TIT FOR TAT
“Certainly you may do the talking,” John Whitley agreed to Bill’s urgent
hint as they all watched the arrival of the other party. “But I cannot
understand how Pizzara can dare to risk his own safety——”
“The high priest hates the Inca’s older son,” Bill answered. “He will be
discredited if the corn grows. He would rather see the crop ruined than
to have that happen. The Spaniard must guess that. Probably he hinted
enough to whet Huamachaco’s curiosity. I think the priest might even
promise—promise, I said, not give!—him gold for his help in removing us
from the scene.”
The rest of the party nodded; there was no time for more discussion. The
Inca arrived and they all stood up respectfully and bowed to him.
“This man makes a strange story,” said the ruler. “He says you come here
from across the great blue waters to steal our gold and to take away the
white man who is sick.”
Bill bowed to the Inca, but his eyes watched the face of the priest;
Cliff and his chums saw that the latter was smiling in a satisfied,
triumphant way.
“Truly it is a strange tale, oh ruler,” Bill spoke without apparent
surprise. “A tale that is the more strange because it comes from the
lips of one of that race of Spaniards who tore the empire of the Incas
to shreds and took much gold away!”
Pizzara snarled as the Inca turned toward him; but he swiftly composed
his face to a smile.
“Royal son of the Sun,” Pizzara said to the Inca. “Which of us speaks
the truth? It is easy to prove. Here come the men!”
Cliff, Nicky and Tom wheeled. There was a commotion among the crowds
still mulling around in the great square, drawn by the feeling that
something important was happening. Soldiers threw the people aside as
they advanced toward the gardens in which the royal table and those for
the nobles were set out.
Cliff felt a prickle of fear run along his spine; there was no mistaking
the figure coming toward them. It was Huayca, or Whackey, their former
mountain guide, the one who had deserted them on the same night that the
Spaniard had slipped away. Behind him were two others. They later proved
to be the Indian who had accompanied Pizzara to America and the other
who had waited in the hills for the quipu from Cuzco.
Soldiers formed a cordon around the garden as though by a previous
arrangement; it was as well, for the crowd, sensing one threat in the
attitudes of the five strangers, began to murmur and to press in toward
the gardens.
“Can you say who these men are?” the Inca demanded, turning to Huayca
and signing for him to rise from his posture of kneeling with his face
to the ground.
“They are five,” replied Huayca. “They have the same height as did five
whom I guided toward our trap in the white pass. But their faces are
red, the others were white.”
“And who, say you, does this man resemble?” Bill indicated Pizzara. “Is
he not of the height of a Spaniard who followed us?”
“He is of that height, perhaps,” said the former guide. “But him I
cannot recognize for I saw him only at a distance.”
“But these,” he indicated the chums, “they wear robes like those I saw
in a pack carried by the men I guided—I could say they are the same
robes, noble and great son of the Sun!”
At a word from the second of his associates, soldiers roughly drew Cliff
to one side and pushed Nicky and Tom to either side of him.
“Thus they stood in a house in that strange land which I visited,” said
the other man, and he added, “I recall the picture perfectly and they
are of the same height and attitude.”
“What say you?” said the Inca, frowning.
“This!” replied Bill, while the chums stood watchful but realizing that
he had urged them to let him handle the situation. “This, Inca!” No
longer was he humble or quiet. Quipu Bill was stern, erect, his lank
figure towering even above that of the tall ruler. “This I answer. White
or red—messengers from the sky or visitors from across the blue
water—these things do not matter.”
He slipped a hand quietly under his robe.
“What does matter is that we came here to save your corn——”
“That is so!” cried the elder son of the Inca, eagerly; he had evidently
been waiting for an opportunity to help them.
“Ask this other man what he has come to do,” Bill whirled to scowl at
Pizzara who cringed instinctively before he could regain his braggadocio
pose. “And—further—” went on Bill, “—ask Huamachaco how much gold he has
promised to this man for a story that will work against your older son
and his friends who seek to save your grain!”
It proved to be a telling thrust; the high priest shifted his eyes and
fidgeted under the Inca’s inquiring gaze.
“The man speaks wisely,” said the younger son, Challcuchima. “Whatever
may be their past, my brother has said that his corn begins to thrive
again under this servant of Chasca and his magic. And you have seen the
high priest’s face. I can say truly that my brother has told me before
of Huamachaco’s envy and fear of him.” He had paid Cliff back for
sparing him the humiliation of defeat in the wrestling matches. Cliff
smiled gratefully and Challcuchima smiled back.
“What magic has this other to match that?” asked the older son quickly
using the advantage for his friend, John Whitley, who had shown him how
to enrich the earth and help his crop.
Pizzara blustered.
“I do not fling magic about like water,” he boasted, “but I will make
your corn grow when the fate of these men is settled.”
Bill fixed his eye on Pizzara and began to grin; Cliff and his chums
relaxed a little. During his conversation Bill had very stealthily and
gradually moved toward Cliff; middle finger touching his ear, he had
signaled for attention. Cliff was ready, then, when, calling by signal
for an answer to his sign-inquiry, “Is anybody coming?” which Bill asked
by dropping his right hand to his side with two fingers loosely
dangling, Bill stood behind him. Cliff knew that nobody was coming. He
knew that Bill knew it. But he knew something else——
“The sign replying ‘No!’ to any signal is to clasp the two hands lightly
behind the back,” Cliff thought. “Bill knows no one is coming; he wants
my hands behind me.” He clasped them.
All that had gone on while Bill was talking and listening. As he turned
to pass behind Cliff his hand slipped like lightning from under his robe
and Cliff, feeling a cold object, found his hands clasped around a small
automatic revolver.
“Keep it behind you,” muttered Bill, and then moved on and went close to
the Inca. From where he had been standing, beside the other end of the
rude table, his move to get closer to the ruler seemed quite natural.
“Clever Bill,” thought Cliff, “to make me put my hands behind me to get
this revolver, by using the Mystery Boys’ sign. I wonder why he gave me
the weapon?”
“Oh, Senor Pizzara,” Bill threw over his shoulder. “So you have magic,
have you?” He faced the ruler. “Inca,” he said, “noble Son of the Sun,
this man says he has magic. Shall we have a test of his power compared
to that of Chasca, Page of the Sun?”
That pleased the entire group. The Indians were always eager to see any
marvels. Bill’s plan was clearer to Cliff but he held the revolver
behind him, although several soldiers saw the glinting object and
stepped forward, then hesitated and drew back at Bill’s words. They had
not actually seen the weapon pass from Bill to Cliff, and they were not
sure that it had done so. They waited to see what would happen.
“Let this man show his magic to Chasca!” snapped Bill.
They all chorused, “Let him show his magic!”
Pizzara grimaced at Bill and turned to the Inca.
“I fear to show my magic,” he said. “It is too powerful——”
“He has none,” Bill cried, then whirled toward Huamachaco. “Let your
high priest show his magic, then.”
But apparently the high priest still had some fear that the young fellow
with the bright and flowing locks might be truly a messenger from the
skies. He backed away, frowning, shaking his head. “It is not good to
show my magic to the ones who are not in the sacred order,” he muttered.
“What? No magic? Yet Chasca can show some! Chasca—oh, Inca, take from
the youth of the skies that which he offers.”
The Inca turned, gazing in surprise as did all the Peruvians, as Cliff
produced the revolver. “The safety catch is on,” Bill murmured. “Let him
have it, Cliff.”
The Inca took the glittering steel object gingerly, awed by it. He
examined it while the others stared, but kept at a safe distance.
Pizzara began to skulk away but soldiers stopped him.
“Point it—so!” suggested Bill, showing the ruler how to direct the
muzzle in the general direction of Pizzara’s stomach.
“No! No!” cried the man, groveling and pushing a soldier in front of his
own person.
“Bring him back!” snapped the Inca and the soldiers pushed Pizzara
forward.
“Pull on that little stick,” Bill suggested. The safety catch prevented
the Inca from discharging the weapon but the effect of Bill’s words upon
Pizzara was amusing; he fell on the ground and tried to crawl behind
Challcuchima.
“Nothing happens and yet the man who can save your corn is a worm,
crawling about, just because of our magic,” said Bill. He took the
weapon which the Inca was very glad to relinquish.
“Get up!” Bill said curtly. Pizzara stood cringing.
“Say to the Inca—is what you told Huamachaco the truth?” The muzzle
slipped upward along Pizzara’s buttons and he knew there was an expert
hand releasing the safety catch.
“No! No!” he shouted. “Inca, it was not so.”
“Take him away!” the Inca signed to the soldiers and for the time the
danger was past.
No one interfered as, leaving the table, the five friends went quickly
to their retreat in the Star Temple.
“We must change our plans,” Bill said, swiftly when they were alone. “We
must get together all our things that we will need—the things Cliff
suggested bringing may come in handy after all!—and I will bring comrade
Cliff’s pa tonight and we will make a try for that ledge where our rope
is hidden.”
“What is it, Caya?” Cliff asked as the girl came to fall on her knees
before him. He signed for her to rise.
“Use your magic to return to the skies,” she begged. “They talked after
you went. I went near. I heard. They let you show them the magic for the
corn and then the high priest says he can make greater magic to destroy
you!”
Cliff whispered to Mr. Whitley and Bill, then in his slow quichua he
said to the trembling girl: “We are not from the stars, Caya. We are
here to save my father, the pale man who has been a prisoner for so
long.”
The girl clasped her hands and stared. Slowly his words penetrated her
understanding.
“Oh!” she gasped. “See then—! I can help! You saved my sister! I will
help you—save you and your father also if it shall please Raymi that one
so humble shall do so much!”
“How?” asked Tom, always practical.
“There is a secret way—it is not known to me, but I shall learn from one
who knows!”
“We saved her sister and now she will save us,” Nicky exulted. “The
Spaniard queered us”—he was so excited he used slang, but they did not
notice. “We paid him back. Just as I said.”
“Yes,” said Cliff. “It’s ‘tit for tat’ all around!”