THE TUNNEL
“‘Follow trail—’” Willie mimicked the old medicine man. “That’s all very
nice. But where does the darn thing lead?”
The Scouts had paused on the path to let Mr. Livingston rest. Since
leaving Ino at the spring, they had walked as fast as the rough ground
would permit.
“This trail leads to the river, I suspect,” commented Ken. “We may find
a balsa there.”
“Probably with our names engraved on it,” Jack returned ironically.
“Everything’s too convenient! Why was Ino so eager to have us get away?”
“He felt sorry for us,” War answered.
Jack nodded thoughtfully. “I’m convinced Ino isn’t a native,” he said.
“He understands English pretty well.”
“That ‘follow trail’ of his, popped out very easily,” agreed Ken. “But
if he’s a white man, why didn’t he reveal himself to us?”
“Yeah, why does he live here with the natives?” Willie demanded. “He’d
have to have a strong motive.”
“A lost gold mine perhaps, or the Inca city,” Jack suggested
reflectively.
“You think Ino may be a trader who stumbled onto some secret after
getting in the good graces of the Indians?”
“It could be. I’m sure Ino wanted to get us away from the village while
the natives were gone. You noticed how sharply he spoke when I started
to take that other trail by the spring.”
“I did!” Willie exclaimed. “He was afraid we’d go that way.”
“That path must lead to something Ino doesn’t want us to see,” Jack went
on with conviction. “If we weren’t in such a tough spot—”
“We have to go on,” Ken urged, glancing at Mr. Livingston. “Right now,
too.”
Supported by Willie and Ken, the Scout leader dragged himself along. He
was shaking again, and his teeth chattered. Finally he halted.
“No use kidding ourselves, boys. I’ll never last. You fellows go on
without me.”
“Never!” Jack replied. “We’ll carry you.”
“That wouldn’t work, and you know it, Jack. Even without me, you’ll have
a tough time getting back to Cuya.”
“We’ll never leave you,” Ken insisted.
Mr. Livingston lacked the strength to argue. Sagging down by a tree, he
sipped water which War gave him.
Jack, Ken and Willie drew aside to discuss their situation. In whispers,
they agreed that without natives to help carry their leader, they never
could make it. Even if they were lucky enough to find a canoe or balsa,
they could not expect to get farther than the broken bridge.
“Hap’s got to rest a few minutes, no matter what we do,” Jack said,
thinking it over. “Meanwhile, one of us should go ahead to look for a
canoe. I’ll slip back to the spring to see where that other path leads.”
“Curiosity will prove your finish yet,” Ken predicted soberly.
“We may be close to the sacred Inca City, Ken. Before we leave here, I
want to satisfy myself on that point.”
Further discussion ended with a decision that Jack should explore the
trail leading from the spring. Willie would try to reach the river to
look for a canoe.
“Both of you, hurry!” Ken advised. “If the natives return to their
village and discover we’ve walked off—curtains!”
“If I’m not back in half an hour—before dawn—start for the river without
me,” Jack advised grimly.
After the two Scouts had gone their separate ways, Ken settled down to
wait beside Mr. Livingston and War. He was plenty worried. Hap kept
throwing off a protective jacket. At one moment he suffered chills, and
the next, seemed to burn with high fever.
“That medicine man’s dope wasn’t so wonderful after all!” War scoffed.
“Hap is better today, even so,” Ken replied. “If he had a day to get on
his feet, we might make it out of here.”
“A day! We’ll be lucky to have another hour of freedom!”
The first streaks of light were lining the horizon, and still neither
Willie nor Jack returned. Nervously, Ken paced up and down the path.
“Listen!” he suddenly exclaimed.
From a far distance, high within the mountain, could be heard a strange,
weird cry. The sound seemed to arise from many throats.
“A chant to the dawn!” Ken declared. “These Indians must be sun
worshipers, just as were the ancient Incas!”
“There should be a temple near here, Ken. Maybe Jack was right about
that hidden Inca city!”
“Right or not, I wish he’d get back. It’s clear now why the village was
deserted. The natives all went off to greet the dawn with special
ceremonies.”
“Someone’s coming now.” War suddenly warned.
As the two waited tensely, a low whistle told them that it was Willie
who approached. He came up a moment later, panting from the fast climb.
“Did you reach the river?” Ken demanded.
Willie nodded. “Couldn’t find a canoe or a balsa,” he reported. “If we
had more time—”
“Sure, if we just had more time,” Ken echoed.
Sorely beset, he hesitated in making a decision. As he turned over
various plans in his mind, Jack came into sight. Greatly relieved that
the crew leader had returned safely, Ken grasped his hand. “Learn
anything, boy?” he demanded hopefully.
“The path leads to a solid wall of rock. But get this! I found a gap
that looks as if it may be a tunnel. I didn’t dare take time to
investigate it.”
“Not the hidden city you were sure you’d find, Jack?”
“That passageway may lead to it, Ken! I could hear natives close by,
yelling and chanting. Couldn’t see anyone though.”
“What’ll we do?” Ken demanded. “Here we are on the verge of an important
discovery, but our situation is desperate. If we try an escape by river,
we’re not even certain of having a balsa.”
“We could hide out for a day and hope Hap will get stronger.”
“Our supplies are low now,” Ken said, frowning. “Another thing, once the
natives take after us, they’ll try the river first of all. How far away
is this tunnel through the rocks?”
“Close by, Ken. It’s a steep climb though.”
“Any chance to find a good hide-out up there?”
“The rocks near the tunnel entrance offer some protection. Better than
this, but not good.”
“Let’s make for it then,” Ken suddenly advised.
They told Mr. Livingston of their plan, and he nodded agreement. Ken
hoisted him onto his back in a fireman’s carry, toting him as far as the
spring. There they splashed water on his fevered face, and went on
again. When the path became very steep, the Scout leader managed to walk
with support on either side.
Presently they reached the ridge to find themselves surrounded by rocks
which had weathered into weird shapes. As they examined the passage
entranceway through the great mass of twisted stone, Jack suddenly
became tense.
“Listen!” he bade the others.
The chanting in the distance had ceased. But the Scouts could hear the
hum of voices coming closer, and the pounding of feet on hard stone.
“The natives are returning this way!” Jack muttered. “Take cover!”
Quickly, the party retreated behind the eroded rocks, flattening
themselves on the rough floor. Moments passed.
Then single file, like a swarm of hornets, the warriors began to pour
out of the tunnel. The procession continued for so long that the Scouts
lost count of those who passed through.
Finally, no more came. After waiting another ten minutes, Jack crept out
to investigate. He returned to report that the natives had returned to
their village and that the passageway seemed empty.
“I went a short distance in,” he told the others excitedly, “I could see
daylight ahead, so the tunnel must be short. I thought I could make out
the ruins of an old roadway.”
“The ancient Inca city,” murmured Mr. Livingston, pulling himself to a
sitting position. “Our goal?”
“I’m not sure, but I think so! If we dare press on, we’ll soon know.
What do you say?”
“Let’s go,” War urged instantly. “We can’t be any worse off than we are
now.”
“Except that the city may be regarded as sacred,” Jack pointed out. “If
we were found there, it could mean our finish.”
No one spoke for several minutes. Then Mr. Livingston gave answer by
trying to pull himself to his feet. “We go on,” he said grimly. “Our
chance to escape by the river already is gone. We must hide at least
until nightfall.”
“Sure, and while we’re waiting, why not learn all we can!” cried War,
well pleased with the decision.
The passageway, though narrow, permitted the Scouts to walk very nearly
upright. With Jack leading they groped their way along the smooth rocks.
At length, they came into the open once more.
Blinking as they gazed directly into the bright morning sun, the Scouts
looked about. Below rolled a green sea of forest and the winding river.
Beneath their tired feet were the remains of an ancient roadway, leading
on to a large, clear area devoid of all save a few scrub trees.
“Where’s the sacred city?” demanded War.
Mr. Livingston and the other Explorers were too disappointed to answer.
Instead of the old Inca ruins they had expected to find, only a barren
scene spread before their eyes.