The Lost City by Jr. Joseph E. Badger (me reader .txt) 📖

your tongue, lad. I have told him nothing, as yet,

and we must consult together before breaking the news. For now

we have had no rest, so I believe we would better lie down for an

hour or two.”

 

Mr. Edgecombe appeared to be perfectly willing to do this, and

soon the wearied men were wrapped in blankets and sleeping

peacefully.

 

Long before their lids unclosed, Bruno had an appetising meal in

readiness, although the others had broken fast long before, and

Ixtli, his hands tightly clasped behind his back, as a child is

wont to resist temptation, was inspecting the air-ship in awed

silence.

 

Taking advantage of this preoccupation, Bruno quickly yet clearly

explained to his uncle all that had happened, showing that by

playing a more prudent part the young warrior must inevitably

have perished.

 

Then, making sure Cooper Edgecombe was not near enough to catch

his words, Bruno told in brief the information gleaned from Ixtli

concerning the Children of the Sun, whom he and Waldo more than

suspected must be the long-lost wife and daughter of the exiled

aeronaut.

 

As might have been expected, Professor Featherwit was deeply

stirred by all this, fidgeting nervously while keeping alert

ears, with difficulty smothering the ejaculations which fought

for exit through his lips.

 

After satisfying his craving for food, the professor led the

young Aztec apart from the rest of the party, speaking kindly and

sympathetically until he had won a fair share of liking for his

own, then broaching the subject of the Sun Children.

 

After this it was by no means a difficult matter to get at the

seat of trouble, and little by little Featherwit satisfied

himself that Ixtli would do all, dare all, for the sake of

benefiting the woman and maiden who had treated him so kindly.

 

At a covert sign from the professor, Bruno came to join in the

talk, and his sympathy made the young Aztec even more

communicative. And Ixtli spoke more at length concerning

Tlacopa, the paba, and another enemy whom the Children of the Sun

had nearly equal cause to fear, one Huatzin, or Prince Hua,

chiefest among the mighty warriors of the Aztecan clans.

 

This evil prince had for years past sought Victo for his bride,

while his son, Iocetl, tried in vain to win the heart-smiles of

the fair Glady, Victo’s daughter. And, through revenge for

having their suit frowned upon, these wicked knaves had joined

hands with the priest in trying to drag the Sun Children down

from their lofty pedestal.

 

It did not take long questioning, or shrewd, to convince the

professor that in Ixtli they could count upon a true and daring

supporter in case they should conclude to interfere in behalf of

his patroness and teacher, adored Victo.

 

The professor led the way over to the air-ship, there producing

the clothing and arms once worn by another Aztec warrior, which

he had carefully stowed away in the locker, loath to lose sight

of such valuable relics; truly unique, as he assured himself at

the moment.

 

Bruno gave a little exclamation at sight of the articles, then in

eager tones he made known the daring idea which then flashed

across his busy brain.

 

“We ought to make sure before taking action, uncle Phaeton. Then

why not let me don these clothes and steal down into the valley,

under cover of darkness, to see the ladies and—”

 

“No, no, my lad,” quickly interrupted the professor, gripping an

arm as though fearful of an instant runaway. “That would be too

risky; that would be almost suicidal! And—no use talking,” with

an obstinate shake of his head, as Bruno attempted to edge in an

expostulation. “I will never give my consent; never!”

 

“Or hardly ever,” supplied Waldo, coming that way like one who

feels the proprieties have been more than sufficiently outraged.

“Give some other person a chance to wag his chin a bit, can’t ye,

gentlemen? Not that I care to chatter merely for sake of

hearing my own voice; but—eh?”

 

“We were considering whether or no ‘twould be advisable to take a

walk over to the observatory,” coolly explained the professor.

“Of course, if you would rather remain here to watch the

aerostat—”

 

“Let Bruno do that, uncle. He grew thoroughly disgusted with

what he saw over yonder, yesterday,” placidly observed the

youngster.

 

“Waldo, you villain!”

 

“Well, didn’t you vow and declare that you could recognise grace

and beauty and all other varieties of attractiveness only

in—dark brunettes, old man?”

 

Professor Featherwit hastily interposed, lest words be let fall

through which Mr. Edgecombe might catch a premature idea of the

possible surprise held in store; and shortly afterwards the start

was made for the snug covert from whence the Lost City had been

viewed on prior occasions.

 

Naturally their route led them directly past the scene of the

bear fight, where the huge carcass lay as yet undisturbed, and

calling forth sundry words of wonder and even admiration, through

its very ponderosity and now harmless ferocity.

 

Professor Featherwit deemed it his duty to gravely reprove his

wards for their rash conduct, yet something in his twinkling eyes

and in the kindly touch of his bony hand told a far different

tale. His anger took the shape of pride and of heart-love.

 

In due course of time the lookout was won, and without delay the

savant turned his field-glass upon the temple which appeared to

appertain to the so-called Sun Children; but, not a little to his

chagrin, the azotea was utterly devoid of human life.

 

But that disappointment was of brief existence, for, almost as

though his action was the signal for which they had been waiting,

mother and daughter came slowly into view, arm in arm, clad in

robes of snowy white, with their luxuriant locks flowing loose as

upon former occasions.

 

Both lads—three of them, to be more exact—gave low exclamations

of eager interest as those shapes came in sight, while even

Cooper Edgecombe gazed with growing interest upon the scene,

wholly unsuspecting though he was as yet.

 

A slight nod from the professor warned the brothers to stand

ready in case of need, then he offered the exile the glass,

begging him to inspect yonder fair women upon the teocalli.

 

The glass was levelled and held firmly for a half minute, then

the exile gave a choking cry, gasping, ere he fell as one smitten

by death:

 

“Merciful heavens! My wife—my child!”

 

CHAPTER XXI.

DISCUSSING WAYS AND MEANS.

 

In good measure prepared for some such result, in case their

expectations should prove true, friendly hands at once closed

upon the exile, hurrying him back, and still more completely

under cover, as quickly as might be.

 

Cooper Edgecombe seemed as wax in their hands, not utterly

deprived of consciousness, but rather like one dazed by some

totally unexpected blow. He made not the slightest resistance,

yielding to each impulse given, shivering and weak as one just

rallying from an almost mortal illness.

 

Yet there came an occasional flash to his eyes which warned the

wary professor of impending trouble, and as quickly as might be

the stunned aeronaut was removed from the point of observation,

taken by short stages back to the spot where rested the

flying-machine.

 

Ixtli seemed something awed by this (to him) inexplicable conduct

on the part of the gaunt-limbed stranger, but gave his new-found

friends neither trouble nor cause for worry, bearing them company

and even lending a hand whenever he thought it might be needed.

 

The Gillespie brothers were far more deeply stirred, as was

natural, but even Waldo contrived to keep a fair guard over his

at times unruly member, speaking but little during that retreat.

 

With each minute that elapsed Cooper Edgecombe gained in bodily

powers, and while his mental strength was slower to respond, that

proved to be a blessing rather than otherwise.

 

The rendezvous was barely gained ere he gave a hoarse cry of

reviving memory, then strove to break away from that friendly

care, calling wildly for his wife, his daughter, fancying them in

some dire peril from which alone his arms could preserve them.

 

It was a painful scene as well as a trying one, that which

followed closely, and respite only came after bonds had been

applied to the limbs of the madman,—for such Cooper Edgecombe

assuredly was, just then.

 

There were tears in the professor’s eyes, as he strove hardest to

soothe the sufferer, assuring him that his loved ones should be

restored to his arms, yet repeatedly reminding him that any rash

action taken then must almost certainly work against their better

interests.

 

The exile grew less violent, but that was more through physical

exhaustion than aught else, and what had, from the very first,

appeared a difficult enigma, now looked far worse.

 

Only when fairly well assured that the sufferer would not attract

unwelcome attention their way through too boisterous shouting,

did the professor draw far enough away for quiet consultation

with his nephews.

 

Mr. Edgecombe was deposited within the air-ship, secured in such

a manner that it would be well-nigh impossible for him to do

either himself or the machine material injury, no matter how

violent he might become; and hence, in case of threatened trouble

from the inmates of the Lost City, flight would not be seriously

hindered through caring for him.

 

Professor Featherwit now gleaned from his nephews pretty much all

they could tell him concerning sights and events since his

departure in quest of the exile. That proved to be very little

more than he had already learned, and contained still less which

seemed of especial benefit to that particular enigma awaiting

solution.

 

True, Waldo suggested that Ixtli be employed as a medium of

communication between the Sun Children and themselves; but,

possibly because, as a rule, this irrepressible youngster’s ideas

were generally the wildest and most far-fetched imaginable, uncle

Phaeton frowned upon the plan.

 

No; the young Aztec might prove true at heart, even as

indications went, but the risk of so trusting him would prove far

too great.

 

“That’s just because you haven’t known and slept with him, like

we have,” declared Waldo. “He’s red on the outside, but he’s got

just as white a soul as the best of us,—bar none.”

 

Bruno likewise appeared to think well of the young brave, and

suggested an amendment to Waldo’s motion,—that he accompany

Ixtli into the sunken valley, covered by the friendly shades of

night, there to open communication with the Sun Children.

 

“By so doing, we could make certain of their identity,” the young

man argued, earnestly. “That, it appears to me, is the first

step to be taken. For, in spite of the apparent recognition by

Mr. Edgecombe, it is possible that no actual relationship

exists.”

 

“What of that?” bluntly cut in the younger Gillespie. “Don’t you

reckon strangers’d like to take a little walk, just as well as

any other people?”

 

“Patience, my lad,” interposed the professor. “While we seem in

duty bound to lend aid and assistance to women in actual

distress, we can only serve them with their own free will and

accord. Granting that the women we saw upon the teocalli were

other than those believed by our afflicted friend—”

 

“But, uncle, look at their names! And don’t Ixtli say—tell ‘em

all over again, pardner, won’t ye?” urged Waldo, taking a burning

interest in the matter, as was his custom when fairly involved.

 

The young Aztec complied as well as lay within his power, giving

it as his fixed opinion that sore trouble, if not actual peril,

awaited the Children of the Sun, unless assisted by