CHAPTER XVII FROM BAD TO WORSE
When Cliff returned to his friends he saw that they had been joined by atall, cold-eyed Indian noble. He and the high priest were exchangingfrowning glances: it seemed evident that they disliked each other. Mr.Whitley was whispering hurriedly to Bill. The high priest turned towardCliff with a sharp word but Bill advanced, held up his hand, and facedthe Inca.
"Oh, royal son of the Sun," he began, loudly enough to be heard by manynobles gathered nearby, "Chasca's servant brings report. There was nodestruction of your corn by insects, as Huamachaco, your high priest,told you. The corn grew sick because the earth it grows in has becometired and must be made fruitful once more."
"That is not so!" shouted the high priest, forgetting his dignity in hisanger.
Bill paid no attention.
"Oh, Inca," he went on, "here, beside me, is one you trust. Is it notso?"
He indicated the new arrival: the Inca glanced at him and smiled. "He ismy son, my oldest son," he agreed, "I trust him."
"Make report, oh, son of the Inca," urged Bill.
"Make report," chorused the nobles.
"I make report of this, oh, noble Inca and my father," said the Indian."This servant of the messenger from the stars came to my fields soonafter Chasca appeared among us: he observed the corn and he took up theearth and made magic with it." The crude tests Mr. Whitley had been ableto make had seemed to be incantations to the untutored Indian. "Thenwent he afar among the hills with one of my servants. They came backwith something borne in a sack and from that which they brought myservants did make a magic fluid by mixing it with water."
"Their earth is starving for nitrogen," Mr. Whitley said in a low toneto Cliff, "they do not rotate their crops here; that is they plant thesame crop until the earth is exhausted, instead of resting it bychanging the crop from one sort to another. I brought them some mineralsalts rich in nitrogen and saved time by sprinkling the earth around thecornstalks. And we had to make tiny holes in a golden crock to sprinklewith--imagine! A golden sprinkling can."
"Already my corn begins to change and no longer does it droop." TheIndian cast a triumphant look at the high priest: evidently there wasjealousy. "It was not the insects, as Huamachaco did tell you, oh, myfather, but the earth that starved the grain, as I have said to many."
The high priest turned away, but as he did so Cliff, surprised, his eyesbent on himself with a baleful glance. However, he simply staredstraight and level at Huamachaco whose eyes shifted aside.
"You have heard," said Bill. "Let the Feast of Raymi go on, and let itbe a feast, indeed! When it is finished, all shall divide into bands,some to fetch the magical earth, some to mix the powerful liquid, othersto fashion urns with which to make it fall like rain upon the corn, andso, very soon, all of your dying earth will live again and make the cornlift its tassels in joy to Raymi, whose humble messengers we are."
Cliff had not dreamed that Bill could be so glowing in his speech, andhe saw that not only the Inca, but his younger son and all of the nobleswere impressed. The Inca evidently foresaw trouble between the two men,and rather eagerly he waved his hand toward them all in dismissal.
"Let the feast go on," he said. Then, turning to Cliff, he added: "Thinknot, oh son of Venus, that I am ungrateful; when the feast to yoursuperior Lord and Master is done with I will give you tokens of mygrateful spirit."
Cliff bowed, not quite sure what else to do. Bill, whose middle leftfinger had again been caressing his ear, until his friends all gaveattentions, made a sign again for no speech, and they all allowedthemselves to be conducted to places of honor at a special board table,rather crude but lavishly laden with gold and silver dishes, on whichwere spread a feast of native roast meats, vegetables, a sort of breadmade of the maize--only rarely did the Incas make up bread; they usedthe corn more often in a sort of porridge, or dried and sometimesparched.
"I am glad you came when you did," Cliff told the former historyinstructor. The others echoed his statement.
"We are not out of the frying pan yet," Bill warned. "Or--if we are,it's most likely because we're about to be dipped into the fire."
"Why?" asked Nicky, thrilling a little with fear and quite a deal morewith anticipation of more adventure.
"You saw the priest and the noble glaring at each other?"
They all nodded.
"It was because of their enmity that the noble was so eager to help me,"Mr. Whitley stated. "Naturally the chief priest will not like us toowell for showing that his judgment was so far wrong."
"But the priest won't dare do anything," Tom volunteered. "The peoplethink we are heroes, don't they?" Bill nodded.
"Just now they do," he agreed. "But--there is no telling--I sawHuamachaco talking to that mysterious stranger as we came--." He pausedand suddenly changed his tone, as he added, "Be careful!" andimmediately raised his voice again. "Did you ever see so much gold on atable, Chasca, since we left the halls of the dwellers in the skies?"
They saw at once what caused his sudden change. The dark stranger wasapproaching. By his shifting gaze and the first words he spoke under hisbreath they knew him to be Sancho Pizzara, the Spaniard who had offeredto join them and then had deserted them in the white pass, only to cometo grief himself.
"_Buenos di_--Ah, senors!--and you, noble Chasca! Noble Cleeford GrayChasca!" There was a curl to his lip and Nicky thrust a hand against thetable to push himself erect, but Mr. Whitley put a foot against hisankle none too gently in warning as the Spaniard proceeded. "But that isfine, that you shall be Chasca! You can help me."
"You weren't ambushed?" demanded Tom. "We thought----"
"There was some--how you say?--some 'ta-ra-boom-te-ay' in the pass ofsnow. My men all run away back. Me, I am desert in snow to freeze. But Iget here--late. You are already fix up very nice."
"I warned you about the pass," Bill reminded him.
"_Si!_" He dismissed it with a wave of his hand and bent close andmotioned to them to listen. "That we shall forget. Now it is to know--isthere plenty of gold? But I see it."
"What did you tell these people?" Mr. Whitley demanded. "We heard thatyou came with some message."
"Tell--? Oh! I tell that I am send by other men of the hills to seekwhite faces of those who come this way."
"You told them that?" Bill scowled.
"_Si._ But I have not yet tell that you are men I seek."
"No, and you had better not!" said Tom sharply. Bill warned him with alook.
"Why shall I tell that when you can take me to the gold?"
"We are not here for gold," Cliff said evenly. "We told you about myfather."
"Then there is that gold for me alone!" smiled Pizarra.
"Do you think we would help you steal it?" asked Cliff very quietly. "Ifyou do, you are wrong. We won't even take away any to pay back Mr.Whitley, because my father's books will make enough to do that. We camehere intending to take enough gold away for expenses, but that wasbefore we knew that my father was alive and able to go with us."
"If you go--" said Pizarra, softly, his eyes flashing.
"Do you mean to threaten that you will endanger the life of the man wecame here to rescue?" asked Mr. Whitley coldly. "And put these young menin danger?"
"Oh, no," Sancho Pizzara assured him with a shrug. "I am very kind man.Senor el Venus, here, he will guide me safe to the gold. I shall thennot put danger to any."
"And--if we refuse?" asked Bill. "Then--will you?"
"Then perhaps I find the white _hombres_ hiding under red dye."
"And of course we would sit right still and let him," Nicky could notcontrol his anger. "We wouldn't say he was a disguised Spaniard tryingto steal their treasure--" He stopped Cliff had nudged him sharply. Buthis statement daunted Pizarra. He turned thoughtful. Then he smiled."There is for you too much danger," he declared. "You will not dare!"
"As surely as you open your mouth--" began Bill.
"If you do, we do!"
Tom snapped.
"Tit for tat!" That was Nicky.
"But it cost you nothing to show me where is the gold hide," Pizarrasaid, rubbing his hands.
"These people have been kind to us," Mr. Whitley said. "We do not liketo help you rob them."
"I am mak' friends to his Huamachaco," Pizarra said meaningly. "He isalready suspect something."
That was bad, Cliff reflected, then he brightened.
"He has just been discredited by the Inca's son," he stated. "If it cameto a test of power----"
"You see what it come to!" Pizarra wheeled and stalked off.
"We ought to--" Mr. Whitley rose; he had in mind the danger to whichtheir move exposed his charges.
"But we can't--" began Cliff.
"He certainly has put us in a tight corner," Bill admitted, "but wecan't let him dictate and threaten----"
They followed his staring eyes as he paused. The Inca, his two sons, thehigh priest and Pizzara were approaching.
"Sit tight," whispered Bill. "Let me do the talking!"