WE BECOME AGGRESSIVE
After a little time the Mexican began to recover his self possession,
and with it his tongue. We found he was nearly starved, so we fed him
sparingly and gave him a bit more of the spirits. By and by, a little at
a time he told his story.
His struggles with the priests was much as we had heard it described,
except in one important particular. Pedro fought so desperately that he
dismayed his opponents, and during the mêlée one of them touched a
spring that released a trap in the floor, precipitating the Mexican into
a dark cellar underneath. When freed of his weight the block of stone
swung into place again, and he found himself in a veritable dungeon, so
far as light and air were concerned.
The cowardly priests left him there, announcing that he had been
sacrificed, as they feared to admit to the people that he had gotten the
best of them in the fight. Pedro’s leg had been hurt by the fall, and it
caused him a good deal of pain. The air was close and damp and full of
musty odors.
After a time the prisoner began to crawl around, and found the place was
used partly as a storehouse, as it contained many bales and parcels of
various wares. Having a few matches in his pocket Pedro lighted one of
them and right before his face discovered our electrites and
storage-battery belts, all in a heap. He hunted around for our
gas-jackets, but they were not there. When his matches gave out he lay
still in the dark and wondered what would happen to him. Probably the
priests intended he should starve to death, and he was getting weak and
hungry when the earthquake came. The earth swayed all around him, the
building crumbled away and the marble floor heaved up and burst open,
many of the marble blocks dropping into the cellar—fortunately not in
his neighborhood. Pedro was frightened nearly out of his wits, but
seeing dimly that a way of escape had opened up he climbed upon a heap
of marble, stuck out his head, and found Ned Britton watching him.
When he had drawn this story from the Mexican—and it took him a long
time to tell it—we decided to assume the defensive and aggressive and
take a firm stand against the priesthood, our most vicious enemies.
The cries and moans of the stricken ones were gradually dying away and
white robed priests began to steal back to their dwelling—such as had
escaped injury, that is.
We examined the doorway to our wing and found the heavy metal doors that
sealed it from communication with the rest of the palace. Preferring to
have them remain open we managed to bend and wedge them in such a way
that they could not again be closed upon us, as had been done when our
comrades had been overcome by the anæsthetic. We fixed the metal
window-slide the same way, and being now assured that we could no longer
be confined in the room against our will we held a council to decide our
future actions.
Presently there came to us the tall, thin priest whom we had noted as
one in authority under the aged High Priest. His face was shrunken and
his eyes, shrewd and roving in expression, were sunk in great hollows.
His lips were so thin that they did not cover his protruding teeth and
on his chin was a straggling beard of dark red. This fellow—his name was
Katalat—had attracted our notice not only because of his repulsive
appearance but for the reason that all the other priests deferred to him
and he was openly antagonistic to our party. He had had little to say to
us until now, but when he came into our room he cast a vengeful,
vindictive glance around and said:
“The great god is very angry. See how he has punished us for not
sacrificing all of you, and at once!”
“See how he has punished you for daring to harm any of us,” I retorted
angrily. “If your god had desired our lives he would not have saved us
from injury and destroyed so many of your own people.”
He looked at me wickedly. I think he was clever enough to know that the
sun had nothing whatever to do with the earthquake.
“The noble High Priest Pentchakoma is dead,” he announced.
“That’s bad!” said Paul, heartily. “Did the earthquake frighten the old
man, then?”
“The roof fell upon him. And now I, Katalat, have by our laws become
High Priest in his stead.”
“Has Ama appointed you so soon?” inquired Paul.
“The High Priestess has nothing to do with the appointment. It is the
law,” he retorted.
“But she is the Supreme Ruler,” said Chaka. “If she does not approve—”
“She _must_ approve!” cried Katalat fiercely. “Otherwise—”
“Well, what then?” asked Paul, as he paused.
The telephone bell rang. We had placed the instrument just outside our
room, in the passage, so it would be convenient to the priests and to
us. I started to answer the summons, but the priest blocked my way.
“Stop!” he commanded. “I forbid you to communicate again with the High
Priestess.”
Paul nodded to Ned, who reached out an arm, grabbed Katalat by the
collar and whirled him into a corner, where the big mate stood guard
over him.
“Answer the telephone, Sam,” said Allerton.
As I went I heard the priest vowing dire vengeance. It was Ama calling
as I had expected.
“Are you—is—is—are _any_ of you hurt?” she inquired, stammering in her
anxiety.
“No; we are all safe. And you, Ama?”
“I am broken hearted! My poor people! My poor city!”
“Never mind,” said I. “The city can be fixed up again and more people
will grow. Do you want us?”
“Not now. Come to me early to-morrow.”
“We will if the priests let us. There’s an ugly fellow here now, named
Katalat, who says he’s the new High Priest and forbids our seeing you
again.”
There was a brief silence.
“Beware of Katalat,” Ama said, in a hesitating voice. “I fear trouble
ahead for us all. Come to-morrow, if you can—all of you.”
Then she severed the connection and I went back to make my report.
“Boys,” said I, “we’d better settle with this High Priest right now—for
good and all.”
“In what way?” asked Paul.
“By wringing his neck.” Then, still speaking in English, I repeated what
Ama had said.
“But we can’t murder him in cold blood,” remarked our leader, looking at
Katalat thoughtfully; “nor can we allow him to lead a rebellion against
us, and perhaps against Ama.”
“Let us keep him a prisoner until morning,” suggested Chaka, in his
quiet way. “After we have seen the Supreme Ruler we can better decide
what to do with him.”
That seemed good advice, so we told Archie and Joe to bind the priest
and gag him. He fought desperately at first, but Joe had a ju-jutsu
trick that quickly laid old Katalat on his back, and Archie stuffed a
cloth into his mouth and silenced his cries. One or two priests, hearing
the scrimmage, came pattering along the passage, but Paul and Chaka met
them and sent them away again.
Night had fallen by this time and as soon as it was quite dark—it had
been gloomy enough before—Allerton suggested that some of us form a
party to go for the electrites. We left Nux and Bryonia, quite recovered
by this time, with Ned and Pedro to guard our prisoner, while the rest
of us set out for the temple by way of the open window.
There was not a star in the sky, but fortunately Paul had retained his
dark lantern and we depended upon that to assist us when we got to the
temple. Until then we dared not show a light. We stumbled over rubbish
and debris at every step, and once or twice, as we neared the temple, I
recoiled as my foot touched something that I instinctively felt was a
dead body.
Finally we came to the ruined wall and after climbing over the scattered
blocks of marble Paul got out his lantern to guide us.
We found the hole in the floor and after lighting up the aperture and
sending a ray into the basement to show us the way, Allerton handed the
lamp to Chaka and dropped lightly into the cellar. It was a rather risky
proceeding, for the great building was in a dangerous condition. Only
one wall had actually fallen, but the others were more or less cracked
and displaced, while some of the huge blocks of marble that had formed
the coping were liable to topple down upon us at any moment. Nor was the
flooring any too secure. But Joe and I followed Allerton without
hesitation and then Chaka handed us the lamp. Presently, amid bales and
boxes of curious shapes we came across our property, and passed the
belts and electrites from one to another until Archie and Chaka received
them above and laid them in a pile.
“Now let’s get out of this,” I said. “It’s too dangerous to suit me.”
“Wait a minute,” called Paul, who had been turning the light in every
direction. As he spoke he clambered over some bales and then pounced
upon some object he had discovered. It proved to be the extra gas-jacket
that had been taken from our chest, and Joe and I both uttered shouts of
joy at its recovery.
“The others may be here, too,” I exclaimed, my fears all forgotten.
“Let’s search for them.”
We did, but without result. We came across one or two minor articles
that had seemed suspicious to the Tcha who rifled our chests, but no
firearms nor any more of the gas-jackets were in the cellar of the
temple. Finally we climbed out of the hole again and, carefully securing
the belts and electrites, made our way back to our quarters.