, urging his people to the assault, offering almost fabulous sums as reward for the brave Aztec, whose arm should lay yonder traitorous red heron prone in the dust. The crisis came and the dogs of war were let loose. An arrow whist narrowly passed the feathered helmet worn by the captain of the guards. A stone came humming out of sling to be deftly dashed aside by Azotl's shield, ere it could fairly smut that gold-crown head as outwardly calm and composed. Victor aided her trembling daughter on towards the temple of the sun god, where alone they might look for safety. But would it be found even there? No, for at savage hell from lips of the high priest, a strong force of armed redskins took up position at the Teokalili, blocking each one of the four flights of stone steps in order to intercept the bodyguard, while still close suppressed the yelling screeching, frantic heathen of both sexes and all ages. Azotl saw how he had been flanked but made no sign, even while slightly turning course for another temple at less distance, a single word being sufficient to post his true hearts. So far not a single blow had been struck by the retreating party, although a great provocation had been given them. More than one of their number was bleeding at all were afoot, and still capable of holding ranks. Then bravest of the brave, a man among men in spite of his tender years, ictly lay down his life in defense of his idolized Victor. From one of that maddened rabble came a heavy stone, flung with all the power of a sinewy arm and great sling. Smitten fairly between the eyes, the poor lad's skull was crushed, as a giant hand might mash an egg shell. One gasping sigh, then the lad sunk to earth, dead air he could fairly measure he slain thereupon. For a single instant Azotl seemed as one stupefied, but then an awful uproar burst from his laboring lungs, and he hurled his heavy javelin, full at yonder murderer, weaning it with a father's curses. Swift flew the dart, but fully as quickly sank that farlet, the head of the spear scraping his skull, to pass on and smite with death, one even more evil if that might be. Full in the throat the lakopa was stricken, the broad blade of copper tearing a passage through, and the shaft following after for the greater portion of its length. Unable to scream, though his visage was hideously distorted by mingled fear and agony, the high priest caught the wood in both hands, even as he reeled to partly turn, then fall upon his face, dead, thrice dead. With a wild thrill of griffon'd horror, Bernogillespi saw his red brother reel in cruel death, and, for the moment heedless of his own peril which surely was doubled thereby, he sprang that way to stoop and catch that quivering shape in his eager hands. Too late, saved to show his comradeship, that heavy stone had only too surely performed its grim mission. Dead, poor lad, dead, while seeking to save another. With a fierce cry of angry mourning, Bruno lifted the mutilated corpse in his arms, trying to toss it over a shoulder to bear away from risk of trampling under the heedless feet of the yelling heathen, but it was not to be. Another stone smote his arm near the elbow, breaking no bone, yet so benumbing the members to temporarily disable it, causing that precious burden to drop to earth once more. Then came an awful outcry from the people whom the sight of their high priest, reeling in death, had, for a few fleeting seconds, fairly stupefied. Cries which meant much to the living and before which even that band of true hearts receded, with slightly quickened pace. With the others fell back, Bruno, living his hand-wood lying beside the lifeless corpse of his red-skinned brother at heart, but drawing forth the weapon which he knew so much better how to use. The fierce lust of vengeance now seized upon him heart and brain. He shouted forth grim defiance to that howling crew, and as the deadly missiles came in thickening clouds carrying death and wounds to the bodyguard of the sun-children, he opened fire shooting to kill. Entirely without firearms themselves, and in all probability ignorant of such an instrument of destruction, this might have produced a far more beneficial result under other circumstances. As it was now, few, if any, took heed of what they could not hear above that awful tumult, and those who felt the boring lead never rose up to give their testimony. Closer crowded the superstition-ridden heathen, showering missiles of all descriptions upon the bodyguard, confounding all with the one to whose javelin their head priest owed his death, only to recoil once more in fierce awe as another victim of high rank paid forfeit his life for the death of Ixley, sole offspring of Azotel, the Red Heron. End of Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Defending the Sun-Children of the Lost City This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The Lost City By Joseph E. Badger Jr. Chapter 31 Defending the Sun-Children Louder than ever rose the voice of Lord Hua after witnessing the fall of his ally, the High Priest. In spite of the great odds against the bodyguards, he began to fear lest his intended pressure even yet slip through his evil clutches. Fiercer than ever rang forth his curses and imprecations upon the head of the Aztec, who thus dared the vengeance of all the gods by lifting hand in arms against the anointed. And then, his own nerves strung by those very efforts to inspire others, Lord Hua forged nearer the front, eager to behold all his hated enemies crushed to earth as by a single stroke. And then, with vicious force, he hurled his javelin straight for the wide throat of the Sun-Child, who had scorned his fawning advances, and only the ever-ready eye, the true hand, the strong arm of Azotl, again warded off grim death from the fair god's child. Caught upon that trusty shield one instant, the next turned toward its original owner to quiver for the barest fraction of time in that vengeful grip, then, gloriously true to the hero's will and intent, sped the javelin home. Home to the false heart of false prince, grinding through skin and flesh and bones, cleaving that hot organ with broad blade of tempered copper, forcing one vicious screech from those tortured lungs, then causing that bulk to measure its length upon the blood-sprinkled sands. Once again, the heathen involuntarily recoiled as death claimed a high victim. Once more, the band of true hearts slightly quickened their pace towards the temple now nigh at hand, yet those lessened numbers never once portrayed fear or doubt or faltering. Grimly true to their trust, they fell back in the best of order, fighting as they moved, beating back the heathen hosts, as though each man was a god, and their strong arms a wall of steel. Here and there a true heart sank to earth, with a hand of death veiling his eyes, but he died in silence, no cry of fear, no moan of pain, no pitiful appeal for mercy at the hands of his maddened people. They knew their sworn duty, and like true hearts, they trod that narrow path unto the very end. Although with gradually lessening numbers, the bodyguard remained practically the same. Still in a hollow square with the children of the sun god in the center, they slowly, doggedly fell back, ever facing the ravening foe, ever moving shoulder to shoulder as a single man. Then just as Bruno Gillespie was refilling his emptied revolver, the base of the tall pyramidal temple was won, and still protecting their fair-haired charge, the bodyguard ascended to the second terrace, beating back such of the wild rabble as pressed them too closely. Again that wonderful barking death came into play, and Bruno felt a strangely savage joy, gnawing at his heart as he saw more than one stalwart warrior, real dizzily back from his hot hail. Forixly occurs that forixly, down and eat dirt, dogs! Scarcely could his own ears catch those sounds, although he shouted with the full power of his strong young lungs, so indescribably horrid was the din and tumult. Up another flight of steps, then yet another, although the crazed rabble was not pressing them so very hard just now. Still their number forbade a four-fold vision as yet, and Azotel feared lest the blood-ravening mob attempt to head off their flight by taking possession of the other stairs, thus being first to occupy the under-flat arena high above the earth whereupon he hoped to still protect the sun-children, even though he must lay down his life to maintain their lease. Lacking an acknowledged leader, the furious mass thought only of crushing the faithful band by mere weight of numbers, taking no thought in advance else the end might well have been precipitated. Arrows, spears, javelins, stones from slings poured upon the bodyguard in almost countless numbers, now and then claiming a true heart as victim, whereupon the rabble held fresh in drunken triumph, but where a single man died in the performance of his oath-bound duty, half a score he then bit the dust and groveled out his remnant of life, yonder where most viciously trampled the feet of his fellow brutes. Pausing barely long enough to beat back the crazed rush which came so close upon their retreat, the band of brothers would then slowly, doggedly fall back another of those mighty steps with bare teeth and blazing eyes, longing to end all by one joyous plunge into the thick of their assailants, dying with their chosen dead. Five separate times that upward flight and five times the grim pause to give death another portion of his red feast, five times the blood-lapping mob dashed against the band of brothers, five times they were hurled back, leaving more dead and dying there to mark the savage struggle. And then sadly decimated at each halt, less in numbers as they passed farther from earth to climb nearer the blue sky, the survivors won the crest of the Theokalili, still fighting, still beating back such as followed their steps more closely. Air that brilliant retreat began to have taken close ranks for the bodyguard to find standing room upon the temple-top, but now Azotl called for a division of his force, since there were four separate avenues of approach of which the enemy was prompt to avail itself. For the son-children, my brothers, he cried, his voice rising even above that awful tumult and turmoil, guard them with your lives. Little need to waste breath in so adoring, of all thus enlisted not one of the true hearts but proved worthy that trust, not one brave who took care for his own life, not one but was ready to die in order to save, and thus far not a single wound had won so far as either child of the fair God. Even now, while the heathen were raging more viciously than ever, crowding each terrace and jamming each flood of steps to the verge of suffocation, strong arms were shielding them, true hearts were thinking how best they might be served. Time and again, Azotl warded away winged the death as it sought to claim victor for its prey, and Bruno Gillespie, no with less brave, if somewhat lacking in warlike experience, made glad is his special care, sending shot or dealing knife thrust in her defense, barely giving thought to his own safety as a side issue. Those broad terraces bore ugly pools and irregular patches of red blood, the various flights of stone steps grew slippery and uncertain as they likewise began to steam, yet forward and upward pressed the howling mob and desperately fought the doomed bodyguard above. Faster fly the deadly missiles to many but far for even the keenest eye to guard against them all, one and another of those gallant defenders drop away, only because death had claimed them, not because of fear or of bodily anguish. Azotl staggers, an arrow is quivering in his broad bosom, but still he fights on, tealing death with each blow of his blood-tripping hand-wood. A stone lays open his brow, but heavier and faster plays his terrible weapon. A javelin flashes briefly, then the red copper vanishes from sight while the ash and shaft slowly dies crimson, as the hot life blood issues. A last dying stroke and the red heron sinks at the feet of his adoration, faithful unto the last, his brave soul going forth to join with that of Ixley, the last of a gallant family. Victor gives a wild cry vengeance, then snatches a bow and quiver where he let fall by a death smitten warrior and wingswift death to the slayer of her captain of the guard. An awful melee where the odds were momentarily increasing, where one man was forced to do the work of a score, where death inevitable awaited all, unless a miracle should intervene, and that miracle. Shrilly rang forth the voice of Victoria Edgecomb, as amidst the fury of battle she caught sight of the airship swiftly darting that way through the clear atmosphere, bent on saving if saving might be. The peculiar sound which attended the exploding of a dynamite cartridge heralded the death of more than one Aztec, and as a swift rattle of revolvers added to the uproar, there was an involuntary recoiling, a terrified shrinking which was employed to the best advantage by the air voyagers. The aerostat barely landed upon the top of the temple, before Cooper Edgecomb, with a wild scream of ecstatic joy, caught his wife in his arms and hurried her into the car, while Waldo and Uncle Thayton aided Bruno. Chapter 32 Adieu to the Lost City And Bruno clung fast to the half-swinning maiden, so that two in place of one had to be assisted by Uncle and Nephew. Barely a score of seconds thus employed, then the gallant airship responded to the touch of master hand, and floated away from the bloody temple top, with its increased burden, even as the last survivor of the son-children's bodyguard sank down in death. A brief stupor came over the amazed heathen at sight of this awful air devil, from whose side spat forth invisible death, but then as they divined at least a portion of the truth, as they saw their longed-for victims thus borne bodily away, a revulsion came, and amid the most hideous howls and screeches, missiles flew towards the airship, menacing sudden death to all therein. But fate would not have it thus, and under the guidance of that master hand, the aeromotor flew higher and farther, quickly leaving behind all peril from javelins, darts, arrows, or stones from slings. And but one of their number had suffered odd. Bruno lay as one dead, blood flowing from a stone gash over an eye, but with one hand still gripping the butt of an empty pistol, his other arm was, around the son-daughter's waist. And glatties. First she shrunk back with a gasping cry of mingled fear and grief, only to quickly recover, and did she kiss that curiously spotted strict face. Waldo afterwards declared, she certainly did, for that a moment later he saw some of that moistened stain upon her quivering lips, but Waldo was ever extravagantly fond of a jest, and it may be, never mind. Not until the airship was safely past peril from yonder howling, raving lunatics in bronze, did Professor Featherwood give heed to odd else, and by that time Victoria had left the ardent embrace of her husband to care for the elder Gillespie, whose single hearted devotion all through that bloody retreat and bloodier struggle upon the temple had not wholly escaped her notice. Under such tender ministrations Bruno quickly revived, and after shuring himself, that the children of the sun were alive and unharmed, while lost city was now left far behind them, he huskily begged Uncle Featherwood to descend to earth, where he might find water enough to remove what remained of that loathsome disguise. But Professor Featherwood was far too shrewd a general to take any unnecessary risks. His last glimpse of yonder valley showed him hundreds of armed redskins rushing at top speed for the various passes, by which that circle of hills could be overpassed, and he knew that chase would be made as long as the faintest ray of hope lured the Aztecs on. Thus it came that no halt was made until the inland reservoir was reached, where there could be no possible danger in making a temporary landing, and then Bruno stole away in hot haste, both to wash his person and to reclothe it in garments not quite so ridiculous as he now felt that savage rig must appear. Just as though the little woman wasn't used to see fit-outs like that, old man, mocked Waldo the irrepressible, she'll go scare to him this rig, see if she doesn't now. Whether or no Gladys was actually frightened as Bruno made his appearance need not be decided here, but one fact remains. She acted a vast deal shyer than when she saw her gallant defender lying as if dead, with the red blood flowing over his face. Naturally enough Cooper Edgecomb seemed fairly crazed by his joy, after so many long years of hopeless grief and wistful longing to find his loved one safe and sound far more beautiful than of your, surely enough to turn the gravest of men into a laughing, jesting, vulnerable lad. But through it all ran a vein of sadness and of mourning. Neither Azotel the noble nor exly the gallant could so soon be forgotten, and more than one pair of eyes grew dim, more than one voice turned husky as mention was made of both life and death, peace to their ashes. Heavily burdened as the airship now was, it would be unwise to add more, and so but a few minor articles were removed from the cavern, which had for so long sheltered the exiled aeronaut. Then the lever was touched, and the vessel rose slowly into air, making one leisurely circuit of the lake in order to show the children of the sun, where their husband and father came so perestly nigh to entering upon a subterranean voyage to the far away Pacific. And luckily as it appeared they were just in time to see that big suck drag another huge tree down into its ever-hungry maw. Not until the shades of night again began to settle over the earth did the professor permit another halt, but then many miles lay between that lost city of the Aztecs and their present position, and after selecting a pleasant spot for alighting, preparations for their first alfresco meal in company were begun. That proved to be a pleasant meal, and yet a more pleasant evening there in the wilderness, the first but by no means the last partaken of, for now they need no longer fear the heathen. Professor Featherwood was eager to more thoroughly explore that strange land. Still the airship was inconveniently crowded, and that helped to cut explorations short. Then too Cooper Edgecomb was naturally eager to return to civilization once more, especially as he now had his heart's dearest desire, wife and daughter, each peerless in her peculiar way. Thus it came to pass that the terror incognito was abandoned for the time being. Professor Featherwood striking that wide path of ruin which marked the course of the tornado, then sailing leisurely towards the point of their initial departure, improving the opportunity by giving a neat little lecture concerning tornadoes in general, and that one in particular, which totally exploded so many absurd theories held up to date. Was his proud assertion, and then he went on to explain just how and why and wherefore, why dwell longer. The tale I set out to narrate is finished. The unknown land has been penetrated, and at least a portion of its marvels has been inspected, imperfectly no doubt, but that may be attributed to circumstances which were past control. And should the still curious reader ask, is it all true? Is there actually such a place as the lost city? And are the people who live in that town really and truly the same race as once inhabited old Mexico? To all such I can hardly do better than this. There was a territory of Washington. There is now a state of Washington. Within that state may be found a range or system of mountains known to the world as the Olympics, and within the wide scope of country which lies nestling inside of that mountain system, may to this day be found. But after all, a little parable which Waldo Gillespie read to a certain doubting Thomas on the very evening of the day which changed Gladys Edgecomb's spinster into Mrs. Bruno Gillespie may as better serve in this connection. After all, I don't believe there is any such place or people, declared doubting Thomas nodding his head viturously. Is that so? Mildly queried our good friend Waldo. Let me give you a little pointer, old man. Once upon a time a man by the name of John Smith was being tried for stealing a fat hog. The state brought three reputable witnesses to swear that they actually saw the theft committed, while the best defense could offer was to declare that they could produce at least a dozen honest citizens who would make oath to the fact that they did not witness the crime. So moral. We six fairly honest people saw both the lost city and its inhabitants. Scores of equally reliable persons never saw either. Which sort of evidence weighs the most, my good fellow? Gentlemen of the jury, the verdict rests with you. End of chapter thirty-two. This is also the end of the lost city.