It was with stronger forebodings than he dared acknowledge even to
himself, that Professor Featherwit watched the two young men out of
sight in the early gloom, and scarcely had his nephew passed beyond
hearing than uncle Phaeton would gladly have recalled Bruno.
Waldo made light of all fears, prophesying complete success, and even
going so far as to predict Bruno's return accompanied by the Children of
the Sun; enthusiastic words which set the exile to trembling with excess
of joy and anticipation.
What, then, was the blank dismay of all when, floating through the
night, came the hollow throbbing of yonder mighty war-drum, fetching
each person to his feet and holding him spellbound for the first few
seconds.
Cooper Edgecombe turned sick at heart, even while ignorant as to the
method of sending forth that alarm, his hollow groan being the first
sound to follow the simultaneous exclamation which burst from three
pairs of lips as the surprise came. And but a breath later Waldo broke
forth with the excited query:
“What is it? What's broken loose now? Surely--thunder?”
Only Professor Phaeton at once recognised the sound, through
description, and each one of those swiftly succeeding strokes seemed
falling upon his heart, bidding him mourn for his beloved nephew, upon
whom his aged eyes had surely looked their last in this life!
Yet it was the professor who took prompt action, speaking sharply as he
darted across to where the air-ship rested:
“Come; get aboard, and let us do what lies in our power. It was criminal
to send the poor lad into the jaws of death, but now--hasten, there may
be a chance, even yet!”
The call was still hot upon his lips when his two companions entered the
aerostat, gripping tight the hand-rail as Professor Featherwit sent the
vessel afloat with reckless haste. As by a miracle they escaped disaster
through rushing into a bushy treetop, and that fact served to steady the
aeronaut's nerves.
“On guard, uncle Phaeton!” cried Waldo, making a lucky snatch at his
cap, which one of the stiff boughs brushed off his head.
“Ay, ay, lad,” responded the man at the guiding-gear, as the air-ship
shot onward and upward, now heading, as directly as was practicable, for
the Lost City of the Aztecs. “That was the very lesson I needed. I am
steady of nerve, now, and will show no lack,--heaven grant that we may
not be for ever too late, though!”
“What do you reckon could have kicked up such a bobbery, uncle? And
what--ugh!” as the wardrum's throbbings again swelled forth in grim
alarm. “What in time is that, anyway?”
As briefly as might be, the professor explained, and almost for the
first time Waldo felt a thrill of dread.
“If they've got Bruno, what will they do with him?”
That very dread was worrying uncle Phaeton, and already through his
busy brain were flashing horrid pictures of punishment and sacrifice,
of hideous scenes of torture, wherein the eldest son of his dead sister
played a prominent role, perforce.
He dared not trust his tongue to make answer, just then, and sent the
aeromotor onward at top speed, leaning far forward to win the earliest
glimpse of--what?
He caught sight of blazing beacons fairly encircling the Lost City,
forming a cordon through which no stranger could hope to pass unseen. He
beheld hundreds of armed shapes rushing to and fro, plainly looking for
some intruder or other enemy, yet almost as certainly failing as yet to
make the longed-for discovery.
Not until that moment had uncle Phaeton dared indulge in even the shadow
of a hope. The awful alarm seemed proof conclusive that poor Bruno had
been taken, through the treachery of Ixtli.
Naturally enough, that was his first belief, but now, as the air-ship
slackened pace to circle more deliberately above the valley, all eyes
on the eager watch for either Bruno or something to hint at his fate,
Professor Featherwit lost a portion of that conviction.
If Bruno had indeed fallen victim to misplaced confidence, and had
been craftily lured into this den of ravening wild beasts, why all this
confusion and mad skurry? Why had not the traitor first made sure of his
victim? Why such a general alarm?
Although such haste in getting afloat had been made, some little time
had been thus consumed, and, before the aerostat was fairly above the
Lost City, Bruno and Ixtli had dropped by stages down the shadowed side
of the Temple of the Sun God, to burrow underneath the ground as their
surest method of eluding pursuit.
Only for that, the end might have been different, for, once sighted,
Gillespie would have been rescued by his friends, or those friends would
surely have shared death with him.
And so it came to pass that, circle though they might, calling ears
to supplement their eyes, swooping perilously low down in their fierce
eagerness to sight their imperilled one, never a glimpse of the young
man could they obtain, nor even a definite hint as to where next to look
for him.
“Surely they cannot have captured Bruno, as yet?” huskily muttered uncle
Phaeton, hungrily straining his eyes without reward. “If the poor boy
had actually fallen into such evil hands, why such crazy confusion?
Why--oh, why did I permit his coaxings to overpower my better judgment?
Why did I send him into--”
The words stuck in his throat and refused to issue. Phaeton Featherwit
just then felt himself little less than a cold-blooded assassin.
Mr. Edgecombe was but little less deeply stirred, although his feelings
were more of a mixture. He grieved for Bruno, and would willingly risk
his life in hopes of doing the young man a service, yet his gaze was
drawn far more frequently towards yonder temple, on the top of which he
had--surely he HAD caught sight of his wife, his daughter!
“Let me down and try to find him,” he eagerly begged, as one might plead
for a great boon. “I promise to save him if yet alive, and--let me
try, professor; I beg of you, give me this chance to show my heartfelt
gratitude.”
But Professor Featherwit shook his head in negation.
“That would only add to our trouble, friend. Knowing nothing of the
dialect, you would be wholly at a loss. And, looking so entirely
different in every respect, how could you hope to pass inspection?”
“All seems so confused, that I might--surely it is worth trying.”
“It would be suicidal, so say no more on that score,” almost harshly
spoke the usually mild-mannered aeronaut, sending his vessel upon
another circuit, only with stern vigilance choking back the appealing
shout to his lost nephew.
This time the aerostat was brought directly above the Temple of the Sun,
where there appeared to be some unusual disturbance, a number of armed
guards fairly driving a gaily arrayed Indian down to the lower levels,
and that greatly against his inclinations, judging from the harsh cries
and ringing threats which burst from his lips.
Recognising the building, and unable to hold his intense emotions longer
under stern control, Cooper Edgecombe called aloud the names of his wife
and daughter, begging that they might come to him; but then the air-ship
was sent onward and upward, with a dizzying swoop, and Professor
Featherwit gripped an arm, sternly speaking:
“Quiet, sir! Another outbreak like that and I'll lock your lips, if I
have to send a bullet through your mad brain!”
“I forgot. I could not wait longer, knowing that my loved ones--”
“You forgot that the lives of all depend upon our remaining at liberty,”
coldly interrupted Featherwit. “Without this means of conveyance, how
can your loved ones escape? Now, your solemn pledge to maintain utter
silence, or I will take you back to yonder wilderness, leaving you to
shift for yourself as best you can. Promise, sir!”
“I will,--I do. Forgive me, for I was carried away by--'twas there I
saw--after so many horrible years!” huskily muttered the exile, fairly
cowering there, before his saviour from the whirlpool.
“Enough; bear in mind that the rescue of your loved ones depend on our
efforts. If discovered by yonder snarling beasts, and the machine is
injured,--farewell, all hopes! Now, quiet, and look for Bruno!”
Again the air-ship circled over the valley, in spite of the moonlight
passing wholly unseen and unsuspected by the Aztecs, whose energies were
bent on ferreting out mortal foes, not demons of the upper world.
Waldo leaned farther over the hand-rail as they floated closer to an
excited group of warriors, the central figure being Lord Hua himself,
fiercely denouncing Aztotl and his son, Ixtli, as traitors to the common
welfare, and calling upon all honest braves to mete forth befitting
punishment.
Professor Featherwit caught one name indistinctly; that of the young
Aztec in whose company Bruno had set forth on his ill-starred venture;
and hoping to learn more of importance, he caused the aerostat to hover
directly above that particular group of redskins.
Waldo, never stopping to count the risk he might thus fetch upon them
all, silently lowered the grapnel, by means of the drag-rope, giving
a boyish chuckle as the three-pronged hook descended amidst that
gathering, the sight causing more than one superstitious brave to leap
aside, with cries of amazed affright.
The air-ship gave a sudden swoop, and the grapnel caught Huatzin by
his girdle, jerking him fairly off his feet, and swinging him into air,
pretty much as a youngster might land a writhing fish. But no fish ever
sent forth so wild a screech of mingled rage and terror as split the air
just then.
Although hardly realising what was happening, Professor Featherwit sent
the aeromotor upward with a mighty jerk. The shock proving too much
for that sash, Lord Hua fell back to earth, literally biting the dust,
although he met with no bodily harm beyond sundry bruises.
“Caught a sucker, and--I'll never do it again, uncle!” exploded Waldo,
as he swiftly hauled in his novel fish-line; but he had to take a severe
lecture from the professor before the subject was finally dropped.
And, worse than all else, the air-demon was now the target for both eyes
and arrows, and, perforce, sailed swiftly away into the night.