HUAMACHACO’S SECRET
“How can you find out about the secret pass if you don’t know already?”
asked Tom.
“Don’t be too inquisitive,” reproved Mr. Whitley. “If she can find out
that is enough for us.”
“But in trying to find out she might blunder,” Tom urged. “Huamachaco,
for example, might grow suspicious and watch us all.”
“I tell you my way,” she said eagerly. “I do not make danger. In the
mountains are great herds of vicuna—small cattle—sheep.”
“And you know one of the shepherds?” Cliff saw the truth.
Caya looked down bashfully “Yes.” She was shy as she spoke. “One comes
at night. We walk and talk. Late tonight I will come to you and I will
know the way.”
They glanced at one another dubiously.
“‘Late tonight’ won’t be too late, will it?” Tom wondered.
“They won’t disturb us until they learn what I used on the corn field,”
Mr. Whitley said. “We surely have the rest of the day and the coming
night, because they must finish the feast.”
“That makes you safe,” Bill said. “I guess the rest of us can stay quiet
and keep out of mischief.” If he said mischief they all knew that he
meant “danger.”
Caya hurried away and the others busied themselves getting their few
necessary belongings together. Caya’s plan was that when they went, late
at night, she could lead them to the pass where she knew her influence
over her young shepherd sweetheart would enable her to find the way.
Then they could hide until she could bring enough food to sustain them
after she said farewell in the mountains. Perhaps her shepherd might
even be induced to feed them; she would see what he would do. She was
sure he would come to see her that evening.
She slipped away to help serve at the feast which was still progressing,
and to linger near the tables of the nobles to learn anything she could
about their plans.
“If she doesn’t come back we can probably get to our ledge, and escape
that way,” Nicky suggested.
“I think that way is closed,” Bill said. “Pizzara came that way: from
the top of the ledge he probably discovered the twine and he may have
used the same scheme to get down. But I don’t think he was brainy enough
to hide the twine—and he could not get up high enough to do that. We had
to make our human ladder, you remember, to get the twine end out of
sight.”
“We will have to depend upon Caya,” said Mr. Whitley. “And I only hope
one thing—that her shepherd friend keeps his regular tryst with her.”
“We won’t take these back, will we?” asked Nicky, holding up a handful
of thin sticks about ten inches long, heavily crusted for most of their
length with fat grayish stuff.
“We can slip them into our robes,” Mr. Whitley said. “They are only
colored lights, red, blue and green, but they might be useful as torches
and they burn a long time.”
“We were going to use them if we had to pretend to make a display of
magic, weren’t we?” asked Nicky who had not been fully aware of the plan
Cliff had originally made. That plan had been to come into the valley as
strangers, wanderers, Indians from a distant place, and then, if
necessary, to use simple colored lights and other things to impress the
Inca’s subjects.
The plan had been changed by the fact that Cliff’s hair came out of his
dye-bath a vivid golden red; he was posing as Chasca, the youth of the
bright and flowing locks and the fireworks had not been needed since
they burned red fire on the ledge.
“How about these?” asked Cliff, picking up some squat, stubby paper
tubes. But no one answered. Huamachaco had entered the main temple and
was approaching slowly. Cliff mechanically dropped his hand into an
inside pocket sewed inside the robe by Bill. He forgot his question in
the sudden suspicion brought into his mind by the arrival of their
enemy.
But Huamachaco seemed to be no enemy; he was smiling. He was sorry that
he had listened to the stranger’s false tale, he said, and the Inca
wished to show them honor and to ask the noble Chasca to forgive his
suspicion. Would they not join the Inca at the feast?
To refuse might bring on the Inca’s anger; it was not wise to slight
him. They agreed to go and followed Huamachaco to the main door of the
temple. He drew back and stepped aside, motioning to Cliff. “Hailli,
Chasca!” cried someone from beyond the doorway and as Bill nudged him
Cliff stepped out.
Then he stared, grew tense and his blood froze.
The Inca, Challcuchima and the others, as well as Pizzara, standing at
one side, he scarcely noticed. His eyes flew to a group of soldiers.
They were dragging a man’s limp figure! The man wore European clothes,
though ragged ones; his face was white! With a scream Cliff sprang
forward.
“Father!” he cried, and again, “Father!”
“You see!” cried Sancho Pizzara to Huamachaco, “I told truth!”
“Take him under guard!” growled the Inca. Cliff was trapped.