ON THE TEMPLE STEPS
There was an instant of absolute silence. Cliff was hesitating over the
chance of springing past the soldiers to get to his father. The friends
behind were stunned. The soldiers still had enough awe of “Chasca” to
delay.
Then Huamachaco caught one of Cliff’s arms and dragged him sharply down
the steps and sideways so that he stumbled. Challcuchima caught him as
he scuffled down the stone slabs, off his balance. In the same second
Tom and Nicky had leaped past Bill. Nicky grappled with and tripped the
Indian priest while Tom dragged down Challcuchima from behind. Bill and
Mr. Whitley were out on the steps at once. Bill lifted the shining
revolver which he had recovered from Cliff when they left the feast.
“Stop!” he shouted. But there was a grumble and murmur from the crowd
pressed against the line of soldiers, with their tin-and-copper alloy
swords out and ready. There was more danger than merely that of arrest
and confinement. There was an ominous threat in the sound of that
hoarsely guttural murmur.
Cliff had his arms free; a soldier, seeing that no harm came to those
who had seized Chasca, himself advanced. Cliff backed toward the temple
steps again, at Mr. Whitley’s swift order.
But Challcuchima had flung off Tom, had, in fact, given him a vicious
punch that took Tom’s wind for the instant.
Challcuchima caught at Cliff again. Cliff’s hand shot out as Mr. Whitley
leaped off the step and swung the Inca’s older brother aside before he
could aid Challcuchima. Cliff’s blow struck true and the younger son
went down.
“Get back into the temple!” cried Bill.
There was a sharp, startling bark from his revolver; he fired above the
heads of the crowd.
That unusual sound arrested every motion for an instant. Nicky squirmed
free from Huamachaco who had risen and grasped him. Cliff started
backward but his foot caught on the lowest step. He lost his balance but
Nicky caught and steadied him. Bill and Mr. Whitley rushed down to aid
Tom, who had dropped, sick and weakened by Challcuchima’s unexpected
blow.
Then there came an ominous sound—a laugh of triumph.
The Inca, with several soldiers, had gained the top step and escape into
the temple was cut off!
The angry crowd surged forward, pushing the soldiers with them.
Cliff leaped forward and caught Tom, steadying him as he regained his
breath. Bill swung and pointed his weapon straight at the Inca.
“You get back,” he said meaningly in quichua, “or this magic stick will
speak and send you to your fathers!”
The Inca wavered uncertainly; but Challcuchima thrust between Cliff and
Tom, Nicky raced to his assistance, Huamachaco cried out, “Capture the
one who calls a white stranger his father!” and the entire crowd surged
forward.
Bill and Mr. Whitley leaped up on the steps in concerted action and so
sudden and unexpected was the rush that they upset one soldier who
clutched at his comrade. Both fell. Bill gave the Inca a poke and he
tottered down the side steps.
But others were ready to rush in.
Cliff spoke swiftly to his comrades, drew a paper of matches from his
pocket; the crowd hesitated as he struck a match, backed to the cleared
space behind them that offered a way to the temple steps. The soldiers
had not yet closed in behind them.
Cliff did not speak; but his upflung hand caused curiosity in the minds
of the simple natives.
Even the soldiers held quiet, an officer muttering some word to stay
them. Methodically Cliff drew a squat, stubby paper tube from his robe.
He handed it to Nicky; another to Tom.
“Light the fuses when I strike the match,” he whispered. “Then throw
them down in front of us and all make for the doorway!”
He drew out a third tube, struck a match. Three fuses came together. But
at the same instant a soldier leaped forward to jostle Cliff’s arm. But
the fuses caught.
Their sputter heralded a trickle of pitchy, pungent black smoke; the
tubes were such smoke-pots as are used by motion picture companies, and
such as were used in the war, for fire scenes and smoke screens.
“Drop them—now!” cried Cliff. The three flung down their tubes and
retreated; Bill and Mr. Whitley were at the door. Cliff lit another tube
as Mr. Whitley reached to hasten the youths up the steps.
The crowd, seeing them move back a step, began to surge forward but the
smoke began to pour up in a huge, spreading cloud. It spread in the
slight breeze, blew into the eyes and throats of the soldiers and of the
mob.
Coughing, choking, startled and awed, they fell back against those
pressing forward. The smoke spread into a great fan, hiding the exit of
the five; the only one who might have seen them was the Inca; but he was
too busy picking himself up.
The smoke subsided. The crowd gasped.
Their quarry seemed to have disappeared as if by magic!