A MISSION
“Six days overdue, and no sign of the _Shark_! What a help Captain
Carter proved to be!”
Jack delivered the remark as he lay on the steep hillside overlooking
Cuertos harbor in Peru. His sentiment was shared by the other Explorers,
Willie, Ken and War. Six days of waiting in a desolate coastal town had
left the four Rovers decidedly restless and impatient.
Behind them now were a thrilling plane journey from the States, exciting
days in Lima. But nearly a week had elapsed since they had registered at
the little Cuertos Hotel in this sleepy town seldom visited by tourists.
To the annoyance of Mr. Livingston and the Scouts, the _Shark_ had not
yet made port. What, they wondered, had delayed Captain Carter and their
supplies?
On this sunny morning, while Mr. Livingston conferred with government
officials, Jack and his friends had decided to watch the harbor for a
possible glimpse of the long overdue vessel.
“Maybe Carter never will show up,” War remarked, tossing a stone into
the waves which broke gently on the shore below. “I don’t trust him.”
“The _Shark_ may have run into bad storms,” Jack replied. “It’s hard
waiting, though—especially when we can’t pick up any information about
Burton Monahan.”
“Apparently the only one who knows anything about him is that old
missionary who lives on the hill,” Ken said thoughtfully. “And he won’t
see us.”
A week ago, the day of their arrival, the Scouts and Mr. Livingston had
called at the crumbling old mission overlooking the sea. Politely but
firmly, a servant had informed them that Father Francisco Manoel was ill
and would receive no visitors. For five straight days, the answer always
had been the same.
“It’s an excuse not to see us!” Willie asserted, getting up from the
rocks. “Father Francisco just does not want to tell what he knows about
Burton Monahan or that old parchment!”
“Oh, we can’t be sure,” Jack drawled. “Father Francisco may be sick. We
didn’t expect this job to be an easy one. Or did we think Burton Monahan
would be sitting conveniently on a rock pile waiting for us?”
“I’m getting tired of perching on this one!” War announced. “Let’s
move!”
“Where?”
“We might amble into the village again.”
“Okay,” Jack agreed. “We’re not to meet Hap for a couple of hours.
Plenty of time.”
Slowly, the Rovers climbed a crooked path which twisted up the steep
hillside. Midway to the summit they met an old woman with a brilliantly
colored parrot perched on her shoulder.
“_Buenos dias_,” croaked the bird.
“Good day, yourself!” Jack responded.
He halted, intending to inspect the saucy parrot. But the bent old
native woman glared angrily at him and shuffled hurriedly on.
“Guess she didn’t like the way I spoke to her pet,” Jack said with a
shrug. “Or was she suspicious of our Explorers’ uniforms?”
At the top of the hill, the four Scouts paused to breathe deeply of the
salt air. Willie snapped several pictures of the old mission, and then
he and War wandered on.
Left behind, Jack and Ken watched the sea for a while before starting in
the direction their companions had taken. In passing the old mission
door, Jack impulsively paused to knock.
“No use,” Ken discouraged him. “There’s never any answer.”
But even as he spoke, they heard footsteps. Surprisingly, the massive
door swung open and a servant peered out at them.
“Father Francisco see you now,” she informed them in broken English.
“Enter!”
“Well, what d’ you know!” Ken murmured startled. “We must have pressed
the magic button!”
The servant motioned for the two Scouts to follow her down a tiled
corridor. Eventually, they came to a pleasant half-underground library
whose long, wide window provided a view of the ocean. On three sides,
the walls were lined with books.
Father Francisco sat facing the sea, but he turned slowly as the Scouts
entered. He was a small, bent old man in a black dressing robe and
sandals. Pillows braced his back.
Motioning Ken and Jack into well-worn leather chairs, he said in precise
but perfect English: “I regret I have been ill and could not see you
when first you called. My arthritis has been most painful. Mr.
Livingston did not accompany you?”
Jack replied that their leader was in conference with government
officials. He and Ken both were uncomfortably aware of the old
missionary’s intent scrutiny. They had an odd feeling that he not only
knew everything about them and their party, but could read their
innermost thoughts.
“How do you like Peru?” Father Francisco inquired politely.
“We haven’t seen very much of it,” Jack confessed. “Cuertos though,
isn’t exactly as we pictured it.”
“The coastal area is very dry,” the missionary said, fingering a long,
gold neck chain. “Here at Cuertos we have a good rain at least once a
century. Earthquakes, I regret to say, are more frequent.”
An awkward silence fell. Father Francisco broke it by inquiring: “You
are Scouts from America?”
“Explorers,” Ken said proudly. “I guess you already know why we are
here.”
Father Francisco eyed the pair quizzically. “You are searching for
Burton Monahan? Or is it the treasure which intrigues you?”
“We’re trying to find Mr. Monahan,” Jack replied earnestly.
“One must be very brave or very foolhardy to venture far into the wilds.
A mule-back trip across Peru consumes weeks.”
Ken and Jack nodded, remaining silent.
“Many of our mountain roads are mere tracks,” Father Francisco
continued. “Only caves or stone huts offer shelter. To venture far one
must have a trusted _arriero_ or muleteer to act as guide. A dependable
man is not easy to find.”
To Jack and Ken it was clear that the missionary deliberately was trying
to discourage them. They listened attentively as he mentioned the many
dangers that might beset a traveler. When he had finished, Jack said
quietly:
“We realize, Father, that our mission won’t be easy. All the same, a few
hardships won’t bother us. You knew Burton Monahan?”
“Very well. Ah, he was a reckless one! But with the courage of a lion!
From the first, the old tale of treasure fascinated him. Yet in
fairness, I must say it was not lust for Inca gold that spurred him on,
as it does so many adventurers who come to this country. No, it was the
lure of the unknown that drew him irresistibly to his fate.”
“His fate?” Ken repeated, startled. “Then you believe that Burton
Monahan is dead?”
Father Francisco shrugged his thin shoulder. “_Quien sabe?_” he murmured
in Spanish. “Who knows? There is one who might provide the answer, if he
would. I fear however, that the truth will never pass his lips. Not if
it profits him to remain silent.”
“Who is this man?” questioned Jack.
The missionary did not answer. The Explorers were certain he heard and
that deliberately he withheld his reply.
“I would assist you if I could,” Father Francisco resumed after a
moment. “Unfortunately, I can do nothing.”
“Tell us everything you know about Mr. Monahan’s disappearance,” Jack
urged.
“For many weeks he studied the ancient parchment which I have
here—taking notes, trying to figure out the route of the Portuguese
explorers who so faithfully recounted their discovery of the hidden
pre-Inca city. Finally, disregarding all advice, he organized a party
and set off into the most desolate section of the mountains. That was
many months ago.”
“And that was the last you ever heard of him?” Ken inquired.
“Word filtered back. As the journey became more difficult, his natives
began to desert. Finally, even Captain Carter abandoned him.”
“Captain Carter!” exclaimed Jack, startled. “The skipper of the
_Shark_?”
“The same.”
“Why, we didn’t know he had a close association with Mr. Monahan,” Ken
declared. “Captain Carter is bringing our equipment here on the _Shark_.
In fact, he promoted the expedition.”
Father Francisco eyed the two Scouts with a fixed rigid smile. “So
Captain Carter is to be a member of your party?” he asked softly.
“Mr. Monahan—Burton’s brother—thought he could be helpful to us,” Ken
explained.
“Ah, yes, Captain Carter could be of assistance, if he chose,” murmured
the old missionary. “I regret to say he is not known in Cuertos for his
cooperative qualities. Captain Carter—”
Abruptly, the missionary broke off, as if he had been on the verge of
making an unintended disclosure.
“You must excuse me now,” he said apologetically. “It is the hour of my
siesta. As for the temple treasure and Burton Monahan, I advise you for
your own safety, to banish all thought of an expedition.”
Disappointed by the dismissal, Ken turned to leave. Jack, however, was
unwilling to be discharged so easily.
He sensed that mention of Captain Carter’s name somehow had been
unfortunate. Seemingly, Father Francisco had become distrustful of their
association with the skipper of the _Shark_.
“Captain Carter was assigned to our expedition by Burton Monahan’s
brother,” he informed the missionary. “We have no liking for him. Right
now we’re annoyed because the _Shark_ hasn’t made port with our cargo.”
“We’ve counted on your help,” Ken added earnestly. “If we don’t get it,
the expedition will bog down right here at Cuertos.”
“I believe that you are sincere,” the old missionary said after a long
silence. “This much I will tell you. Captain Carter has an ugly
reputation among our people.”
“Because of the Monahan affair?” interposed Jack.
“There were whispers that after Monahan left here, he fell in with
Carter,” the missionary explained reluctantly. “Some believe that
together they came upon the hidden city and that for lust of gold,
Carter removed Monahan from the picture.”
“But the captain has claimed to be working to save Monahan!” Jack
exclaimed.
“I cannot vouch for the truth of the tale. I do know that Captain Carter
has unsavory connections, both here and inland. As master of the _Shark_
he has many profitable lines only indirectly connected with the
transportation of cargo.”
“But why would Carter ask financial assistance from Burton Monahan’s
brother?” Jack asked in perplexity. “If he did away with Burton, why
pretend to be seeking him?”
“Who can fathom the depths of a twisted mind?” murmured Father
Francisco. “I cannot vouch for the truth of the rumors. Possibly,
Captain Carter has been misunderstood and misjudged.”
Seeking to gain information, Jack and Ken asked other questions. The
missionary politely evaded them. Abruptly changing the subject, he
offered to show the Scouts the ancient Portuguese manuscript which long
had been in his possession.
Painfully pulling himself from the pillows, he hobbled to a walnut
cabinet.
“I spent many years translating the manuscript which is written in
Portuguese,” he informed the Explorers as he unlocked the heavy double
doors. “You are familiar with the history of Peru?”
“We’ve read a lot lately,” Jack returned. “Especially about how the
Spanish general Pizarro conquered the country in 1532.”
“Peru then was under Inca domination,” the missionary said, warming to
his subject. “The Inca ruler, you know, was regarded as a representative
of the Sun God, head of the priesthood and the army.
“When Pizarro took the country, he forced the Indians to turn over vast
amounts of treasure to ransom their king, who had been made a captive.
But the Incas were betrayed, for their ruler was put to death. Angered,
they dumped much of their gold into lakes and streams or hid it in
caves. One such treasure lake, so this ancient manuscript discloses,
lies hidden ‘inside a mountain.’ The phrase has been variously
interpreted. According to ancient belief, the treasure mountain is
visible from here.”
“From this mission?” Jack asked incredulously.
“Yes, but as I presently will show you, the clue has little value.”
Almost reverently, Father Francisco spread the parchment on a table
before the Scouts. Eagerly, they peered at the fine-grained skin which
had been scraped and rubbed with pumice to permit writing on either
side.
“Imagine being able to read that!” Ken said in awe.
“The manuscript begins thus,” the missionary translated. “‘We wandered
ten years in the wilds, seeking gold. Little did we find until in the
year—’”
Abruptly, Father Francisco broke off, his attention diverted toward the
door of the library. The Scouts had heard no unusual sound, but the
missionary seemed disturbed.
“Someone, I believe, loiters in the passageway!” he whispered. “Be
quick! See who it is that listens by the door!”