WE FACE A DEADLY PERIL
At noon Ama sent for us three and when we arrived at her pavilion we
found her pale and distressed.
“The Sun-God is angry with my people,” she said, “because the sacrifice
yesterday was violent and destroyed three faithful priests. A new
sacrifice is called for, to placate the terrible deity who rules the
heavens and the earth.”
We stared at her aghast.
“The Sun-God is angry because you sacrificed to him a helpless stranger,
who worshipped a far greater God than your sun,” I said sternly.
“Listen, Ama: if more of our comrades are sacrificed, far greater harm
will befall the Tcha.”
She regarded me half fearfully for a moment; then her sweetest smile
swept over her lovely face.
“Samsteele,” said she, “the Tcha have sacrificed to the great Sun-God
for thousands of years, and he has kept the nation prosperous and happy
in return. There is no power equal to the power of the glorious Sun, and
the Tcha are his favored children.” Her voice softened a little as she
added: “If I could favor you, my friends, I would not send your comrades
to the sacrifice; but the laws of my land and the jealousy of our great
god will not allow me to save them. Shall I peril the welfare of all my
people for the sake of a few strangers? Impossible! The customs of seven
thousand years must be adhered to; the majesty of our god must be
sustained and his just wrath appeased. I cannot help your friends. The
sacrifice must take place.”
“When?” asked Paul, looking at her with pleading eyes until her own
dropped.
“At sunset,” she whispered.
“To-day!”
“Yes.”
“And who is to be chosen?” I inquired anxiously.
“The two big black men. My priests think they will be more acceptable to
our god than the whites. Always when we have sacrificed any of the
Itzaex the mighty Sun has smiled upon us.”
I drew a long breath.
“Ama,” said I, “we will not permit this. The sacrifice shall not take
place.”
She sprang to her feet, tense and white with anger.
“Shall not?” she cried: “aye, but it _shall_ take place—at sunset this
day! I, the High Priestess of the Sun, have proclaimed it, and in the
Vale of Tcha there is no appeal from my edict.”
She was magnificent in her defiance, but I had no heart to admire her
just then.
“If you murder those poor fellows their God—far mightier than yours—will
have revenge,” I said, trembling between fear and rage, for Nux and
Bryonia were very dear to me.
She drew herself up to her full height and pointed at us a slender
finger.
“Go!” she said imperiously.
Never had we seen the girl in this mood before. Her eyes were cold and
hard as rocks, her lips set with firm determination, her poise queenly
and aggressive.
We turned slowly and left the august presence, realizing that Ama,
however beautiful and bewitching she might be in repose, was a veritable
tigress when aroused to defend the faith in which she had been reared.
Even the sky had grown dark during our interview, and the sun had
withdrawn his face as if in shame that any benighted race should
sacrifice human lives in his honor. The purple-gray mask of the sky was
so unusual at this season of the year—perhaps at all seasons, so far as
we knew—that it was little wonder the superstitious Tcha interpreted the
sign as one of anger from their outraged deity, whose altar had been the
scene of strife.
Returning to our friends we were loth to tell them of the fate in store
for our honest blacks. Indeed, it was but a preface to the fate that
awaited them all unless we could find a way to resist the all powerful
Tcha. Finally, as the day drew on, Chaka had an idea and beckoned to
Paul and me to follow him. We were permitted to go wherever we pleased,
whereas the others were forbidden to leave their room.
“The High Priest is gentle,” whispered the atkayma, when we were
outside. “Let us plead with him.”
We knew that the old dotard dwelt in the most splendid suite in the
building, so we made our way toward it. A guard informed us that his
Highness was ill, and could not be disturbed. We tried to argue the
point, but the man would not relent. No one but Ama might intrude upon
his master.
Saddened by this rebuff we wended our way back to our wing, only to
confront another disappointment. Orders had been received from the High
Priestess to forbid our mingling with the sacrificial devotees. We were
to be allowed the privileges of every citizen of the valley, but the
laws forbade a citizen from associating with those condemned to the
sacrifice.
And here was our old acquaintance the Waba Pagatka guarding the passage
with a file of his soldiers, all fully armed. Protest was useless, and
so helpless did we feel that our eyes, as we gazed at one another, were
filled with black despair.
We went out and wandered aimlessly around the temple enclosure. Even the
grounds outside the wing where our friends were confined were now
guarded, so we were unable to approach them from that side.
The sky was growing blacker and more threatening. Not a breath of air
stirred. Even the birds had ceased to sing. There was a mystical hush in
the atmosphere that was appalling. The priests going to and fro between
the temple and their palace noted these unusual portents and turned
frightened glances upward, as if seeking to propitiate their angry god.
I wondered if, seeing there was no sun, and therefore no sunset, the
sacrifice would be postponed; but before long my doubts were set at
rest. The fatuous priests were even hurrying the ceremonies, for
presently a gorgeous procession issued from the palace.
All the members of their order were in full regalia, the silver emblems
of the sun glittering on their breasts. In their midst walked, or rather
tottered, Nux and Bryonia, the two gigantic blacks being so weak that
they could scarcely move without assistance. Their hands were tied
securely behind their backs. Afterward we learned that the anæsthetic
perfume had again been employed to render all our friends unconscious
and incapable of resisting. Then Nux and Bry had been bound and carried
out before they had fully revived.
At the same time that the procession of priests issued forth, marching
with stately tread despite their nervous fears, a similar procession of
the Virgins of the Sun, with Ama at their head, appeared from the
opposite enclosure.
The iron gates had been thrown wide and a vast concourse of people had
assembled to witness the sacrifice. They stood silent and watchful, for
none was permitted to enter the temple until the priestesses and priests
had taken their places within.
A short distance from the entrance the two files united, side by side
approaching the sacred edifice.
Paul, Chaka and I stood silently by, helplessly watching the terrible
ceremony. I strained my eyes for a last sight of my faithful followers,
believing their doom to be sealed.
The procession had begun to mount the steps of the temple when a subdued
roaring sound became audible, followed by a crash resembling a
thunder-clap. The ground heaved up before us and sent us all three
sprawling upon our faces. Crash after crash now resounded throughout the
valley and I sprang to my feet in time to see part of the great temple
wall bend outward and fall in a mass of debris. Rocks from the near-by
wall of the mountain began to rattle down like hailstones and the
darkness was even greater than before.
“Ama!” cried Paul; and “Ama!” shrieked Chaka in return; but they could
not go to her at the moment, hard as they tried. We clung together like
drunken men, striving for a foothold while the ground rolled and groaned
beneath our feet and our ears were filled with the screams of women and
the hoarse cries of men. Priests and priestesses were flying in every
direction, and we saw Ama the center of a group of maidens that managed
to gain their enclosure and slam shut the gates—as if that would do any
good, or shut out the awful earthquake! It relieved both Paul and Chaka,
however, to know the girl was safe.
The people who had gathered for the sacrifice suffered most, I think,
for they were massed together and only those on the outskirts could
scuttle away through the streets, where many met death from falling
walls and rocks. The moans of the maimed and dying were blood curdling,
and I could hardly bear to hear them.
“Quick!” I gasped; “let us find Nux and Bry.”
I knew, of course, we were experiencing another earthquake—a frightful
one this time—but there was nothing we could do for ourselves or others,
unless we might find and save the blacks.
This proved not difficult. We came across them at the steps of the
ruined temple, Bry lying flat while Nux knelt beside him, still bound.
The priests had deserted them in the attempt to save their own lives. In
a flash I whipped out my knife and set both the poor fellows free. We
then raised Bry, to find he was stunned but very little hurt. Between us
we supported them, trying to make our way back to our quarters.
Parts of the palace of the priests had split open or caved in, but our
one-story wing seemed not to have suffered from the quake, which was by
this time reduced to a few minor tremors.
Being afraid to enter the palace—from whence guards and priests had
alike fled—we reached the window outside our wing and our shouts brought
the pallid faces of Joe and Archie to the opening. We hoisted Bry up to
them and they dragged him bodily into the room. Nux was able to climb in
himself, and Paul, Chaka and I quickly followed.
“Where’s Ned?” I asked, looking around.
“He went out to skirmish for you,” said Joe. “We’ve all been out, during
the worst of it, but Archie and I thought you’d get back here as soon as
you could, and we concluded it’s just as safe here as anywhere.”
“Guess the city’s pretty well broken up,” added Archie, gazing from the
window into the blackness that was only relieved by the glow from the
light within our room. “I’ve seen earthquakes in my day, but this beats
all that—” He stopped with a sort of gasp and a moment later cried out:
“It’s him! Gee willikins—it’s him!”
“Who?” we exclaimed, running to the opening.
Limping slowly toward the wing and supported by Ned Britton came Pedro,
who we supposed had been sacrificed to the Sun-God the evening before.
His clothes were torn nearly to shreds and there was a look of terror
and suffering on his face that was pitiable to behold as the dim light
struck it.
Paul leaped out to assist Ned in hoisting the Mexican to the window
ledge, and we others drew him in as tenderly as we could. He sank on a
couch with a moan, limp as a rag.
We gave him water first, and then a swallow of spirits from Paul’s
flask, but when we questioned him he stared at us silently and shook his
head.
“Where did you find him?” some one asked Ned.
“Beside the temple. The wall had fallen down and a big part of the
marble floor heaved up and then tumbled into a cellar underneath. I had
an idea Nux and Bry might be in the ruins, and while I peered about me a
head was pushed up from the cellar and I recognized Pedro. It gave me a
shock, I can tell you, for we thought he was dead. The marble blocks
were yet rocking and tilting pretty lively, but I made a dash and
dragged Pedro out to a safer place. He was nearly done up, but I managed
to get him here, as you see.”