FOLDED ARMS
“Amadale is going to be tamer for us, than a sick rabbit,” volunteered
Nicky. He and Tom and Cliff were once more in the couch swing on Aunt
Lucy’s porch.
But this time no mysterious Spaniard, no queer Indian faced them.
Instead, a tall, lanky, lean-jawed man with a likeable grin squatted on
the floor, idly whittling to a satiny finish a long piece of wood. Had
the chums looked through the living room window they could have seen Mr.
Gray, Cliff’s father, entirely restored to health, showing his
collection of Inca treasures to three scholars. Mr. Whitley, tilted back
comfortably in a chair, its back against the porch rail, smiled at
Nicky.
“First class in History—and ancient history at that!—begins tomorrow,”
he chuckled. “Thomas, please tell me what Inca is the most famous.”
“Whackey!” grinned Tom. “He gave America back its citizens.”
“And now, Nicholas, what was the empire of the Incas most famed for?”
“Adventure!” promptly replied Nicky.
“Cliff,” continued the instructor, carrying on his joke, “You next. What
fact will you remember most about the Incas?”
“My father’s rescue,” said Cliff seriously.
That rather ended the joke for they all became sober as they recalled
how much danger they had faced to save him.
“I told you we’d come out all right if we all thought we could!” Nicky
said.
“We came out better than all right!” declared Tom, fondling the bright
tan colored and brand new bank pass book in which his share of the
treasure showed as a sizeable deposit.
The treasure they had managed to get to Cuzco had been so cleverly
packed in among their old dunnage that the sleepy officials who had no
idea that these men had been among fabulous treasures did not even
bother to examine their old packs, and so, although there would have
been a large part of the beautifully wrought objects claimed by the
Peruvian government, none was noted and they got it all through. In
America, because of its value as art objects and because they did not
intend to dispose of any of it for profit, there was no duty charged.
Their share of the revenue came from the purse of Cliff’s father. While
he did not buy the gold directly from them, to each he gave a
substantial sum for deposit. Mr. Whitley had been reimbursed for his
expenditures and had refused to take a cent more. Bill, though, had
accepted a good amount with which to buy the ranch for which he yearned.
For Mr. Gray, scholar and writer of many books, found on his return to
America that his volumes already written had brought in a steady royalty
and for a series of articles on the life and customs of the Incas he
received a large cash payment.
They had agreed not to disclose to the world the actual adventures they
had experienced: also, each was bound by the most solemn oath of the
Mystery Boys not to divulge the fact that the Incas still lived in their
valley.
To do so, Mr. Gray urged, would send a host of adventurers—or worse—to
invade the hills and to rob and harm the Incas. Instead they let it be
understood that the scholar had been on an expedition, had found some
valuable old things in the hills and had secured them for the gift which
he made of them to a National museum.
Bill was visiting the four comrades who, with Cliff’s father, had
endeared themselves to him. Soon he would go further West to pick out a
good ranch location.
“I wonder if Bill will find it as much excitement chasing steers and
branding them as he found it rescuing my father?” Cliff said.
“Nope!” answered Bill. “But don’t forget—I’m one of the Mystery Boys
still. One of these days I expect there will be a letter coming by
airmail to my ranch—‘Dear Bill, come a-riding! We’re going to try to
find Tom’s sister and discover what that cipher is that Nicky’s got.’”
“Why must we wait?” urged Nicky. “We’re all here now!”
“There is school!” reminded Mr. Whitley.
“Yes,” agreed Nicky. “But it will be tame after the Incas.”
“But we can do one thing,” Tom broke in. “We can decide how to go about
finding out what’s in Nicky’s cipher, can’t we?”
“I think it will be wiser to wait until our heads are free from
lessons,” smiled Mr. Whitley. “I, for one, cannot go on any further
quest for treasure until I have fulfilled my contract with the Amadale
Academy.”
“Well,” said Nicky, the irrepressible, glancing at his friends as, out
of the corner of his eye he saw Aunt Lucy within the living room,
approaching the window with a big plateful of cakes and a pitcher of
lemonade. “Well, I know one thing we can decide on, right now.”
“What?” they all asked him.
Nicky grinned. Gently he began stroking his left ear with the middle
finger of that hand. It was the call for a council.
Promptly, and somewhat curiously, Tom, Cliff, Bill and Mr. Whitley sat
with folded arms—the sign that they were in readiness.
The Mystery Boys were again in council.
“You’ll promise on the oath, ‘Seeing All, I see nothing: Knowing All, I
know nothing: Telling All, I tell nothing’——?”
“Certainly we’ll promise!” said Tom impatiently. “What is it, Nicky?”
“I know!” cried Cliff, as Aunt Lucy stood, smiling, at the window,
“We’ve got to decide a great question!”
“What?” asked Bill.
Grinning from ear to ear Nicky pointed to his watch, then jammed a
finger toward his open mouth—and grabbed a cookie!
“When do we eat?” he shouted.
They all laughed and each elevated his right hand to rub his stomach.
“Now!” they replied.
And the council of the Mystery Boys was dissolved!
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
End of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery Boys and the Inca Gold, by Van Powell