CLIFF FACES A PROBLEM
“You fellows are having all the fun,” Cliff said ruefully, while the
disguised five sat around after dinner the third day they spent in
Quichaka. “You can go all over town and see all the sights and I have to
sit like a judge, all alone in my temple.”
“It won’t be for long,” Nicky cheered him up. “Bill saw your father
again—how was he, Bill?”
“He’s getting better every minute,” Bill informed them. “When they took
me to see him first—at Chasca’s command—and I don’t think they suspected
anything—I managed to get a chance to whisper to him that we were
disguised friends. He chirked up right away. He isn’t so very sick—just
weak. He lost hope and heart, I guess, and sort of pined away. But today
I got a chance to whisper that his son is here—you ought to see him
spruce up!”
“If I could see him——” Cliff said.
“It would be dangerous. Either he, or you, might get excited and spoil
everything. No! Better wait till the Feast of Raymi. Then we can have
him brought before you. He’s pretending that he is no better so that
when you see him you can pretend to cure him.”
“I think that will be best,” counselled Mr. Whitley. “Now if you are
ready, Tom, let us go out to the farm lands and inspect that corn crop
again. I am something of a chemist and I think that if I can only find
the ingredients to mix a good insecticide, we can show them what will
seem like a marvelous destruction of the pests which are eating away the
grain. We must search as quickly as we can because we want to be ready
at the festival.”
They went away toward the outlying farms and grain fields. Mr. Whitley
wanted to see exactly what insects were at work, then he felt sure that
he could discover some means of ending their depredations.
Cliff sat in moody silence for a time.
“That girl who always laughs at me and calls me the fellow who sits down
on llamas,” Nicky broke the silence. “She is a nice girl, even if she
does laugh. She told me there is going to be a big competition—I don’t
quite understand what kind—races or something. Why can’t Cliff enter the
race and then he could train and get out for exercise.”
Bill offered to find out what was to occur, and went away. He came back
very soon and informed Cliff that before the annual Feast of Raymi, the
great festival in honor of their sun-god, the Inca would choose from
among his sons the one who should be the next Inca.
Such young nobles were carefully trained during a long period of
preparation; they were taught the arts of war as the Incas understood
them; they were also taught many other things, and then, at an
appropriate time, great games and competitions were held in which
endurance, prowess and skill were tested.
Such a contest was to be held very soon, just before the great festival.
Challcuchima, one of the ruler’s many sons—for the Inca had many wives
and many children—was ready to receive the ceremonials of appointment.
Cliff, as Chasca, had already received and commended Challcuchima; a
fine, clean-limbed fellow near Cliff’s age, the young Indian made a good
impression.
“I had a chat with Inca Capac,” Bill said. “I hinted that it was in the
mind of Chasca to become as a mortal youth and try his skill against the
noble youths and the son who is the Inca’s favorite. He liked the idea.”
“Then we will change the temple of the stars into training quarters,”
Nicky said excitedly, springing up. “I’d like to do some contesting too.
And so would Tom, if Mr. Whitley can spare him.”
When they returned, Tom and Mr. Whitley took the plan well; the young
history instructor saw a splendid chance to give his young charges a
real insight into Inca sports while he, with Bill, could be away in the
mountains, searching for certain chemicals or ore deposits from which to
extract certain mineral salts for his insecticide.
The populace learned of the coming contests and became as excited as
children. They loved sports and contests; never a cruel race by nature
the nobles, although they endured hardships and inflicted pain
mercilessly to themselves and to enemies in war, were by nature gentle
and their sports were far less cruel than those history attributes to
the Spartan race, yet somewhat akin to these in some aspects.
In tests of endurance the Spartan methods were approached; already the
young son of the Inca and other noble youths had been going through
these. Clad in mean attire and sleeping on the ground, they had endured
many hardships; among the tests was a three day fast. But that was over
and there was a brief respite during which food and exercise built up
strength for the climax—races, archery as they understood it with their
war bows and arrows, and contests of an athletic sort.
Cliff, as Chasca, but less the supposed god than the real youth, was
very popular with all the people as he walked in the temple grounds. He
and Tom and Nicky strolled about, the day before the great contest,
admiring the marvels all about them.
“Did you ever see so much gold and silver?” Tom exclaimed, “not only
their utensils and ornament—but look there! Beyond those real flowers
and that little clump of corn—there are gold and silver flowers—and all
the varieties of things that they grow!”
They strolled over to examine them. Bill joined them. Mr. Whitley was
busy with some minerals.
The garden they entered was an astonishing place. The Incas used
precious metals as we use bronze and marble, for statues and ornaments
and even duplicates in gold and silver of their garden fruits and
flowers. Gold was so common in the mountains that it was not used for
money; in fact the Incas had no money of any sort; they did not require
it under their system of government whereby everyone was cared for by
the governing tribe, so that wool, grain and other articles of daily
necessity were distributed fairly and plentifully and everyone shared in
the labor of their production. Therefore the precious metals were
employed for other uses than that of currency.
They examined an especially beautiful parcel of corn stalks and ears of
grain, executed in gold and silver; the stalks were of silver, the fat,
bulging grain ears were sheathed in golden reproductions of the husk,
the corn kernels peeped out, perfect and golden, while the tassel of
cornsilk was made of spun silver threads. They exclaimed as they studied
the wonderful workmanship and then went on to the fresh wonders—fruit
and flowers so perfect that they would deceive except for their sheen of
white or deep, glowing yellow.
When they turned the corner of the star-temple they stopped in surprise.
In a huddled heap, a girl lay on the ground, her body shaking with sobs
that racked her.
“Why,” Nicky cried, “it’s Caya. It’s the girl who called me the fellow
who sits on llamas. What’s the matter, Caya?”
She sat up, her dusky face streaming with tears, and shook her head, for
Nicky had forgotten and spoken in English.
Bill stepped close, squatted beside her and repeated the question. At
first she only shook her head, turned away and buried her face in her
arms, rocking in grief.
Finally she gasped out, in a sobbing voice, her story.
The Incas were not usually a cruel people, and it was almost unheard of
for them to make a human sacrifice to their gods. But, in some great
crisis of their community, they were known to resort to such methods to
appease their gods.
Such a crisis was the attack of the insects upon their corn.
And they were planning a sacrifice to induce Raymi, their god, to look
down with favor on their crop and destroy the menace to their future
food supply.
In great buildings far from the everyday life of the tribe they kept
certain chosen maidens who were employed in the service of the Sun-god,
spinning and weaving tapestries, garments and ornamental cloth. From
among these a sacrifice was chosen, when the rare occasion came for such
a terrible need.
“They have—chosen—my—sister!” sobbed Caya.
“Goodness!” exclaimed Nicky. “We must do something to stop them.”
“We can’t interfere in their religious rites,” warned Bill, sadly but
seriously.
The girl grovelled before Cliff, as though, being the messenger from the
stars he must be able to help her.
Cliff felt very badly. It was outrageous and inhuman, this thing those
people planned to do.
But what could he do to stop it?
He bent down and put a hand awkwardly on the girl’s black, touseled
hair.
“There must be some way——” he said, looking across her head toward Bill.
“I can’t see any way,” Bill said morosely.
“When is this to take place?” he asked the girl in quichua.
“At the Feast of Raymi!” she sobbed.
“Well, you stop crying and——” Bill nudged him. Cliff, too, was using
English. He hesitated, and Bill lifted the slim, quivering girl to her
feet.
“Be not afraid, child of the long and curling locks,” he said kindly in
the dialect she understood, “Chasca does not wish to see your eyes wet.
But what can be done, Chasca will do; but breathe not a word lest
Chasca’s pity turn to wrath!”
She dropped to the ground and struck her forehead on the path, to
Cliff’s great dismay. Then as she remained in that abased position he
touched his chums’ arms and they, with Bill, silently slipped away.
“Run and tell Mr. Whitley,” he urged Tom. “If he can get his chemicals
ready in time we may save Caya’s sister.”
“But if he can’t?” said Nicky desperately.
Cliff shrugged helplessly.
“I don’t know,” he said.