Louder than ever rose the voice of Lord Hua, after witnessing the fall
of his ally, the high priest. In spite of the great odds against the
body-guards, he began to fear lest his intended prey should even yet
slip through his evil clutches.
Fiercer than ever rang forth his curses and imprecations upon the head
of the Aztec who thus dared the vengeance of all the gods by lifting
hand in arms against the anointed.
And then, his own nerve strung by those very efforts to inspire others,
Lord Hua forged nearer the front, eager to behold all his hated enemies
crushed to earth as by a single stroke. And then--
With vicious force he hurled his javelin straight for the white throat
of the Sun Child who had scorned his fawning advances, and only the ever
ready eye, the true hand, the strong arm of Aztotl again warded off grim
death from the Fair God's Child.
Caught upon that trusty shield one instant, the next turned towards
its original owner, to quiver for the barest fraction of time in that
vengeful grip, then, gloriously true to the hero's will and intent, sped
that javelin home.
Home to the false heart of false prince; grinding through skin and flesh
and bones, cleaving that hot organ with broad blade of tempered copper,
forcing one vicious screech from those tortured lungs, then causing that
bulk to measure its length upon the blood-sprinkled sands.
Once again the heathen involuntarily recoiled, as death claimed a high
victim. Once more the band of true-hearts slightly quickened their pace
towards the temple, now nigh at hand. Yet those lessened numbers never
once betrayed fear, or doubt, or faltering. Grimly true to their trust,
they fell back in the best of order, fighting as they moved, beating
back the heathen hosts, as though each man was a god, and their strong
arms a wall of steel.
Here and there a true-heart sank to earth with the hand of death veiling
his eyes, but he died in silence; no cry of fear, no moan of pain, no
pitiful appeal for mercy at the hands of his maddened people. They knew
their sworn duty, and like true hearts they trod that narrow path unto
the very end.
Although with gradually lessening numbers, the body-guard remained
practically the same. Still in a hollow square, with the Children of the
Sun God in the centre, they slowly, doggedly fell back, ever facing the
ravening foe, ever moving shoulder to shoulder as a single man.
Then, just as Bruno Gillespie was refilling his emptied revolver, the
base of the tall pyramidal temple was won, and still protecting their
fair-haired charge, the body-guard ascended to the second terrace,
beating back such of the wild rabble as pressed them too closely.
Again that wonderful barking-death came into play, and Bruno felt
a strangely savage joy gnawing at his heart as he saw more than one
stalwart warrior reel dizzily back from his hot hail.
“For Ixtli, you curs! That for Ixtli! Down,--and eat dirt, dogs!”
Scarcely could his own ears catch those sounds, although he shouted with
the full power of his strong young lungs, so indescribably horrid was
the din and tumult.
Up another flight of steps, then yet another, although the crazed
rabble was not pressing them so very hard, just now. Still, their
number forbade a fourfold division as yet, and Aztotl feared lest the
blood-ravening mob attempt to head off their flight by taking possession
of the other stairs, thus being first to occupy yonder flat arena high
above the earth, whereupon he hoped to still protect the Sun Children,
even though he must lay down his life to maintain their lease.
Lacking an acknowledged leader, the furious mass thought only of
crushing the faithful band by mere weight of numbers, taking no thought
in advance, else the end might well have been precipitated.
Arrows, spears, javelins, stones from slings, poured upon the body-guard
in almost countless numbers, now and then claiming a true-heart as
victim, whereupon the rabble howled afresh in drunken triumph; but where
a single man died in the performance of his oath-bound duty, half a
score heathen bit the dust and grovelled out his remnant of life yonder
where most viciously trampled the feet of his fellow brutes.
Pausing barely long enough to beat back the crazed rush which came
so close upon their retreat, the band of brothers would then slowly,
doggedly fall back another of those mighty steps, with bared teeth and
blazing eyes, longing to end all by one joyous plunge into the thick of
their assailants, dying with their chosen dead!
Five separate times that upward flight, and five times the grim pause
to give death another portion of his red feast. Five times the
blood-lapping mob dashed against the band of brothers. Five times they
were hurled back, leaving more dead and dying there to mark the savage
struggle.
And then, sadly decimated at each halt, less in numbers as they passed
farther from earth to climb nearer the blue sky, the survivors won
the crest of the teocalli, still fighting, still beating back such as
followed their steps more closely.
Ere that brilliant retreat began, 'twould have taken close ranks for the
body-guard to find standing-room upon the temple-top; but now--Aztotl
called for a division of his force, since there were four separate
avenues of approach, of which the enemy was prompt to avail itself.
“For the Sun Children, my brothers!” he cried, his voice rising even
above that awful tumult and turmoil. “Guard them with your lives!”
Little need to waste breath in so adjuring. Of all thus enlisted, not
one of the true-hearts but proved worthy the trust.
Not one brave who took care for his own life. Not one but was ready to
die in order to save; and thus far not a single wound had won so far as
either Child of the Fair God.
Even now while the heathen were raging more viciously than ever,
crowding each terrace and jamming each flight of steps to the verge of
suffocation, strong arms were shielding them, true hearts were thinking
how best they might be served.
Time and again Aztotl warded away winged death as it sought to claim
Victo for its prey. And Bruno Gillespie, no whit less brave if somewhat
lacking in warlike experience, made Gladys his especial care, sending
shot or dealing knife-thrust in her defence, barely giving thought to
his own safety as a side issue.
Those broad terraces bore ugly pools and irregular patches of red blood.
The various flights of stone steps grew slippery and uncertain as they
likewise began to steam. Yet forward and upward pressed the howling mob,
and desperately fought the doomed body-guard above.
Faster fly the deadly missiles, too many by far for even the keenest eye
to guard against them all. One and another of those gallant defenders
drop away; only because death had claimed them, not because of fear or
of bodily anguish.
Aztotl staggers,--an arrow is quivering in his broad bosom,--but
still he fights on, dealing death with each blow of his blood-dripping
hand-wood. A stone lays open his brow,--but heavier and faster plays his
terrible weapon. A javelin flashes briefly, then the red copper vanishes
from sight, while the ashen shaft slowly dyes crimson, as the hot
life-blood issues.
A last, dying stroke, and the Red Heron sinks at the feet of his
adoration, faithful unto the last, his brave soul going forth to join
with that of Ixtli; the last of a gallant family.
Victo gives a wild cry of vengeance, then snatches up bow and quiver
where let fall by a death-smitten warrior, and wings swift death to the
slayer of her captain of the guard.
An awful melee, where the odds were momentarily increasing; where one
man was forced to do the work of a score; where death inevitable awaited
all, unless a miracle should intervene. And that miracle--
Shrilly rang forth the voice of Victoria Edgecombe as, amidst the fury
of battle, she caught sight of the air-ship swiftly darting that way
through the clear atmosphere, bent on saving, if saving might be.
The peculiar sound which attended the exploding of a dynamite cartridge
heralded the death of more than one Aztec, and, as the swift rattle of
revolvers added to the uproar, there was an involuntary recoiling, a
terrified shrinking, which was employed to the best advantage by the
air-voyagers.
The aerostat barely landed upon the top of the temple, before Cooper
Edgecombe, with a wild scream of ecstatic joy, caught his wife in his
arms and hurried her into the car, while Waldo and uncle Phaeton aided
Bruno.