24054	----	None 
63392	----	Doorway to Kal-Jmar By Stuart Fleming Two men had died before Syme Rector's guns to give him the key to the ancient city of Kal-Jmar--a city of untold wealth, and of robots that made desires instant commands. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The tall man loitered a moment before a garish window display, his eyes impassive in his space-burned face, as the Lillis patrolman passed. Then he turned, burying his long chin in the folds of his sand cape, and took up the pursuit of the dark figure ahead once more. Above, the city's multicolored lights were reflected from the translucent Dome--a distant, subtly distorted Lillis, through which the stars shone dimly. Getting through that dome had been his first urgent problem, but now he had another, and a more pressing one. It had been simple enough to pass himself off as an itinerant prospector and gain entrance to the city, after his ship had crashed in the Mare Cimmerium. But the rest would not be so simple. He had to acquire a spaceman's identity card, and he had to do it fast. It was only a matter of time until the Triplanet Patrol gave up the misleading trail he had made into the hill country, and concluded that he must have reached Lillis. After that, his only safety lay in shipping out on a freighter as soon as possible. He had to get off Mars, because his trail was warm, and the Patrol thorough. They knew, of course, that he was an outlaw--the very fact of the crashed, illegally-armed ship would have told them that. But they didn't know that he was Syme Rector, the most-wanted and most-feared raider in the System. In that was his only advantage. He walked a little faster, as his quarry turned up a side street and then boarded a moving ramp to an upper level. He watched until the short, wide-shouldered figure in spaceman's harness disappeared over the top of the ramp, and then followed. The man was waiting for him at the mouth of the ascending tunnel. Syme looked at him casually, without a flicker of expression, and started to walk on, but the other stepped into his path. He was quite young, Syme saw, with a fighter's shoulders under the white leather, and a hard, determined thrust to his firm jaw. "All right," the boy said quietly. "What is it?" "I don't understand," Syme said. "The game, the angle. You've been following me. Do you want trouble?" "Why, no," Syme told him bewilderedly. "I haven't been following you. I--" The boy knuckled his chin reflectively. "You could be lying," he said finally. "But maybe I've made a mistake." Then--"Okay, citizen, you can clear--but don't let me catch you on my tail again." Syme murmured something and turned away, feeling the spaceman's eyes on the small of his back until he turned the corner. At the next street he took a ramp up, crossed over and came down on the other side a block away. He waited until he saw the boy's broad figure pass the intersection, and then followed again more cautiously. It was risky, but there was no other way. The signatures, the data, even the photograph on the card could be forged once Syme got his hands on it, but the identity card itself--that oblong of dark diamondite, glowing with the tiny fires of radioactivity--that could not be imitated, and the only way to get it was to kill. Up ahead was the Founders' Tower, the tallest building in Lillis. The boy strode into the entrance lobby, bought a ticket for the observation platform, and took the elevator. As soon as his car was out of sight in the transparent tube, Syme followed. He put a half-credit slug into the machine, took the punctured slip of plastic that came out. The ticket went into a scanning slot in the wall of the car, and the elevator whisked him up. * * * * * The tower was high, more than a hundred meters above the highest level of the city, and the curved dome that kept air in Lillis was close overhead. Syme looked up, after his first appraising glance about the platform, and saw the bright-blue pinpoint of Earth. The sight stirred a touch of nostalgia in him, as it always did, but he put it aside. The boy was hunched over the circular balustrade a little distance away. Except for him, the platform was empty. Syme loosened his slim, deadly energy pistol in its holster and padded catlike toward the silent figure. It was over in a minute. The boy whirled as he came up, warned by some slight sound, or by the breath of Syme's passage in the still air. He opened his mouth to shout, and brought up his arm in a swift, instinctive gesture. But the blow never landed. Syme's pistol spat its silent white pencil of flame, and the boy crumpled to the floor with a minute, charred hole in the white leather over his chest. Syme stooped over him swiftly, found a thick wallet and thrust it into his pocket without a second glance. Then he raised the body in his arms and thrust it over the parapet. It fell, and in the same instant Syme felt a violent tug at his wrist. Before he could move to stop himself, he was over the edge. Too late, he realized what had happened--one of the hooks on the dead spaceman's harness had caught the heavy wristband of his chronometer. He was falling, linked to the body of his victim! Hardly knowing what he did, he lashed out wildly with his other arm, felt his fingertips catch and bite into the edge of the balustrade. His body hit the wall of the tower with a thump, and, a second later, the corpse below him hit the wall. Then they both hung there, swaying a little and Syme's fingers slipped a little with each motion. Gritting his teeth, he brought the magnificent muscles of his arm into play, raising the forearm against the dead weight of the dangling body. Fraction by slow fraction of an inch, it came up. Syme could feel the sweat pouring from his brow, running saltily into his eyes. His arms felt as if they were being torn from their sockets. Then the hook slipped free, and the tearing, unbearable weight vanished. The reaction swung Syme against the building again, and he almost lost his slippery hold on the balustrade. After a moment he heard the spaceman's body strike with a squashy thud, somewhere below. He swung up his other arm, got a better grip on the balustrade. He tried cautiously to get a leg up, but the motion loosened his hold on the smooth surface again. He relaxed, thinking furiously. He could hold on for another minute at most; then it was the final blast-off. He heard running footsteps, and then a pale face peered over the ledge at him. He realized suddenly that the whole incident could have taken only a few seconds. He croaked, "Get me up." Wordlessly, the man clasped thin fingers around his wrist. The other pulled, with much puffing and panting, and with his help Syme managed to get a leg over the edge and hoist his trembling body to safety. "Are you all right?" * * * * * Syme looked at the man, nursing the tortured muscles of his arms. His rescuer was tall and thin, of indeterminate age. He had light, sandy hair, a sharp nose, and--oddly conflicting--pale, serious eyes and a humorous wide mouth. He was still panting. "I'm not hurt," Syme said. He grinned, his white teeth flashing in his dark, lean face. "Thanks for giving me a hand." "You scared hell out of me," said the man. "I heard a thud. I thought--you'd gone over." He looked at Syme questioningly. "That was my bag," the outlaw said quickly. "It slipped out of my hand, and I overbalanced myself when I grabbed for it." The man sighed. "I need a drink. _You_ need a drink. Come on." He picked up a small black suitcase from the floor and started for the elevator, then stopped. "Oh--your bag. Shouldn't we do something about that?" "Never mind," said Syme, taking his arm. "The shock must have busted it wide open. My laundry is probably all over Lillis by now." They got off at the amusement level, three tiers down, and found a cafe around the corner. Syme wasn't worried about the man he had just killed. He had heard no second thud, so the body must have stayed on the first outcropping of the tower it struck. It probably wouldn't be found until morning. And he had the wallet. When he paid for the first round of _culcha_, he took it out and stole a glance at the identification card inside. There it was--his ticket to freedom. He began feeling expansive, and even friendly toward the slender, mouse-like man across the table. It was the _culcha_, of course. He knew it, and didn't care. In the morning he'd find a freighter berth--in as big a spaceport as Lillis, there were always jobs open. Meanwhile, he might as well enjoy himself, and it was safer to be seen with a companion than to be alone. He listened lazily to what the other was saying, leaning his tall, graceful body back into the softly-cushioned seat. "Lissen," said Harold Tate. He leaned forward on one elbow, slipped, caught himself, and looked at the elbow reproachfully. "Lissen," he said again, "I trust you, Jones. You're obvi-obviously an adventurer, but you have an honest face. I can't see it very well at the moment, but I hic!--pardon--seem to recall it as an honest face. I'm going to tell you something, because I need your help!--help." He paused. "I need a guide. D'you know this part of Mars well?" "Sure," said Syme absently. Out in the center of the floor, an AG plate had been turned on. Five Venusian girls were diving and twisting in its influence, propelling themselves by the motion of their delicately-webbed feet and trailing long gauzy streamers of synthesilk after them. Syme watched them through narrowed lids, feeling the glow of _culcha_ inside him. "I wanta go to Kal-Jmar," said Tate. Syme snapped to attention, every nerve tingling. An indefinable sense, a hunch that had served him well before, told him that something big was coming--something that promised adventure and loot for Syme Rector. "Why?" he asked softly. "Why to Kal-Jmar?" Harold Tate told him, and later, when Syme had taken him to his rooms, he showed him what was in his little black suitcase. Syme had been right; it was big. * * * * * Kal-Jmar was the riddle of the Solar System. It was the only remaining city of the ancient Martian race--the race that, legends said, had risen to greater heights than any other Solar culture. The machines, the artifacts, the records of the Martians were all there, perfectly preserved inside the city's bubble-like dome, after God knew how many thousands of years. But they couldn't be reached. For Kal-Jmar's dome was not the thing of steelite that protected Lillis: it was a tenuous, globular field of force that defied analysis as it defied explosives and diamond drills. The field extended both above and below the ground, and tunneling was of no avail. No one knew what had happened to the Martians, whether they were the ancestors of the present decadent Martian race, or a different species. No one knew anything about them or about Kal-Jmar. In the early days, when the conquest of Mars was just beginning, Earth scientists had been wild to get into the city. They had observed it from every angle, taken photographs of its architecture and the robots that still patrolled its fantastically winding streets, and then they had tried everything they knew to pierce the wall. Later, however, when every unsuccessful attempt had precipitated a bloody uprising of the present-day Martians--resulting in a rapid dwindling of the number of Martians--the Mars Protectorate had stepped in and forbidden any further experiments; forbidden, in fact, any Earthman to go near the place. Thus matter had stood for over a hundred years, until Harold Tate. Tate, a physicist, had stumbled on a field that seemed to be identical in properties to the Kal-Jmar dome; and what is more, he had found a force that would break it down. And so he had made his first trip to Mars, and within twenty-four hours, by the blindest of chances, blurted out his secret to Syme Rector, the scourge of the spaceways, the man with a thousand credits on his sleek, tigerish head. Syme's smile was not tigerish now; it was carefully, studiedly mild. For Tate was no longer drunk, and it was important that it should not occur to him that he had been indiscreet. "This is native territory we're coming to, Harold," he said. "Better strap on your gun." "Why. Are they really dangerous?" "They're unpredictable," Syme told him. "They're built differently, and they think differently. They breathe like us, down in their caverns where there's air, but they also eat sand, and get their oxygen that way." "Yes, I've heard about that," Tate said. "Iron oxide--very interesting metabolism." He got his energy pistol out of the compartment and strapped it on absently. Syme turned the little sand car up a gentle rise towards the tortuous hill country in the distance. "Not only that," he continued. "They eat the damndest stuff. Lichens and fungi and tumble-grass off the deserts--all full of deadly poisons, from arsenic up the line to xopite. They seem intelligent enough--in their own way--but they never come near our cities and they either can't or won't learn Terrestrial. When the first colonists came here, they had to learn _their_ crazy language. Every word of it can mean any one of a dozen different things, depending on the inflection you give it. I can speak it some, but not much. Nobody can. We don't think the same." "So you think they might attack us?" Tate asked again, nervously. "They _might_ do anything," Syme said curtly. "Don't worry about it." The hills were much closer than they had seemed, because of Mars' deceptively low horizon. In half an hour they were in the midst of a wilderness of fantastically eroded dunes and channels, laboring on sliding treads up the sides of steep hills only to slither down again on the other side. * * * * * Syme stopped the car abruptly as a deep, winding channel appeared across their path. "Gully," he announced. "Shall we cross it, or follow it?" Tate peered through the steelite nose of the car. "Follow, I guess," he offered. "It seems to go more or less where we're going, and if we cross it we'll only come to a couple dozen more." Syme nodded and moved the sand car up to the edge of the gully. Then he pressed a stud on the control board; a metal arm extruded from the tail of the car and a heavy spike slowly unscrewed from it, driving deep into the sand. A light on the board flashed, indicating that the spike was in and would bear the car's weight, and Syme started the car over the edge. As the little car nosed down into the gully, the metal arm left behind revealed itself to be attached to a length of thick, very strong wire cable, with a control cord inside. They inched down the almost vertical incline, unreeling the cable behind them, and starting minor landslides as they descended. Finally they touched bottom. Syme pressed another stud, and above, the metal spike that had supported them screwed itself out of the ground again and the cable reeled in. Tate had been watching with interest. "Very ingenious," he said. "But how do we get up again?" "Most of these gullies peter out gradually," said Syme, "but if we want or have to climb out where it's deep, we have a little harpoon gun that shoots the anchor up on top." "Good. I shouldn't like to stay down here for the rest of my natural life. Depressing view." He looked up at the narrow strip of almost-black sky visible from the floor of the gully, and shook his head. Neither Syme nor Tate ever had a chance to test the efficiency of their harpoon gun. They had traveled no more than five hundred meters, and the gully was as deep as ever, when Tate, looking up, saw a deeper blackness blot out part of the black sky directly overhead. He shouted, "Look out!" and grabbed for the nearest steering lever. The car wheeled around in a half circle and ran into the wall of the gully. Syme was saying, "What--?" when there was a thunderous crash that shook the sturdy walls of the car, as a huge boulder smashed into the ground immediately to their left. When the smoky red dust had cleared away, they saw that the left tread of the sand car was crushed beyond all recognition. Syme was cursing slowly and steadily with a deep, seething anger. Tate said, "I guess we walk from here on." Then he looked up again and caught a glimpse of the horde of beasts that were rushing up the gully toward them. "My God!" he said. "What are those?" Syme looked. "Those," he said bitterly, "are Martians." The natives, like all Martian fauna, were multi-legged. Also like all Martian fauna, they moved so fast that you couldn't see how many legs they did have. Actually, however, the natives had six legs apiece--or, more properly, four legs and two arms. Their lungs were not as large as they appeared, being collapsed at the moment. What caused the bulge that made their torsos look like sausages was a huge air bladder, with a valve arrangement from the stomach and feeding directly into the bloodstream. Their faces were vaguely canine, but the foreheads were high, and the lips were not split. They did resemble dogs, in that their thick black fur was splotched with irregulate patches of white. These patches of white were subject to muscular control and could be spread out fanwise; or, conversely, the black could be expanded to cover the white, which helped to take care of the extremes of Martian temperature. Right now they were mostly black. The natives slowed down and spread out to surround the wrecked sand car, and it could be seen that most of them were armed with spears, although some had the slim Benson energy guns--strictly forbidden to Martians. Syme stopped cursing and watched tensely. Tate said nothing, but he swallowed audibly. One Martian, who looked exactly like all the rest, stepped forward and motioned unmistakably for the two to come out. He waited a moment and then gestured with his energy gun. That gun, Syme knew from experience, could burn through a small thickness of steelite if held on the same spot long enough. * * * * * "Come on," Syme said grimly. He rose and reached for a pressure suit, and Tate followed him. "What do you think they'll--" he began, and then stopped himself. "I know. They're unpredictable." "Yeah," said Syme, and opened the door. The air in the car _whooshed_ into the near-vacuum outside, and he and Tate stepped out. The Martian leader looked at them enigmatically, then turned and started off. The other natives closed in on them, and they all bounded along under the weak gravity. They bounded along for what Syme figured as a good kilometer and a half, and they then reached a branch in the gully and turned down it, going lower all the time. Under the light of their helmet lamps, they could see the walls of the gully--a tunnel, now--getting darker and more solid. Finally, when Syme estimated they were about nine kilometers down, there was even a suggestion of moisture. The tunnel debouched at last into a large cavern. There was a phosphorescent gleam from fungus along the walls, but Syme couldn't decide how far away the far wall was. He noticed something else, though. "There's air here," he said to Tate. "I can see dust motes in it." He switched his helmet microphone from radio over to the audio membrane on the outside of the helmet. "_Kalis methra_," he began haltingly, "_seltin guna getal._" "Yes, there is air here," said the Martian leader, startlingly. "Not enough for your use, however, so do not open your helmets." Syme swore amazedly. "I thought you said they didn't speak Terrestrial," Tate said. Syme ignored him. "We had our reasons for not doing so," the Martian said. "But how--?" "We are telepaths, of course. On a planet which is nearly airless on its surface, we have to be. A tendency of the Terrestrial mind is to ignore the obvious. We have not had a spoken language of our own for several thousand years." He darted a glance at Syme's darkly scowling face. His own hairy face was expressionless, but Syme sensed that he was amused. "Yes, you're right," he said. "The language you and your fellows struggled to learn is a fraud, a hodge-podge concocted to deceive you." Tate looked interested. "But why this--this gigantic masquerade?" "You had nothing to give us," the Martian said simply. Tate frowned, then flushed. "You mean you avoided revealing yourselves because you--had nothing to gain from mental intercourse with us?" "Yes." Tate thought again. "But--" "No," the Martian interrupted him, "revealing the extent of our civilization would have spared us nothing at your people's hands. Yours is an imperialist culture, and you would have had Mars, whether you thought you were taking it from equals or not." "Never mind that," Syme broke in impatiently. "What do you want with us?" The Martian looked at him appraisingly. "You already suspect. Unfortunately, you must die." * * * * * It was a weird situation, Syme thought. His mind was racing, but as yet he could see no way out. He began to wonder, if he did, could he keep the Martians from knowing about it? Then he realized that the Martian must have received that thought, too, and he was enraged. He stood, holding himself in check with an effort. "Will you tell us why?" Tate asked. "You were brought here for that purpose. It is part of our conception of justice. I will tell you and your--friend--anything you wish to know." Syme noticed that the other Martians had retired to the farther side of the cavern. Some were munching the glowing fungus. That left only the leader, who was standing alertly on all fours a short distance away from them, holding the Benson gun trained on them. Syme tried not to think about the gun, especially about making a grab for it. It was like trying not to think of the word "hippopotamus." Tate squatted down comfortably on the floor of the cavern, apparently unconcerned, but his hands were trembling slightly. "First why--" he began. "There are many secrets in Kal-Jmar," the Martian said, "among them a very simple catalyzing agent which could within fifty years transform Mars to a planet with Terrestrially-thick atmosphere." "I think I see," Tate said thoughtfully. "That's been the ultimate aim all along, but so far the problem has us licked. If we solved it, then we'd have all of Mars, not just the cities. Your people would die out. You couldn't have that, of course." He sighed deeply. He spread his gloved hands before him and looked at them with a queer intentness. "Well--how about the Martians--the Kal-Jmar Martians, I mean? I'd dearly love to know the answer to that one." "Neither of the alternatives in your mind is correct. They were not a separate species, although they were unlike us. But they were not our ancestors, either. They were the contemporaries of our ancestors." "Several thousand years ago Mars' loss of atmosphere began to make itself felt. There were two ways out. Some chose to seal themselves into cities like Kal-Jmar; our ancestors chose to adapt their bodies to the new conditions. Thus the race split. Their answer to the problem was an evasion; they remained static. Our answer was the true one, for we progressed. We progressed beyond the need of science; they remained its slaves. They died of a plague--and other causes. "You see," he finished gently, "our deception has caused a natural confusion in your minds. They were the degenerates, not we." "And yet," Tate mused, "you are being destroyed by contact with an--inferior--culture." "We hope to win yet," the Martian said. Tate stood up, his face very white. "Tell me one thing," he begged. "Will our two races ever live together in amity?" The Martian lowered his head. "That is for unborn generations." He looked at Tate again and aimed the energy gun. "You are a brave man," he said. "I am sorry." Syme saw all his hopes of treasure and glory go glimmering down the sights of the Martian's Benson gun, and suddenly the pent-up rage in him exploded. Too swiftly for his intention to be telegraphed, before he knew himself what he meant to do, he hurled himself bodily into the Martian. * * * * * It was like tangling with a draft horse. The Martian was astonishingly strong. Syme scrambled desperately for the gun, got it, but couldn't tear it out of the Martian's fingers. And all the time he could almost feel the Martian's telepathic call for help surging out. He heard the swift pad of his followers coming across the cavern. He put everything he had into one mighty, murderous effort. Every muscle fiber in his superbly trained body crackled and surged with power. He roared his fury. And the gun twisted out of the Martian's iron grip! He clubbed the prostrate leader with it instantly, then reversed the weapon and snapped a shot at the nearest Martian. The creature dropped his lance and fell without a sound. The next instant a ray blinked at him, and he rolled out of the way barely in time. The searing ray cut a swath over the leader's body and swerved to cut down on him. Still rolling, he fired at the holder of the weapon. The gun dropped and winked out on the floor. Syme jumped to his feet and faced his enemies, snarling like the trapped tiger he was. Another ray slashed at him, and he bent lithely to let it whistle over his head. Another, lower this time. He flipped his body into the air and landed upright, his gun still blazing. His right leg burned fiercely from a ray-graze, but he ignored it. And all the while he was mowing down the massed natives in great swaths, seeking out the ones armed with Bensons in swift, terrible slashes, dodging spears and other missiles in midair, and roaring at the top of his powerful lungs. At last there were none with guns left to oppose him. He scythed down the rest in two terrible, lightning sweeps of his ray, then dropped the weapon from blistered fingers. He was gasping for breath, and realized that he was losing air from the seared-open right leg of his suit. He reached for the emergency kit at his side, drawing in great, gasping breaths, and fumbled out a tube of sealing liquid. He spread the stuff on liberally, smearing it impartially over flesh and fabric. It felt like liquid hell on the burned, bleeding leg, but he kept on until the quick-drying fluid formed an airtight patch. Only then did he turn, to see Tate flattened against the wall behind him, his hands empty at his sides. "I'm sorry," Tate said miserably. "I could have grabbed a spear or something, but--I just couldn't, not even to save my own life. I--I halfway hoped they'd kill both of us." Syme glared at him and spat, too enraged to think of diplomacy. He turned and strode out of the cavern, carrying his right leg stiffly, but with his feral, tigerish head held high. He led the way, wordlessly, back to the wrecked sand car. Tate followed him with a hangdog, beaten air, as though he had just found something that shattered all his previous concepts of the verities in life, and didn't know what to do about it. Still silently, Syme refilled his oxygen tank, watched Tate do the same, and then picked up two spare tanks and the precious black suitcase and handed one of the tanks to Tate. Then he stumped around to the back of the car and inspected the damage. The cable reel, which might have drawn them out of the gully, was hopelessly smashed. That was that. * * * * * They started off down the canyon, Syme urging the slighter man to a fast clip, even though his leg was already stiffening. When they finally reached a climbable spot, Syme was limping badly and Tate was obviously exhausted. They clambered wearily out onto the level sands again just as the small, blazing sun was setting. "Luck," grunted Syme. "Our only chance of getting near the city is at night." He peered around, shading his eyes from the sun's glare with a gauntleted hand. "See that?" Following his pointing finger, Tate saw a faint, ephemeral arc showing above a line of low hills in the distance. "Kal-Jmar," said Syme. Tate brightened a little. His body was too filled with fatigue for his mind to do any work on the problem that was baffling him, and so it receded into the back of his mind. "Kal-Jmar," whispered Syme again. There was no twilight. The sun dropped abruptly behind the low horizon, and darkness fell, sudden and absolute. Syme picked up the extra oxygen tank and the suitcase, checked his direction by a wrist compass, and started toward the hills. Tate rose wearily to his feet and followed again. Two hours later, Kal-Jmar stood before them. They had wormed their way past the sentry posts, doing most of the last two hundred meters on all fours. With skill and luck, and with Syme's fierce, burning determination, they had managed to escape detection--and there they were. Journey's end. Tate stared up at the shining, starlight towers in speechless admiration. If the people who had built this city had been decadent, still their architecture was magnificent. The city was a rhapsody made solid. There was a sense of decay about it, he thought, but it was the decay of supreme beauty, caught at the very verge of dissolution and preserved for all eternity. "Well?" demanded Syme. Tate started, shaken out of his dream. He looked down at the black suitcase, a little wonderingly, and then pulled it to him and opened it. Inside, carefully wrapped in shock-absorbing tissue, was a fragile contrivance of many tubes and wires, and a tiny parabolic mirror. It had a brand new Elecorp 210 volt battery, and it needed every volt of that tremendous power. Tate made the connections, his hands trembling slightly, and set it up on a telescoping tripod. Syme watched him closely, his big body tensed with expectation. The field was before them, shimmering faintly in the starlight. It looked unsubstantial as the stuff of dreams, but both men knew that no power man possessed, unless it was the thing Tate held, could penetrate that screen. Tate set the mechanism up close to the field, aimed it very delicately, and closed a minute switch. After a long second, he opened it again. Nothing happened. The screen was still there, as unsubstantial and as solid as ever. There was no change. * * * * * Tate looked worriedly at his wiring, a deep wrinkle appearing between his pale, serious eyes. Syme stood stock-still but quivering with repressed energy, scowling like a thundercloud. "It must be capable of working," Tate told himself querulously. "The Martians knew--they wouldn't have tried to stop us if--Wait a minute." He paced back and forth, biting his lip. Syme watched him with catlike eyes, clenching and unclenching his great fists. Tate paused. "I think I have it," he said slowly. "I haven't enough power to hetrodyne the whole screen, although that's theoretically possible. But there must be weaker portions of the field--doors--set to open on the impact of a beam like this one. But I've only got power enough for two more tries. Jones, where would you put an entrance, if you'd built Kal-Jmar?" Syme's eyes widened, and he stared around slowly. "A thousand years ago?" he muttered. "Two thousand? These hills were raised in five hundred. We can't go by topography. "In front of one of the main arteries, then. But there are dozens, no one larger than the other. Did they have dozens of doors?" "Maybe," said Tate. He pointed to the right, where the fairy towers of Kal-Jmar swept aside to leave a broad avenue. "It's the nearest--as good as any other." They walked over to it in silence, and in silence Tate set up his equipment once more. He shifted it from side to side, squinting, until he had it lined up exactly on the center of the avenue. Then he took a long breath, and closed the switch again. The switch came up. Syme stared with fierce eagerness, eyes ablaze. For a moment there was nothing, and then-- Tate clutched the big man's arm. "Look!" he breathed. Where the ray from Tate's machine had impinged, a faintly-glowing spot of violet radiance! As they watched it widened, dilating into a perfect circle of violet, enclosing nothingness. The door was opening. "It worked," Tate said softly. "It worked!" Syme shook off his grip impatiently, put his hand to the gun in the holster of his suit. Tate was still watching, fascinated. "Look," he said again. "The color is changing slightly, falling down the spectrum. I think that's a warning signal. When it reaches red, the door will close." He moved toward the widening door, like a sleepwalker. "Wait," Syme said hoarsely. "You forgot the machine." Tate turned, said, "Oh yes," and walked back. Then he saw the gun in Syme's hand. His jaw dropped slightly, but he didn't say anything. He just stood there, looking dumbly from the gun to Syme's dark face. Syme shot him carefully in the chest. He dropped like a rag doll, but Syme's aim had been bad. He wasn't dead yet. He rolled his eyes up, like a child. His lips moved. In spite of himself, Syme bent forward to listen. "_You'll be_--_sorry_," Tate said, and died. Air was sighing out through the widening hole in the screen. Syme straightened and smiled tolerantly. For a moment, he had been unreasonably afraid of what Tate was about to say. Some detail he had forgotten, perhaps, something that would trap him now that Tate, the man who knew the answers, was dead. But--he'd be sorry! For what? Another dead fool? He gathered up the delicate mechanism in one arm, and, filling his deep lungs, stepped forward through the opening. * * * * * The towers of dead Kal-Jmar loomed over him in the dusk as he strode like a conqueror down the long-deserted avenue. The city was full of the whisperings of Kal-Jmar's ancient wraiths, but they touched only a corner of his mind. He was filled to overflowing with the bright, glowing joy of conquest. The city was his! His boots trod an avenue where no foot had fallen these untold eons, yet there was no dust. The city was bright and furbished waiting for him. He was intoxicated. _The city was his!_ There was a gentle ramp leading upward, and Syme followed it, breathing in the manufactured air of his pressure suit like wine. All around him, the city blazed with treasures beyond price. _It was his!_ The ramp led to a portal set in the side of a shining needle of a building. Syme strode up to the threshold, and the door dilated for him. He stepped inside; the door closed and a soft light glowed on. There was air here: good, breathable air. A tiny zephyr of it was blowing from some hidden source against his body. Greatly daring, he unfastened the helmet of his suit and flung it back. He breathed in a lungful of it. God, but it was good after that canned stuff! It was a little heady; it made his head swim--but it was good air, excellent air! He looked around him, measuring, assessing for the first time. This room alone was worth a fortune. There was platinum; in ornaments, set into the walls, in furniture. That would be enough to buy the little things--a new ship, or perhaps even immunity back on Earth. But that was as nothing to the rest of it, the things three worlds would clamor for--the artifacts, the record books, the machines! He strode about the room, building plan on grandiose plan. He could take back only a little with him at first; but he could return again and again, with Tate's mechanism and new batteries. But he'd explore the city thoroughly before he left. Somewhere there must be weapons. An invincible weapon, perhaps, that a man could carry in his hand. Perhaps even a perfect body screen. With that he wouldn't have to steal away from Mars on a freighter, hiding his loot and his greatness in a dingy engine room. He could walk into a Triplanet ship and order its captain to take him wherever he chose to go! * * * * * He stood then in the middle of the room, arms akimbo, his head swimming with glory--and remembered suddenly that he was hungry. He felt in the container of his helmet, extracted a couple of food tablets, and popped them into his mouth. They would take care of his needs, but they didn't satisfy his hunger. No food tablets for him after this! Steaks, wines, souffles.... His mouth began to water at the very thought. And then the robot rolled on soundless wheels into the room. Syme whirled and saw it only when it was almost upon him. The thing was remarkably lifelike, and for a moment he was startled. But it was not alive. It was only a Martian feeding-machine, kept in repair all these millennia by other robots. It was not intelligent, and so it did not know that its masters would never return. It did not know, either, that Syme was not a Martian, or that he wanted a steak, and not the distilled liquor of the _xopa_ fungus, which still grew in the subterranean gardens of Kal-Jmar. It was capable only of receiving the mental impulse of hunger, and of responding to that impulse. And so when Syme saw it and opened his mouth in startlement, the robot acted as it had done with its degenerate, slothful masters. Its flexible feeding tube darted out and half down the man's gullet before he could move to avoid it. And down Syme Rector's throat poured a flood of _xopa_-juice, nectar to Martians, but swift, terrible death to human beings.... Outside, the last doorway to Kal-Jmar closed forever, across from the cold body of Tate. 
63473	----	DUST UNTO DUST By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister city of metal that glittered malignantly before the cautious advance of three awed space-scouters. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention one usually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected has occurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silence at the city a quarter-mile away. He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into the twilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and the barren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before they landed, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction. He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant. Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men, unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. "Shall we, gentlemen?" and with a graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city. Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through the stillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilight sky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And the city. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to build a city--even a city like this one--in such surroundings. The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waiting geometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight, and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration while this planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe return in their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expedition had, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a return flight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the only city on the planet--the planet without any life at all, save tiny mosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction from the city a man moved, he would always be going north. "Hey, Martin!" Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused. "Wind," Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the black pile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. "That's all we need, isn't it?" Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dust cavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little, adjusting his radio. "Worried?" Rodney's bony face was without expression. "Gives me the creeps, kind of. I wonder what they were like?" Wass murmured, "Let us hope they aren't immortal." Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at the sand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shining metal band. Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away. "It's here, too." Martin stood up. "Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tell them we're going in." Rodney nodded. After a time, Wass said, "Here, too. How far do you think it goes?" Martin shrugged. "Clear around the city? I'd like to know what it is--was--for." "Defense," Rodney, several yards behind, suggested. "Could be," Martin said. "Let's go in." The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street, their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. They passed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They moved cautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a square surrounded by the tallest buildings in the city. Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. "Not--not very big. Is it?" Wass looked at him shrewdly. "Neither were the--well, shall we call them, people? Have you noticed how low everything is?" Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering--"Maybe they crawled." A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, moved slowly across Martin's mind. "All right!" he rapped out--and the image faded. "Sorry," Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw. Then--"I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no light at all?" "I imagine they had illumination of some sort," Martin answered, dryly. "If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship, we're very likely to find out." Rodney said quickly, "I mean outside." "Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination." Martin looked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and past that out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboat lay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow, from here, a little dim, a little hazy. He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and that explained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city was something familiar, yet twisted and distorted. "Well," Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, "now that we're here...." "Pictures," Martin decided. "We have twelve hours. We'll start here. What's the matter, Wass?" The blond man grinned ruefully. "I left the camera in the lifeboat." There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively--"It's almost as if the city didn't want to be photographed." Martin ignored the remark. "Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewhere along this street." Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metal street, at right angles to their path of entrance. Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It was almost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the point being, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark and subtle, things no man could ever comprehend. Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere, sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, the heavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished before the thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and he decided to grin at himself, at his own imagination. Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped up Martin's spine. "What's the matter?" The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. "I saw--I thought I saw--something--moving--" Anger rose in Martin. "You didn't," he said flatly, gripping the other's shoulder cruelly. "You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself, man!" Rodney stared. "The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here." "... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowing from the other direction." Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. "That--" "Martin!" Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios. "Martin, I can't get out!" * * * * * Rodney mumbled something, and Martin told him to shut up. Wass said, more quietly, "Remember that metal band? It's all clear now, and glittering, as far as I can see. I can't get across it; it's like a glass wall." "We're trapped, we're trapped, they are--" "Shut up, Rodney! Wass, I'm only two sections from the edge. I'll check here." Martin clapped a hand on Rodney's shoulder again, starting him moving, toward the city's edge, past the black, silent buildings. The glittering band was here, too, like a halo around a silhouette. "No go," Martin said to Wass. He bit at his lower lip. "I think it must be all around us." He was silent for a time, exploring the consequences of this. Then--"We'll meet you in the middle of the city, where we separated." Walking with Rodney, Martin heard Wass' voice, flat and metallic through the radio receiver against his ear. "What do you suppose caused this?" He shook his head angrily, saying, "Judging by reports of the rest of the planet, it must have been horribly radioactive at one time. All of it." "Man-made radiation, you mean." Martin grinned faintly. Wass, too, had an active imagination. "Well, alien-made, anyhow. Perhaps they had a war." Wass' voice sounded startled. "Anti-radiation screen?" Rodney interrupted, "There hasn't been enough radiation around here for hundreds of thousands of years to activate such a screen." Wass said coldly, "He's right, Martin." Martin crossed an intersection, Rodney slightly behind him. "You're both wrong," he said. "We landed here today." Rodney stopped in the middle of the metal street and stared down at Martin. "The wind--?" "Why not?" "That would explain why it stopped so suddenly, then." Rodney stood straighter. When he walked again, his steps were firmer. They reached the center of the city, ahead of the small, slight Wass, and stood watching him labor along the metal toward them. Wass' face, Martin saw, was sober. "I tried to call the ship. No luck." "The shield?" Wass nodded. "What else?" "I don't know--" "If we went to the roof of the tallest building," Rodney offered, "we might--" Martin shook his head. "No. To be effective, the shield would have to cover the city." Wass stared down at the metal street, as if he could look through it. "I wonder where it gets its power?" "Down below, probably. If there is a down below." Martin hesitated. "We may have to...." "What?" Rodney prompted. Martin shrugged. "Let's look." He led the way through a shoulder-high arch in one of the tall buildings surrounding the square. The corridor inside was dim and plain, and he switched on his flashlight, the other two immediately following his example. The walls and the rounded ceiling of the corridor were of the same dull metal as the buildings' facades, and the streets. There were a multitude of doors and arches set into either side of the corridor. It was rather like ... entering a gigantic metal beehive. Martin chose an arch, with beyond it a metal ramp, which tilted downward, gleaming in the pale circle of his torch. A call from Rodney halted him. "Back here," the tall man repeated. "It looks like a switchboard." The three advanced to the end of the central corridor, pausing before a great arch, outlined in the too-careful geometrical figures Martin had come to associate with the city builders. The three torches, shining through the arch, picked out a bank of buttons, handles ... and a thick rope of cables which ran upward to vanish unexpectedly in the metal roof. "Is this it," Wass murmured, "or an auxiliary?" Martin shrugged. "The whole city's no more than a machine, apparently." "Another assumption," Wass said. "We have done nothing but make assumptions ever since we got here." "What would you suggest, instead?" Martin asked calmly. Rodney furtively, extended one hand toward a switch. "No!" Martin said, sharply. That was one assumption they dared not make. Rodney turned. "But--" "No. Wass, how much time have we?" "The ship leaves in eleven hours." "Eleven hours," Rodney repeated. "Eleven hours!" He reached out for the switch again. Martin swore, stepped forward, pulled him back roughly. He directed his flashlight at Rodney's thin, pale face. "What do you think you're doing?" "We have to find out what all this stuff's for!" "Going at it blindly, we'd probably execute ourselves." "We've got to--" "No!" Then, more quietly--"We still have eleven hours to find a way out." "Ten hours and forty-five minutes," Wass disagreed softly. "Minus the time it takes us to get to the lifeboat, fly to the ship, land, stow it, get ourselves aboard, and get the big ship away from the planet. And Captain Morgan can't wait for us, Martin." "You too, Wass?" "Up to the point of accuracy, yes." Martin said, "Not necessarily. You go the way the wind does, always thinking of your own tender hide, of course." Rodney cursed. "And every second we stand here doing nothing gives us that much less time to find a way out. Martin--" "Make one move toward that switchboard and I'll stop you where you stand!" * * * * * Wass moved silently through the darkness beyond the torches. "We all have guns, Martin." "I'm holding mine." Martin waited. After a moment, Wass switched his flashlight back on. He said quietly, "He's right, Rodney. It would be sure death to monkey around in here." "Well...." Rodney turned quickly toward the black arch. "Let's get out of here, then!" Martin hung back waiting for the others to go ahead of him down the metal hall. At the other arch, where the ramp led downward, he called a halt. "If the dome, or whatever it is, is a radiation screen there must be at least half-a-dozen emergency exits around the city." Rodney said, "To search every building next to the dome clean around the city would take years." Martin nodded. "But there must be central roads beneath this main level leading to them. Up here there are too many roads." Wass laughed rudely. "Have you a better idea?" Wass ignored that, as Martin hoped he would. He said slowly, "That leads to another idea. If the band around the city is responsible for the dome, does it project down into the ground as well?" "You mean _dig_ out?" Martin asked. "Sure. Why not?" "We're wearing heavy suits and bulky breathing units. We have no equipment." "That shouldn't be hard to come by." Martin smiled, banishing Wass' idea. Rodney said, "They may have had their digging equipment built right in to themselves." "Anyway," Martin decided, "we can take a look down below." "In the pitch dark," Wass added. Martin adjusted his torch, began to lead the way down the metal ramp. The incline was gentle, apparently constructed for legs shorter, feet perhaps less broad than their own. The metal, without mark of any sort, gleamed under the combined light of the torches, unrolling out of the darkness before the men. At length the incline melted smoothly into the next level of the city. Martin shined his light upward, and the others followed his example. Metal as smooth and featureless as that on which they stood shone down on them. Wass turned his light parallel with the floor, and then moved slowly in a circle. "No supports. No supports anywhere. What keeps all that up there?" "I don't know. I have no idea." Martin gestured toward the ramp with his light. "Does all this, this whole place, look at all familiar to you?" Rodney's gulp was clearly audible through the radio receivers. "Here?" "No, no," Martin answered impatiently, "not just here. I mean the whole city." "Yes," Wass said dryly, "it does. I'm sure this is where all my nightmares stay when they're not on shift." Martin turned on his heel and started down a metal avenue which, he thought, paralleled the street above. And Rodney and Wass followed him silently. They moved along the metal, past unfamiliar shapes made more so by gloom and moving shadows, past doors dancing grotesquely in the three lights, past openings in the occasional high metal partitions, past something which was perhaps a conveyor belt, past another something which could have been anything at all. The metal street ended eventually in a blank metal wall. The edge of the city--the city which was a dome of force above and a bowl of metal below. After a long time, Wass sighed. "Well, skipper...?" "We go back, I guess," Martin said. Rodney turned swiftly to face him. Martin thought the tall man was holding his gun. "To the switchboard, Martin?" "Unless someone has a better idea," Martin conceded. He waited. But Rodney was holding the gun ... and Wass was.... Then--"I can't think of anything else." They began to retrace their steps along the metal street, back past the same dancing shapes of metal, the partitions, the odd windows, all looking different now in the new angles of illumination. Martin was in the lead. Wass followed him silently. Rodney, tall, matchstick thin, even in his cumbersome suit, swayed with jaunty triumph in the rear. Martin looked at the metal street lined with its metal objects and he sighed. He remembered how the dark buildings of the city looked at surface level, how the city itself looked when they were landing, and then when they were walking toward it. The dream was gone again for now. Idealism died in him, again and again, yet it was always reborn. But--The only city, so far as anyone knew, on the first planet they'd ever explored. And it had to be like this. Nightmares, Wass said, and Martin thought perhaps the city was built by a race of beings who at some point twisted away from their evolutionary spiral, plagued by a sort of racial insanity. No, Martin thought, shaking his head. No, that couldn't be. Viewpoint ... his viewpoint. It was the haunting sense of familiarity, a faint strain through all this broad jumble, the junkpile of alien metal, which was making him theorize so wildly. Then Wass touched his elbow. "Look there, Martin. Left of the ramp." Light from their torches was reflected, as from glass. "All right," Rodney said belligerently into his radio. "What's holding up the procession?" Martin was silent. Wass undertook to explain. Why not, after all? Martin asked himself. It was in Wass' own interest. In a moment, all three were standing before a bank of glass cases which stretched off into the distance as far as the combined light of their torches would reach. "Seeds!" Wass exclaimed, his faceplate pressed against the glass. Martin blinked. He thought how little time they had. He wet his lips. Wass' gloved hands fumbled awkwardly at a catch in the nearest section of the bank. Martin thought of the dark, convoluted land outside the city. If they wouldn't grow there.... Or had they, once? "Don't, Wass!" Torchlight reflected from Wass' faceplate as he turned his head. "Why not?" They were like children.... "We don't know, released, what they'll do." "Skipper," Wass said carefully, "if we don't get out of this place by the deadline we may be eating these." Martin raised his arm tensely. "Opening a seed bank doesn't help us find a way out of here." He started up the ramp. "Besides, we've no water." Rodney came last up the ramp, less jaunty now, but still holding the gun. His mind, too, was taken up with childhood's imaginings. "For a plant to grow in this environment, it wouldn't need much water. Maybe--" he had a vision of evil plants attacking them, growing with super-swiftness at the air valves and joints of their suits "--only the little moisture in the atmosphere." * * * * * They stood before the switchboard again. Martin and Wass side by side, Rodney, still holding his gun, slightly to the rear. Rodney moved forward a little toward the switches. His breathing was loud and rather uneven in the radio receivers. Martin made a final effort. "Rodney, it's still almost nine hours to take off. Let's search awhile first. Let this be a last resort." Rodney jerked his head negatively. "No. Now, I know you, Martin. Postpone and postpone until it's too late, and the ship leaves without us and we're stranded here to eat seeds and gradually dehydrate ourselves and God only knows what else and--" He reached out convulsively and yanked a switch. Martin leaped, knocking him to the floor. Rodney's gun skittered away silently, like a live thing, out of the range of the torches. The radio receivers impersonally recorded the grating sounds of Rodney's sobs. "Sorry," Martin said, without feeling. He turned quickly. "Wass?" The slight, blond man stood unmoving. "I'm with you, Martin, but, as a last resort it might be better to be blown sky high than to die gradually--" Martin was watching Rodney, struggling to get up. "I agree. As a last resort. We still have a little time." Rodney's tall, spare figure looked bowed and tired in the torchlight, now that he was up again. "Martin, I--" Martin turned his back. "Skip it, Rodney," he said gently. "Water," Wass said thoughtfully. "There must be reservoirs under this city somewhere." Rodney said, "How does water help us get out?" Martin glanced at Wass, then started out of the switchboard room, not looking back. "It got in and out of the city some way. Perhaps we can leave the same way." Down the ramp again. "There's another ramp," Wass murmured. Rodney looked down it. "I wonder how many there are, all told." Martin placed one foot on the metal incline. He angled his torch down, picking out shadowy, geometrical shapes, duplicates of the ones on the present level. "We'll find out," he said, "how many there are." Eleven levels later Rodney asked, "How much time have we now?" "Seven hours," Wass said quietly, "until take-off." "One more level," Martin said, ignoring the reference to time. "I ... think it's the last." They walked down the ramp and stood together, silent in a dim pool of artificial light on the bottom level of the alien city. Rodney played his torch about the metal figures carefully placed about the floor. "Martin, what if there are no reservoirs? What if there are cemeteries instead? Or cold storage units? Maybe the switch I pulled--" "Rodney! Stop it!" Rodney swallowed audibly. "This place scares me...." "The first time I was ever in a rocket, it scared me. I was thirteen." "This is different," Wass said. "Built-in traps--" "They had a war," Martin said. Wass agreed. "And the survivors retired here. Why?" Martin said, "They wanted to rebuild. Or maybe this was already built before the war as a retreat." He turned impatiently. "How should I know?" Wass turned, too, persistent. "But the planet was through with them." "In a minute," Martin said, too irritably, "we'll have a sentient planet." From the corner of his eye he saw Rodney start at that. "Knock it off, Wass. We're looking for reservoirs, you know." They moved slowly down the metal avenue, between the twisted shadow shapes, looking carefully about them. Rodney paused. "We might not recognize one." Martin urged him on. "You know what a man-hole cover looks like." He added dryly, "Use your imagination." They reached the metal wall at the end of the avenue and paused again, uncertain. Martin swung his flashlight, illuminating the distorted metal shapes. Wass said, "All this had a purpose, once...." "We'll disperse and search carefully," Martin said. "I wonder what the pattern was." "... The reservoirs, Wass. The pattern will still be here for later expeditions to study. So will we if we don't find a way to get out." Their radios recorded Rodney's gasp. Then--"Martin! Martin! I think I've found something!" Martin began to run. After a moment's hesitation, Wass swung in behind him. "Here," Rodney said, as they came up to him, out of breath. "Here. See? Right here." Three flashlights centered on a dark, metal disk raised a foot or more from the floor. "Well, they had hands." With his torch Wass indicated a small wheel of the same metal as everything else in the city, set beside the disk. From its design Martin assumed that the disk was meant to be grasped and turned. He wondered what precisely they were standing over. "Well, Skipper, are you going to do the honors?" Martin kneeled, grasped the wheel. It turned easily--almost too easily--rotating the disk as it turned. Suddenly, without a sound, the disk rose, like a hatch, on a concealed hinge. The three men, clad in their suits and helmets, grouped around the six-foot opening, shining their torches down into the thing that drifted and eddied directly beneath them. Rodney's sudden grip on Martin's wrist nearly shattered the bone. "Martin! It's all alive! It's moving!" Martin hesitated long enough for a coil to move sinuously up toward the opening. Then he spun the wheel and the hatch slammed down. He was shaking. * * * * * After a time he said, "Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Remember the wind? Air currents are moving it." Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing. Then--"It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then?" Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him, otherwise. He said merely, "At first I wasn't sure myself." Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gun loosely, and his hand shook. "Then prove it. Open it again." Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodney and he, too, had drawn his gun. The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it, outlined in the light of two torches. For a little while he was alone. Then--causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney--a tenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling about Martin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight, obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strange objects. Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmering spirals. Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He said nothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, and now, himself. "How deep," Wass said, from his safe distance. "We'll have to lower a flashlight," Martin answered. Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with a torch swinging wildly on the end of it. The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gently rolling mounds of fine, white stuff. Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lip of the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. "You'd rather monkey with the switches and blow yourself to smithereens?" Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at him disgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering into the infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottom of the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. He stamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standing jump. He sank no farther than his knees. He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearest edge of the city. "I think we'll be all right," he called out, "as long as we avoid the drifts." Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney. "All right, Wass," Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope and sank into the dust. "Not me," the answer came back quickly. "You two fools go your way, I'll go mine." "Wass!" There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening. The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddied and swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits were hard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves. "Are we going straight?" Rodney asked. "Of course," Martin growled. There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination. The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriously plunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, times without number. Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. "The ship leaves in two hours, Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney?" Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in his throat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust, his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed. A grate. Rodney stared. "Wass!" he shouted. "We've found a way out!" Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. "I'm at the switchboard now, Martin. I--" There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate. The grate groaned upward and stopped. Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then he began to scream. Martin switched off his radio, sick. He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall. "Well?" "I've been trying to get you," Rodney said, frantically. "Why didn't you answer?" "We couldn't do anything for him." Rodney's face was white and drawn. "But he did this for us." "So he did," Martin said, very quietly. Rodney said nothing. Then Martin said, "Did you listen until the end?" Rodney nodded, jerkily. "He pulled three more switches. I couldn't understand it all. But--Martin, dying alone like that in a place like this--!" Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted up toward the surface. "Come on, Rodney. Last lap." An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from the edge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of force shimmering, almost invisible, about it. Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship. Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew members standing by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to run toward them. "Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe," someone said. It was the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed. 
50802	----	A CITY NEAR CENTAURUS By BILL DOEDE Illustrated by WEST [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The city was sacred, but not to its gods. Michaelson was a god--but far from sacred! Crouched in the ancient doorway like an animal peering out from his burrow, Mr. Michaelson saw the native. At first he was startled, thinking it might be someone else from the Earth settlement who had discovered the old city before him. Then he saw the glint of sun against the metallic skirt, and relaxed. He chuckled to himself, wondering with amusement what a webfooted man was doing in an old dead city so far from his people. Some facts were known about the people of Alpha Centaurus II. They were not actually natives, he recalled. They were a colony from the fifth planet of the system. They were a curious people. Some were highly intelligent, though uneducated. He decided to ignore the man for the moment. He was far down the ancient street, a mere speck against the sand. There would be plenty of time to wonder about him. He gazed out from his position at the complex variety of buildings before him. Some were small, obviously homes. Others were huge with tall, frail spires standing against the pale blue sky. Square buildings, ellipsoid, spheroid. Beautiful, dream-stuff bridges connected tall, conical towers, bridges that still swung in the wind after half a million years. Late afternoon sunlight shone against ebony surfaces. The sands of many centuries had blown down the wide streets and filled the doorways. Desert plants grew from roofs of smaller buildings. Ignoring the native, Mr. Michaelson poked about among the ruins happily, exclaiming to himself about some particular artifact, marveling at its state of preservation, holding it this way and that to catch the late afternoon sun, smiling, clucking gleefully. He crawled over the rubble through old doorways half filled with the accumulation of ages. He dug experimentally in the sand with his hands, like a dog, under a roof that had weathered half a million years of rain and sun. Then he crawled out again, covered with dust and cobwebs. * * * * * The native stood in the street less than a hundred feet away, waving his arms madly. "Mr. Earthgod," he cried. "It is sacred ground where you are trespassing!" The archeologist smiled, watching the man hurry closer. He was short, even for a native. Long gray hair hung to his shoulders, bobbing up and down as he walked. He wore no shoes. The toes of his webbed feet dragged in the sand, making a deep trail behind him. He was an old man. "You never told us about this old dead city," Michaelson said, chidingly. "Shame on you. But never mind. I've found it now. Isn't it beautiful?" "Yes, beautiful. You will leave now." "Leave?" Michaelson asked, acting surprised as if the man were a child. "I just got here a few hours ago." "You must go." "Why? Who are you?" "I am keeper of the city." "You?" Michaelson laughed. Then, seeing how serious the native was, said, "What makes you think a dead city needs a keeper?" "The spirits may return." Michaelson crawled out of the doorway and stood up. He brushed his trousers. He pointed. "See that wall? Built of some metal, I'd say, some alloy impervious to rust and wear." "The spirits are angry." "Notice the inscriptions? Wind has blown sand against them for eons, and rain and sleet. But their story is there, once we decipher it." "Leave!" The native's lined, weathered old face was working around the mouth in anger. Michaelson was almost sorry he had mocked him. He was deadly serious. "Look," he said. "No spirits are ever coming back here. Don't you know that? And even if they did, spirits care nothing for old cities half covered with sand and dirt." He walked away from the old man, heading for another building. The sun had already gone below the horizon, coloring the high clouds. He glanced backward. The webfoot was following. "Mr. Earthgod!" the webfoot cried, so sharply that Michaelson stopped. "You must not touch, not walk upon, not handle. Your step may destroy the home of some ancient spirit. Your breath may cause one iota of change and a spirit may lose his way in the darkness. Go quickly now, or be killed." * * * * * He turned and walked off, not looking back. Michaelson stood in the ancient street, tall, gaunt, feet planted wide, hands in pockets, watching the webfoot until he was out of sight beyond a huge circular building. There was a man to watch. There was one of the intelligent ones. One look into the alert old eyes had told him that. Michaelson shook his head, and went about satisfying his curiosity. He entered buildings without thought of roofs falling in, or decayed floors dropping from under his weight. He began to collect small items, making a pile of them in the street. An ancient bowl, metal untouched by the ages. A statue of a man, one foot high, correct to the minutest detail, showing how identical they had been to Earthmen. He found books still standing on ancient shelves but was afraid to touch them without tools. Darkness came swiftly and he was forced out into the street. He stood there alone feeling the age of the place. Even the smell of age was in the air. Silver moonlight from the two moons filtered through clear air down upon the ruins. The city lay now in darkness, dead and still, waiting for morning so it could lie dead and still in the sun. There was no hurry to be going home, although he was alone, although this was Alpha Centaurus II with many unknowns, many dangers ... although home was a very great distance away. There was no one back there to worry about him. His wife had died many years ago back on Earth. No children. His friends in the settlement would not look for him for another day at least. Anyway, the tiny cylinder, buried in flesh behind his ear, a thing of mystery and immense power, could take him home instantly, without effort save a flicker of thought. "You did not leave, as I asked you." Michaelson whirled around at the sound of the native's voice. Then he relaxed. He said, "You shouldn't sneak up on a man like that." "You must leave, or I will be forced to kill you. I do not want to kill you, but if I must...." He made a clucking sound deep in the throat. "The spirits are angry." "Nonsense. Superstition! But never mind. You have been here longer than I. Tell me, what are those instruments in the rooms? It looks like a clock but I'm certain it had some other function." "What rooms?" "Oh, come now. The small rooms back there. Look like they were bedrooms." "I do not know." The webfoot drew closer. Michaelson decided he was sixty or seventy years old, at least. "You've been here a long time. You are intelligent, and you must be educated, the way you talk. That gadget looks like a time-piece of some sort. What is it? What does it measure?" "I insist that you go." The webfoot held something in his hand. "No." Michaelson looked off down the street, trying to ignore the native, trying to feel the life of the city as it might have been. * * * * * "You are sensitive," the native said in his ear. "It takes a sensitive god to feel the spirits moving in the houses and walking in these old streets." "Say it any way you want to. This is the most fascinating thing I've ever seen. The Inca's treasure, the ruins of Pompeii, Egyptian tombs--none can hold a candle to this." "Mr. Earthgod...." "Don't call me that. I'm not a god, and you know it." The old man shrugged. "It is not an item worthy of dispute. Those names you mention, are they the names of gods?" He chuckled. "In a way, yes. What is your name?" "Maota." "You must help me, Maota. These things must be preserved. We'll build a museum, right here in the street. No, over there on the hill just outside the city. We'll collect all the old writings and perhaps we may decipher them. Think of it, Maota! To read pages written so long ago and think their thoughts. We'll put everything under glass. Build and evacuate chambers to stop the decay. Catalogue, itemize...." Michaelson was warming up to his subject, but Maota shook his head like a waving palm frond and stamped his feet. "You will leave now." "Can't you see? Look at the decay. These things are priceless. They must be preserved. Future generations will thank us." "Do you mean," the old man asked, aghast, "that you want others to come here? You know the city abhors the sound of alien voices. Those who lived here may return one day! They must not find their city packaged and preserved and laid out on shelves for the curious to breathe their foul breaths upon. You will leave. Now!" "No." Michaelson was adamant. The rock of Gibraltar. Maota hit him, quickly, passionately, and dropped the weapon beside his body. He turned swiftly, making a swirling mark in the sand with his heel, and walked off toward the hills outside the city. The weapon he had used was an ancient book. Its paper-thin pages rustled in the wind as if an unseen hand turned them, reading, while Michaelson's blood trickled out from the head wound upon the ancient street. * * * * * When he regained consciousness the two moons, bright sentinel orbs in the night sky, had moved to a new position down their sliding path. Old Maota's absence took some of the weirdness and fantasy away. It seemed a more practical place now. The gash in his head was painful, throbbing with quick, short hammer-blows synchronized with his heart beats. But there was a new determination in him. If it was a fight that the old webfooted fool wanted, a fight he would get. The cylinder flicked him, at his command, across five hundred miles of desert and rocks to a small creek he remembered. Here he bathed his head in cool water until all the caked blood was dissolved from his hair. Feeling better, he went back. The wind had turned cool. Michaelson shivered, wishing he had brought a coat. The city was absolutely still except for small gusts of wind sighing through the frail spires. The ancient book still lay in the sand beside the dark spot of blood. He stooped over and picked it up. It was light, much lighter than most Earth books. He ran a hand over the binding. Smooth it was, untouched by time or climate. He squinted at the pages, tilting the book to catch the bright moonlight, but the writing was alien. He touched the page, ran his forefinger over the writing. Suddenly he sprang back. The book fell from his hands. "God in heaven!" he exclaimed. He had heard a voice. He looked around at the old buildings, down the length of the ancient street. Something strange about the voice. Not Maota. Not his tones. Not his words. Satisfied that no one was near, he stooped and picked up the book again. "Good God!" he said aloud. It was the book talking. His fingers had touched the writing again. It was not a voice, exactly, but a stirring in his mind, like a strange language heard for the first time. A talking book. What other surprises were in the city? Tall, fragile buildings laughing at time and weather. A clock measuring God-knows-what. If such wonders remained, what about those already destroyed? One could only guess at the machines, the gadgets, the artistry already decayed and blown away to mix forever with the sand. I must preserve it, he thought, whether Maota likes it or not. They say these people lived half a million years ago. A long time. Let's see, now. A man lives one hundred years on the average. Five thousand lifetimes. And all you do is touch a book, and a voice jumps across all those years! He started off toward the tall building he had examined upon discovery of the city. His left eyelid began to twitch and he laid his forefinger against the eye, pressing until it stopped. Then he stooped and entered the building. He laid the book down and tried to take the "clock" off the wall. It was dark in the building and his fingers felt along the wall, looking for it. Then he touched it. His fingers moved over its smooth surface. Then suddenly he jerked his hand back with an exclamation of amazement. Fear ran up his spine. _The clock was warm._ He felt like running, like flicking back to the settlement where there were people and familiar voices, for here was a thing that should not be. Half a million years--and here was warmth! He touched it again, curiosity overwhelming his fear. It was warm. No mistake. And there was a faint vibration, a suggestion of power. He stood there in the darkness staring off into the darkness, trembling. Fear built up in him until it was a monstrous thing, drowning reason. He forgot the power of the cylinder behind his ear. He scrambled through the doorway. He got up and ran down the ancient sandy street until he came to the edge of the city. Here he stopped, gasping for air, feeling the pain throb in his head. Common sense said that he should go home, that nothing worthwhile could be accomplished at night, that he was tired, that he was weak from loss of blood and fright and running. But when Michaelson was on the trail of important discoveries he had no common sense. He sat down in the darkness, meaning to rest a moment. * * * * * When he awoke dawn was red against thin clouds in the east. Old Maota stood in the street with webbed feet planted far apart in the sand, a weapon in the crook of his arm. It was a long tube affair, familiar to Michaelson. Michaelson asked, "Did you sleep well?" "No." "I'm sorry to hear that." "How do you feel?" "Fine, but my head aches a little." "Sorry," Maota said. "For what?" "For hitting you. Pain is not for gods like you." Michaelson relaxed somewhat. "What kind of man are you? First you try to break my skull, then you apologize." "I abhor pain. I should have killed you outright." He thought about that for a moment, eyeing the weapon. It looked in good working order. Slim and shiny and innocent, it looked like a glorified African blowgun. But he was not deceived by its appearance. It was a deadly weapon. "Well," he said, "before you kill me, tell me about the book." He held it up for Maota to see. "What about the book?" "What kind of book is it?" "What does Mr. Earthgod mean, what _kind_ of book? You have seen it. It is like any other book, except for the material and the fact that it talks." "No, no. I mean, what's in it?" "Poetry." "Poetry? For God's sake, why poetry? Why not mathematics or history? Why not tell how to make the metal of the book itself? Now there is a subject worthy of a book." Maota shook his head. "One does not study a dead culture to learn how they made things, but how they thought. But we are wasting time. I must kill you now, so I can get some rest." The old man raised the gun. * * * * * "Wait! You forget that I also have a weapon." He pointed to the spot behind his ear where the cylinder was buried. "I can move faster than you can fire the gun." Maota nodded. "I have heard how you travel. It does not matter. I will kill you anyway." "I suggest we negotiate." "No." "Why not?" Maota looked off toward the hills, old eyes filmed from years of sand and wind, leather skin lined and pitted. The hills stood immobile, brown-gray, already shimmering with heat, impotent. "Why not?" Michaelson repeated. "Why not what?" Maota dragged his eyes back. "Negotiate." "No." Maota's eyes grew hard as steel. They stood there in the sun, not twenty feet apart, hating each other. The two moons, very pale and far away on the western horizon, stared like two bottomless eyes. "All right, then. At least it's a quick death. I hear that thing just disintegrates a man. Pfft! And that's that." Michaelson prepared himself to move if the old man's finger slid closer toward the firing stud. The old man raised the gun. "Wait!" "Now what?" "At least read some of the book to me before I die, then." The gun wavered. "I am not an unreasonable man," the webfoot said. Michaelson stepped forward, extending his arm with the book. "No, stay where you are. Throw it." "This book is priceless. You just don't go throwing such valuable items around." "It won't break. Throw it." Michaelson threw the book. It landed at Maota's feet, spouting sand against his leg. He shifted the weapon, picked up the book and leafed through it, raising his head in a listening attitude, searching for a suitable passage. Michaelson heard the thin, metallic pages rustle softly. He could have jumped and seized the weapon at that moment, but his desire to hear the book was strong. * * * * * Old Maota read, Michaelson listened. The cadence was different, the syntax confusing. But the thoughts were there. It might have been a professor back on Earth reading to his students. Keats, Shelley, Browning. These people were human, with human thoughts and aspirations. The old man stopped reading. He squatted slowly, keeping Michaelson in sight, and laid the book face up in the sand. Wind moved the pages. "See?" he said. "The spirits read. They must have been great readers, these people. They drink the book, as if it were an elixir. See how gentle! They lap at the pages like a new kitten tasting milk." Michaelson laughed. "You certainly have an imagination." "What difference does it make?" Maota cried, suddenly angry. "You want to close up all these things in boxes for a posterity who may have no slightest feeling or appreciation. I want to leave the city as it is, for spirits whose existence I cannot prove." The old man's eyes were furious now, deadly. The gun came down directly in line with the Earthman's chest. The gnarled finger moved. Michaelson, using the power of the cylinder behind his ear, jumped behind the old webfoot. To Maota it seemed that he had flicked out of existence like a match blown out. The next instant Michaelson spun him around and hit him. It was an inexpert fist, belonging to an archeologist, not a fighter. But Maota was an old man. He dropped in the sand, momentarily stunned. Michaelson bent over to pick up the gun and the old man, feeling it slip from his fingers, hung on and was pulled to his feet. They struggled for possession of the gun, silently, gasping, kicking sand. Faces grew red. Lips drew back over Michaelson's white teeth, over Maota's pink, toothless gums. The dead city's fragile spires threw impersonal shadows down where they fought. Then quite suddenly a finger or hand--neither knew whose finger or hand--touched the firing stud. There was a hollow, whooshing sound. Both stopped still, realizing the total destruction they might have caused. "It only hit the ground," Michaelson said. A black, charred hole, two feet in diameter and--they could not see how deep--stared at them. Maota let go and sprawled in the sand. "The book!" he cried. "The book is gone!" "No! We probably covered it with sand while we fought." * * * * * Both men began scooping sand in their cupped hands, digging frantically for the book. Saliva dripped from Maota's mouth, but he didn't know or care. Finally they stopped, exhausted. They had covered a substantial area around the hole. They had covered the complete area where they had been. "We killed it," the old man moaned. "It was just a book. Not alive, you know." "How do you know?" The old man's pale eyes were filled with tears. "It talked and it sang. In a way, it had a soul. Sometimes on long nights I used to imagine it loved me, for taking care of it." "There are other books. We'll get another." Maota shook his head. "There are no more." "But I've seen them. Down there in the square building." "Not poetry. Books, yes, but not poetry. That was the only book with songs." "I'm sorry." "_You_ killed it!" Maota suddenly sprang for the weapon, lying forgotten in the sand. Michaelson put his foot on it and Maota was too weak to tear it loose. He could only weep out his rage. When he could talk again, Maota said, "I am sorry, Mr. Earthgod. I've disgraced myself." "Don't be sorry." Michaelson helped him to his feet. "We fight for some reasons, cry for others. A priceless book is a good reason for either." "Not for that. For not winning. I should have killed you last night when I had the chance. The gods give us chances and if we don't take them we lose forever." "I told you before! We are on the same side. Negotiate. Have you never heard of negotiation?" "You are a god," Maota said. "One does not negotiate with gods. One either loves them, or kills them." "That's another thing. I am not a god. Can't you understand?" "Of course you are." Maota looked up, very sure. "Mortals cannot step from star to star like crossing a shallow brook." "No, no. I don't step from one star to another. An invention does that. Just an invention. I carry it with me. It's a tiny thing. No one would ever guess it has such power. So you see, I'm human, just like you. Hit me and I hurt. Cut me and I bleed. I love. I hate. I was born. Some day I'll die. See? I'm human. Just a human with a machine. No more than that." * * * * * Maota laughed, then sobered quickly. "You lie." "No." "If I had this machine, could I travel as you?" "Yes." "Then I'll kill you and take yours." "It would not work for you." "Why?" "Each machine is tailored for each person." The old man hung his head. He looked down into the black, charred hole. He walked all around the hole. He kicked at the sand, looking half-heartedly again for the book. "Look," Michaelson said. "I'm sure I've convinced you that I'm human. Why not have a try at negotiating our differences?" He looked up. His expressive eyes, deep, resigned, studied Michaelson's face. Finally he shook his head sadly. "When we first met I hoped we could think the ancient thoughts together. But our paths diverge. We have finished, you and I." He turned and started off, shoulders slumped dejectedly. Michaelson caught up to him. "Are you leaving the city?" "No." "Where are you going?" "Away. Far away." Maota looked off toward the hills, eyes distant. "Don't be stupid, old man. How can you go far away and not leave the city?" "There are many directions. You would not understand." "East. West. North. South. Up. Down." "No, no. There is another direction. Come, if you must see." Michaelson followed him far down the street. They came to a section of the city he had not seen before. Buildings were smaller, spires dwarfed against larger structures. Here a path was packed in the sand, leading to a particular building. Michaelson said, "This is where you live?" "Yes." Maota went inside. Michaelson stood in the entrance and looked around. The room was clean, furnished with hand made chairs and a bed. Who is this old man, he thought, far from his people, living alone, choosing a life of solitude among ancient ruins but not touching them? Above the bed a "clock" was fastened to the wall, Michaelson remembered his fright--thinking of the warmth where warmth should not be. Maota pointed to it. "You asked about this machine," he said. "Now I will tell you." He laid his hand against it. "Here is power to follow another direction." * * * * * Michaelson tested one of the chairs to see if it would hold his weight, then sat down. His curiosity about the instrument was colossal, but he forced a short laugh. "Maota, you _are_ complex. Why not stop all this mystery nonsense and tell me about it? You know more about it than I." "Of course." Maota smiled a toothless, superior smile. "What do you suppose happened to this race?" "You tell me." "They took the unknown direction. The books speak of it. I don't know how the instrument works, but one thing is certain. The race did not die out, as a species becomes extinct." Michaelson was amused, but interested. "Something like a fourth dimension?" "I don't know. I only know that with this instrument there is no death. I have read the books that speak of this race, this wonderful people who conquered all disease, who explored all the mysteries of science, who devised this machine to cheat death. See this button here on the face of the instrument? Press the button, and...." "And what?" "I don't know, exactly. But I have lived many years. I have walked the streets of this city and wondered, and wanted to press the button. Now I will do so." Quickly the old man, still smiling, pressed the button. A high-pitched whine filled the air, just within audio range. Steady for a moment, it then rose in pitch passing beyond hearing quickly. The old man's knees buckled. He sank down, fell over the bed, lay still. Michaelson touched him cautiously, then examined him more carefully. No question about it. The old man was dead. * * * * * Feeling depressed and alone, Michaelson found a desert knoll outside the city overlooking the tall spires that shone in the sunlight and gleamed in the moonlight. He made a stretcher, rolled the old man's body on to it and dragged it down the long ancient street and up the knoll. Here he buried him. But it seemed a waste of time. Somehow he knew beyond any doubt that the old native and his body were completely disassociated in some sense more complete than death. In the days that followed he gave much thought to the "clock." He came to the city every day. He spent long hours in the huge square building with the books. He learned the language by sheer bulldog determination. Then he searched the books for information about the instrument. Finally after many weeks, long after the winds had obliterated all evidence of Maota's grave on the knoll, Michaelson made a decision. He had to know if the machine would work for him. And so one afternoon when the ancient spires threw long shadows over the sand he walked down the long street and entered the old man's house. He stood before the instrument, trembling, afraid, but determined. He pinched his eyes shut tight like a child and pressed the button. The high-pitched whine started. Complete, utter silence. Void. Darkness. Awareness and memory, yes; nothing else. Then Maota's chuckle came. No sound, an impression only like the voice from the ancient book. Where was he? There was no left or right, up or down. Maota was everywhere, nowhere. "Look!" Maota's thought was directed at him in this place of no direction. "Think of the city and you will see it." Michaelson did, and he saw the city beyond, as if he were looking through a window. And yet he was in the city looking at his own body. Maota's chuckle again. "The city will remain as it is. You did not win after all." "Neither did you." "But this existence has compensations," Maota said. "You can be anywhere, see anywhere on this planet. Even on your Earth." Michaelson felt a great sadness, seeing his body lying across the old, home made bed. He looked closer. He sensed a vibration or life force--he didn't stop to define it--in his body. Why was his dead body different from Old Maota's? Could it be that there was some thread stretching from the reality of his body to his present state? "I don't like your thoughts," Maota said. "No one can go back. I tried. I have discussed it with many who are not presently in communication with you. No one can go back." Michaelson decided he try. * * * * * "No!" Maota's thought was prickled with fear and anger. Michaelson did not know how to try, but he remembered the cylinder and gathered all the force of his mind in spite of Maota's protests, and gave his most violent command. At first he thought it didn't work. He got up and looked around, then it struck him. _He was standing up!_ The cylinder. He knew it was the cylinder. That was the difference between himself and Maota. When he used the cylinder, that was where he went, the place where Maota was now. It was a door of some kind, leading to a path of some kind where distance was non-existent. But the "clock" was a mechanism to transport only the mind to that place. To be certain of it, he pressed the button again, with the same result as before. He saw his own body fall down. He felt Maota's presence. "You devil!" Maota's thought-scream was a sword of hate and anger, irrational suddenly, like a person who knows his loss is irrevocable. "I said you were a god. I said you were a god. _I said you were a god...!_" 
499	----	TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS or The Underground Search for the Idol of Gold BY VICTOR APPLETON AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTORCYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL," "THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES," "THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS SERIES," ETC. THE TOM SWIFT SERIES 1 TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE 2 TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT 3 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP 4 TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT 5 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT 6 TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE 7 TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS 8 TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE 9 TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER 10 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE 11 TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD 12 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER 13 TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY 14 TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA 15 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT 16 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON 17 TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE 18 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP 19 TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL 20 TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS 21 TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK 22 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT 23 TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH 24 TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS 25 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE 26 TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING BOAT 27 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT OIL GUSHER 28 TOM SWIFT AND HIS CHEST OF SECRETS 29 TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRLINE EXPRESS Tom Swift in the Land of Wonders CONTENTS I A WONDERFUL STORY II PROFESSOR BUMPER ARRIVES III BLESSINGS AND ENTHUSIASM IV FENIMORE BEECHER V THE LITTLE GREEN GOD VI UNPLEASANT NEWS VII TOM HEARS SOMETHING VIII OFF FOR HONDURAS IX VAL JACINTO X IN THE WILDS XI THE VAMPIRES XII A FALSE FRIEND XIII FORWARD AGAIN XIV A NEW GUIDE XV IN THE COILS XVI A MEETING IN THE JUNGLE XVII THE LOST MAP XVIII "EL TIGRE!" XIX POISONED ARROWS XX AN OLD LEGEND XXI THE CAVERN XXII THE STORM XXIII ENTOMBED ALIVE XXIV THE REVOLVING STONE XXV THE IDOL OF GOLD TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS CHAPTER I A WONDERFUL STORY Tom Swift, who had been slowly looking through the pages of a magazine, in the contents of which he seemed to be deeply interested, turned the final folio, ruffled the sheets back again to look at a certain map and drawing, and then, slapping the book down on a table before him, with a noise not unlike that of a shot, exclaimed: "Well, that is certainly one wonderful story!" "What's it about, Tom?" asked his chum, Ned Newton. "Something about inside baseball, or a new submarine that can be converted into an airship on short notice?" "Neither one, you--you unscientific heathen," answered Tom, with a laugh at Ned. "Though that isn't saying such a machine couldn't be invented." "I believe you--that is if you got on its trail," returned Ned, and there was warm admiration in his voice. "As for inside baseball, or outside, for that matter, I hardly believe I'd be able to tell third base from the second base, it's so long since I went to a game," proceeded Tom. "I've been too busy on that new airship stabilizer dad gave me an idea for. I've been working too hard, that's a fact. I need a vacation, and maybe a good baseball game----" He stopped and looked at the magazine he had so hastily slapped down. Something he had read in it seemed to fascinate him. "I wonder if it can possibly be true," he went on. "It sounds like the wildest dream of a professional sleep-walker; and yet, when I stop to think, it isn't much worse than some of the things we've gone through with, Ned." "Say, for the love of rice-pudding! will you get down to brass tacks and strike a trial balance? What are you talking of, anyhow? Is it a joke?" "A joke?" "Yes. What you just read in that magazine which seems to cause you so much excitement." "Well, it may be a joke; and yet the professor seems very much in earnest about it," replied Tom. "It certainly is one wonderful story!" "So you said before. Come on--the 'fillium' is busted. Splice it, or else put in a new reel and on with the show. I'd like to know what's doing. What professor are you talking of?" "Professor Swyington Bumper." "Swyington Bumper?" and Ned's voice showed that his memory was a bit hazy. "Yes. You ought to remember him. He was on the steamer when I went down to Peru to help the Titus Brothers dig the big tunnel. That plotter Waddington, or some of his tools, dropped a bomb where it might have done us some injury, but Professor Bumper, who was a fellow passenger, on his way to South America to look for the lost city of Pelone, calmly picked up the bomb, plucked out the fuse, and saved us from bad injuries, if not death. And he was as cool about it as an ice-cream cone. Surely you remember!" "Swyington Bumper! Oh, yes, now I remember him," said Ned Newton. "But what has he got to do with a wonderful story? Has he written more about the lost city of Pelone? If he has I don't see anything so very wonderful in that." "There isn't," agreed Tom. "But this isn't that," and Tom picked up the magazine and leafed it to find the article he had been reading. "Let's have a look at it," suggested Ned. "You act as though you might be vitally interested in it. Maybe you're thinking of joining forces with the professor again, as you did when you dug the big tunnel." "Oh, no. I haven't any such idea," Tom said. "I've got enough work laid out now to keep me in Shopton for the next year. I have no notion of going anywhere with Professor Bumper. Yet I can't help being impressed by this," and, having found the article in the magazine to which he referred, he handed it to his chum. "Why, it's by Bumper himself!" exclaimed Ned. "Yes. Though there's nothing remarkable in that, seeing that he is constantly contributing articles to various publications or writing books. It's the story itself that's so wonderful. To save you the trouble of wading through a lot of scientific detail, which I know you don't care about, I'll tell you that the story is about a queer idol of solid gold, weighing many pounds, and, in consequence, of great value." "Of solid gold you say?" asked Ned eagerly. "That's it. Got on your banking air already," Tom laughed. "To sum it up for you--notice I use the word 'sum,' which is very appropriate for a bank--the professor has got on the track of another lost or hidden city. This one, the name of which doesn't appear, is in the Copan valley of Honduras, and----" "Copan," interrupted Ned. "It sounds like the name of some new floor varnish." "Well, it isn't, though it might be," laughed Tom. "Copan is a city, in the Department of Copan, near the boundary between Honduras and Guatemala. A fact I learned from the article and not because I remembered my geography." "I was going to say," remarked Ned with a smile, "that you were coming it rather strong on the school-book stuff." "Oh, it's all plainly written down there," and Tom waved toward the magazine at which Ned was looking. "As you'll see, if you take the trouble to go through it, as I did, Copan is, or maybe was, for all I know, one of the most important centers of the Mayan civilization." "What's Mayan?" asked Ned. "You see I'm going to imbibe my information by the deductive rather than the excavative process," he added with a laugh. "I see," laughed Tom. "Well, Mayan refers to the Mayas, an aboriginal people of Yucatan. The Mayas had a peculiar civilization of their own, thousands of years ago, and their calendar system was so involved----" "Never mind about dates," again interrupted Ned. "Get down to brass tacks. I'm willing to take your word for it that there's a Copan valley in Honduras. But what has your friend Professor Bumper to do with it?" "This. He has come across some old manuscripts, or ancient document records, referring to this valley, and they state, according to this article he has written for the magazine, that somewhere in the valley is a wonderful city, traces of which have been found twenty to forty feet below the surface, on which great trees are growing, showing that the city was covered hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago." "But where does the idol of gold come in?" "I'm coming to that," said Tom. "Though, if Professor Bumper has his way, the idol will be coming out instead of coming in." "You mean he wants to get it and take it away from the Copan valley, Tom?" "That's it, Ned. It has great value not only from the amount of pure gold that is in it, but as an antique. I fancy the professor is more interested in that aspect of it. But he's written a wonderful story, telling how he happened to come across the ancient manuscripts in the tomb of some old Indian whose mummy he unearthed on a trip to Central America. "Then he tells of the trouble he had in discovering how to solve the key to the translation code; but when he did, he found a great story unfolded to him. "This story has to do with the hidden city, and tells of the ancient civilization of those who lived in the Copan valley thousands of years ago. The people held this idol of gold to be their greatest treasure, and they put to death many of other tribes who sought to steal it." "Whew!" whistled Ned. "That IS some yarn. But what is Professor Bumper going to do about it?" "I don't know. The article seems to be written with an idea of interesting scientists and research societies, so that they will raise money to conduct a searching expedition. "Perhaps by this time the party may be organized--this magazine is several months old. I have been so busy on my stabilizer patent that I haven't kept up with current literature. Take it home and read it! Ned. That is if you're through telling me about my affairs," for Ned, who had formerly worked in the Shopton bank, had recently been made general financial manager of the interests of Tom and his father. The two were inventors and proverbially poor business men, though they had amassed a fortune. "Your financial affairs are all right, Tom," said Ned. "I have just been going over the books, and I'll submit a detailed report later." The telephone bell rang and Tom picked up the instrument from the desk. As he answered in the usual way and then listened a moment, a strange look came over his face. "Well, this certainly is wonderful!" he exclaimed, in much the same manner as when he had finished reading the article about the idol. "It certainly is a strange coincidence," he added, speaking in an aside to Ned while he himself still listened to what was being told to him over the telephone wire. CHAPTER II PROFESSOR BUMPER ARRIVES "What's the matter, Tom? What is it?" asked Ned Newton, attracted by the strange manner of his chum at the telephone. "Has anything happened?" But the young inventor was too busy listening to the unseen speaker to answer his chum, even if he heard what Ned remarked, which is doubtful. "Well, I might as well wait until he is through," mused Ned, as he started to leave the room. Then as Tom motioned to him to remain, he murmured: "He may have something to say to me later. But I wonder who is talking to him." There was no way of finding out, however, until Tom had a chance to talk to Ned, and at present the young scientist was eagerly listening to what came over the wire. Occasionally Ned could hear him say: "You don't tell me! That is surprising! Yes--yes! Of course if it's true it means a big thing, I can understand that. What's that? No, I couldn't make a promise like that. I'm sorry, but----" Then the person at the other end of the wire must have plunged into something very interesting and absorbing, for Tom did not again interrupt by interjected remarks. Tom Swift, as has been said, was an inventor, as was his father. Mr. Swift was now rather old and feeble, taking only a nominal part in the activities of the firm made up of himself and his son. But his inventions were still used, many of them being vital to the business and trade of this country. Tom and his father lived in the village of Shopton, New York, and their factories covered many acres of ground. Those who wish to read of the earliest activities of Tom in the inventive line are referred to the initial volume, "Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle." From then on he and his father had many and exciting adventures. In a motor boat, an airship, and a submarine respectively the young inventor had gone through many perils. On some of the trips his chum, Ned Newton, accompanied him, and very often in the party was a Mr. Wakefield Damon, who had a curious habit of "blessing" everything that happened to strike his fancy. Besides Tom and his father, the Swift household was made up of Eradicate Sampson, a colored man-of-all-work, who, with his mule Boomerang, did what he could to keep the grounds around the house in order. There was also Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, Tom's mother being dead. Mr. Damon, living in a neighboring town, was a frequent visitor in the Swift home. Mary Nestor, a girl of Shopton, might also be mentioned. She and Tom were more than just good friends. Tom had an idea that some day----. But there, I promised not to tell that part, at least until the young people themselves were ready to have a certain fact announced. From one activity to another had Tom Swift gone, now constructing some important invention for himself, as among others, when he made the photo-telephone, or developed a great searchlight which he presented to the Government for use in detecting smugglers on the border. The book immediately preceding this is called "Tom Swift and His Big Tunnel," and deals with the efforts of the young inventor to help a firm of contractors penetrate a mountain in Peru. How this was done and how, incidentally, the lost city of Pelone was discovered, bringing joy to the heart of Professor Swyington Bumper, will be found fully set forth in the book. Tom had been back from the Peru trip for some months, when we again find him interested in some of the work of Professor Bumper, as set forth in the magazine mentioned. "Well, he certainly is having some conversation," reflected Ned, as, after more than five minutes, Tom's ear was still at the receiver of the instrument, into the transmitter of which he had said only a few words. "All right," Tom finally answered, as he hung the receiver up, "I'll be here," and then he turned to Ned, whose curiosity had been growing with the telephone talk, and remarked: "That certainly was wonderful!" "What was?" asked Ned. "Do you think I'm a mind reader to be able to guess?" "No, indeed! I beg your pardon. I'll tell you at once. But I couldn't break away. It was too important. To whom do you think I was talking just then?" "I can imagine almost any one, seeing I know something of what you have done. It might be almost anybody from some person you met up in the caves of ice to a red pygmy from the wilds of Africa." "I'm afraid neither of them would be quite up to telephone talk yet," laughed Tom. "No, this was the gentleman who wrote that interesting article about the idol of gold," and he motioned to the magazine Ned held in his hand. "You don't mean Professor Bumper!" "That's just whom I do mean." "What did he want? Where did he call from?" "He wants me to help organize an expedition to go to Central America--to the Copan valley, to be exact--to look for this somewhat mythical idol of gold. Incidentally the professor will gather in any other antiques of more or less value, if he can find any, and he hopes, even if he doesn't find the idol, to get enough historical material for half a dozen books, to say nothing of magazine articles." "Where did he call from; did you say?" "I didn't say. But it was a long-distance call from New York. The Professor stopped off there on his way from Boston, where he has been lecturing before some society. And now he's coming here to see me," finished Tom. "What! Is he going to lecture here?" cried Ned. "If he is, and spouts a whole lot of that bone-dry stuff about the ancient Mayan civilization and their antiquities, with side lights on how the old-time Indians used to scalp their enemies, I'm going to the moving pictures! I'm willing to be your financial manager, Tom Swift, but please don't ask me to be a high-brow. I wasn't built for that." "Nor I, Ned. The professor isn't going to lecture. He's only going to talk, he says." "What about?" "He's going to try to induce me to join his expedition to the Copan valley." "Do you feel inclined to go?" "No, Ned, I do not. I've got too many other irons in the fire. I shall have to give the professor a polite but firm refusal." "Well, maybe you're right, Tom; and yet that idol of gold--GOLD--weighing how many pounds did you say?" "Oh, you're thinking of its money value, Ned, old man!" "Yes, I'd like to see what a big chunk of gold like that would bring. It must be quite a nugget. But I'm not likely to get a glimpse of it if you don't go with the professor." "I don't see how I can go, Ned. But come over and meet the delightful gentleman when he arrives. I expect him day after to-morrow." "I'll be here," promised Ned; and then he went downtown to attend to some matters connected with his new duties, which were much less irksome than those he had had when he had been in the bank. "Well, Tom, have you heard any more about your friend?" asked Ned, two days later, as he came to the Swift home with some papers needing the signature of the young inventor and his father. "You mean----?" "Professor Bumper." "No, I haven't heard from him since he telephoned. But I guess he'll be here all right. He's very punctual. Did you see anything of my giant Koku as you came in?" "Yes, he and Eradicate were having an argument about who should move a heavy casting from one of the shops. Rad wanted to do it all alone, but Koku said he was like a baby now." "Poor Rad is getting old," said Tom with a sigh. "But he has been very faithful. He and Koku never seem to get along well together." Koku was an immense man, a veritable giant, one of two whom Tom had brought back with him after an exciting trip to a strange land. The giant's strength was very useful to the young inventor. "Now Tom, about this business of leasing to the English Government the right to manufacture that new explosive of yours," began Ned, plunging into the business at hand. "I think if you stick out a little you can get a better royalty price." "But I don't want to gouge 'em, Ned. I'm satisfied with a fair profit. The trouble with you is you think too much of money. Now----" At that moment a voice was heard in the hall of the house saying: "Now, my dear lady, don't trouble yourself. I can find my way in to Tom Swift perfectly well by myself, and while I appreciate your courtesy I do not want to trouble you." "No, don't come, Mrs. Baggert," added another voice. "Bless my hat band, I think I know my way about the house by this time!" "Mr. Damon!" ejaculated Ned. "And Professor Bumper is with him," added Tom. "Come in!" he cried, opening the hall door, to confront a bald-headed man who stood peering at our hero with bright snapping eyes, like those of some big bird spying out the land from afar. "Come in, Professor Bumper; and you too, Mr. Damon!" CHAPTER III BLESSINGS AND ENTHUSIASM Greetings and inquiries as to health having been passed, not without numerous blessings on the part of Mr. Damon, the little party gathered in the library of the home of Tom Swift sat down and looked at one another. On Professor Bumper's face there was, plainly to be seen, a look of expectation, and it seemed to be shared by Mr. Damon, who seemed eager to burst into enthusiastic talk. On the other hand Tom Swift appeared a bit indifferent. Ned himself admitted that he was frankly curious. The story of the big idol of gold had occupied his thoughts for many hours. "Well, I'm glad to see you both," said Tom again. "You got here all right, I see, Professor Bumper. But I didn't expect you to meet and bring Mr. Damon with you." "I met him on the train," explained the author of the book on the lost city of Pelone, as well as books on other antiquities. "I had no expectation of seeing him, and we were both surprised when we met on the express." "It stopped at Waterfield, Tom," explained Mr. Damon, "which it doesn't usually do, being an aristocratic sort of train, not given even to hesitating at our humble little town. There were some passengers to get off, which caused the flier to stop, I suppose. And, as I wanted to come over to see you, I got aboard." "Glad you did," voiced Tom. "Then I happened to see Professor Bumper a few seats ahead of me," went on Mr. Damon, "and, bless my scarfpin! he was coming to see you also." "Well, I'm doubly glad," answered Tom. "So here we are," went on Mr. Damon, "and you've simply got to come, Tom Swift. You must go with us!" and Mr. Damon, in his enthusiasm, banged his fist down on the table with such force that he knocked some books to the floor. Koku, the giant, who was in the hall, opened the door and in his imperfect English asked: "Master Tom knock for him bigs man?" "No," answered Tom with a smile, "I didn't knock or call you, Koku. Some books fell, that is all." "Massa Tom done called fo' me, dat's what he done!" broke in the petulant voice of Eradicate. "No, Rad, I don't need anything," Tom said. "Though you might make a pitcher of lemonade. It's rather warm." "Right away, Massa Tom! Right away!" cried the old colored man, eager to be of service. "Me help, too!" rumbled Koku, in his deep voice. "Me punch de lemons!" and away he hurried after Eradicate, fearful lest the old servant do all the honors. "Same old Rad and Koku," observed Mr. Damon with a smile. "But now, Tom, while they're making the lemonade, let's get down to business. You're going with us, of course!" "Where?" asked Tom, more from habit than because he did not know. "Where? Why to Honduras, of course! After the idol of gold! Why, bless my fountain pen, it's the most wonderful story I ever heard of! You've read Professor Bumper's article, of course. He told me you had. I read it on the train coming over. He also told me about it, and---- Well, I'm going with him, Tom Swift. "And think of all the adventures that may befall us! We'll get lost in buried cities, ride down raging torrents on a raft, fall over a cliff maybe and be rescued. Why, it makes me feel quite young again!" and Mr. Damon arose, to pace excitedly up and down the room. Up to this time Professor Bumper had said very little. He had sat still in his chair listening to Mr. Damon. But now that the latter had ceased, at least for a time, Tom and Ned looked toward the scientist. "I understand, Tom," he said, "that you read my article in the magazine, about the possibility of locating some of the lost and buried cities of Honduras?" "Yes, Ned and I each read it. It was quite wonderful." "And yet there are more wonders to tell," went on the professor. "I did not give all the details in that article. I will tell you some of them. I have brought copies of the documents with me," and he opened a small valise and took out several bundles tied with pink tape. "As Mr. Damon said," he went on while arranging his papers, "he met me on the train, and he was so taken by the story of the idol of gold that he agreed to accompany me to Central America." "On one condition!" put in the eccentric man. "What's that? You didn't make any conditions while we were talking," said the scientist. "Yes, I said I'd go if Tom Swift did." "Oh, yes. You did say that. But I don't call that a condition, for of course Tom Swift will go. Now let me tell you something more than I could impart over the telephone. "Soon after I called you up, Tom--and it was quite a coincidence that it should have been at a time when you had just finished my magazine article. Soon after that, as I was saying, I arranged to come on to Shopton. And now I'm glad we're all here together. "But how comes it, Ned Newton, that you are not in the bank?" "I've left there," explained Ned. "He's now general financial man for the Swift Company," Tom explained. "My father and I found that we could not look after the inventing and experimental end, and money matters, too, and as Ned had had considerable experience this way we made him take over those worries," and Tom laughed genially. "No worries at all, as far as the Swift Company is concerned," returned Ned. "Well, I guess you earn your salary," laughed Tom. "But now, Professor Bumper, let's hear from you. Is there anything more about this idol of gold that you can tell us?" "Plenty, Tom, plenty. I could talk all day, and not get to the end of the story. But a lot of it would be scientific detail that might be too dry for you in spite of this excellent lemonade." Between them Koku and Eradicate had managed to make a pitcher of the beverage, though Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, told Tom afterward that the two had a quarrel in the kitchen as to who should squeeze the lemons, the giant insisting that he had the better right to "punch" them. "So, not to go into too many details," went on the professor, "I'll just give you a brief outline of this story of the idol of gold. "Honduras, as you of course know, is a republic of Central America, and it gets its name from something that happened on the fourth voyage of Columbus. He and his men had had days of weary sailing and had sought in vain for shallow water in which they might come to an anchorage. Finally they reached the point now known as Cape Gracias-a-Dios, and when they let the anchor go, and found that in a short time it came to rest on the floor of the ocean, some one of the sailors--perhaps Columbus himself--is said to have remarked: "'Thank the Lord, we have left the deep waters (honduras)' that being the Spanish word for unfathomable depths. So Honduras it was called, and has been to this day. "It is a queer land with many traces of an ancient civilization, a civilization which I believe dates back farther than some in the far East. On the sculptured stones in the Copan valley there are characters which seem to resemble very ancient writing, but this pictographic writing is largely untranslatable. "Honduras, I might add, is about the size of our state of Ohio. It is rather an elevated tableland, though there are stretches of tropical forest, but it is not so tropical a country as many suppose it to be. There is much gold scattered throughout Honduras, though of late it has not been found in large quantities. "In the old days, however, before the Spaniards came, it was plentiful, so much, so that the natives made idols of it. And it is one of the largest of these idols--by name Quitzel--that I am going to seek." "Do you know where it is?" asked Ned. "Well, it isn't locked up in a safe deposit box, of that I'm sure," laughed the professor. "No, I don't know exactly where it is, except that it is somewhere in an ancient and buried city known as Kurzon. If I knew exactly where it was there wouldn't be much fun in going after it. And if it was known to others it would have been taken away long ago. "No, we've got to hunt for the idol of gold in this land of wonders where I hope soon to be. Later on I'll show you the documents that put me on the track of this idol. Enough now to show you an old map I found, or, rather, a copy of it, and some of the papers that tell of the idol," and he spread out his packet of papers on the table in front of him, his eyes shining with excitement and pleasure. Mr. Damon, too, leaned eagerly forward. "So, Tom Swift," went on the professor, "I come to you for help in this matter. I want you to aid me in organizing an expedition to go to Honduras after the idol of gold. Will you?" "I'll help you, of course," said Tom. "You may use any of my inventions you choose--my airships, my motor boats and submarines, even my giant cannon if you think you can take it with you. And as for the money part, Ned will arrange that for you. But as for going with you myself, it is out of the question. I can't. No Honduras for me!" CHAPTER IV FENIMORE BEECHER Had Tom Swift's giant cannon been discharged somewhere in the vicinity of his home it could have caused but little more astonishment to Mr. Damon and Professor Bumper than did the simple announcement of the young inventor. The professor seemed to shrink back in his chair, collapsing like an automobile tire when the air is let out. As for Mr. Damon he jumped up and cried: "Bless my----!" But that is as far as he got--at least just then. He did not seem to know what to bless, but he looked as though he would have liked to include most of the universe. "Surely you don't mean it, Tom Swift," gasped Professor Bumper at length. "Won't you come with us?" "No," said Tom, slowly. "Really I can't go. I'm working on an invention of a new aeroplane stabilizer, and if I go now it will be just at a time when I am within striking distance of success. And the stabilizer is very much needed." "If it's a question of making a profit on it, Tom," began Mr. Damon, "I can let you have some money until----" "Oh, no! It isn't the money!" cried Tom. "Don't think that for a moment. You see the European war has called for the use of a large number of aeroplanes, and as the pilots of them frequently have to fight, and so can not give their whole attention to the machines, some form of automatic stabilizer is needed to prevent them turning turtle, or going off at a wrong tangent. "So I have been working out a sort of modified gyroscope, and it seems to answer the purpose. I have already received advance orders for a number of my devices from abroad, and as they are destined to save lives I feel that I ought to keep on with my work. "I'd like to go, don't misunderstand me, but I can't go at this time. It is out of the question. If you wait a year, or maybe six months----" "No, it is impossible to wait, Tom," declared Professor Bumper. "Is it so important then to hurry?" asked Mr. Damon. "You did not mention that to me, Professor Bumper." "No, I did not have time. There are so many ends to my concerns. But, Tom Swift, you simply must go!" "I can't, my dear professor, much as I should like to." "But, Tom, think of it!" cried Mr. Damon, who was as much excited as was the little bald-headed scientist. "You never saw such an idol of gold as this. What's its name?" and he looked questioningly at the professor. "Quitzel the idol is called," supplied Professor Bumper. "And it is supposed to be in a buried city named Kurzon, somewhere in the Sierra de Merendon range of mountains, in the vicinity of the Copan valley. Copan is a city, or maybe we'll find it only a town when we get there, and it is not far from the borders of Guatemala. "Tom, if I could show you the translations I have made of the ancient documents, referring to this idol and the wonderful city over which it kept guard, I'm sure you'd come with us." "Please don't tempt me," Tom said with a laugh. "I'm only too anxious to go, and if it wasn't for the stabilizer I'd be with you in a minute. But---- Well, you'll have to get along without me. Maybe I can join you later." "What's this about the idol keeping guard over the ancient city?" asked Ned, for he was interested in strange stories. "It seems," explained the professor, "that in the early days there was a strange race of people, inhabiting Central America, with a somewhat high civilization, only traces of which remained when the Spaniards came. "But these traces, and such hieroglyphics, or, to be more exact pictographs, as I have been able to decipher from the old documents, tell of one country, or perhaps it was only a city, over which this great golden idol of Quitzel presided. "There is in some of these papers a description of the idol, which is not exactly a beauty, judged from modern standards. But the main fact is that it is made of solid gold, and may weigh anywhere from one to two tons." "Two tons of gold!" cried New Newton. "Why, if that's the case it would be worth----" and he fell to doing a sum in mental arithmetic. "I am not so concerned about the monetary value of the statue as I am about its antiquity," went on Professor Bumper. "There are other statues in this buried city of Kurzon, and though they may not be so valuable they will give me a wealth of material for my research work." "How do you know there are other statues?" asked Mr. Damon. "Because my documents tell me so. It was because the people made other idols, in opposition, as it were, to Quitzel, that their city or country was destroyed. At least that is the legend. Quitzel, so the story goes, wanted to be the chief god, and when the image of a rival was set up in the temple near him, he toppled over in anger, and part of the temple went with him, the whole place being buried in ruins. All the inhabitants were killed, and trace of the ancient city was lost forever. No, I hope not forever, for I expect to find it." "If all the people were killed, and the city buried, how did the story of Quitzel become known?" asked Mr. Damon. "One only of the priests in the temple of Quitzel escaped and set down part of the tale," said the professor. "It is his narrative, or one based on it, that I have given you." "And now, what I want to do, is to go and make a search for this buried city. I have fairly good directions as to how it may be reached. We will have little difficulty in getting to Honduras, as there are fruit steamers frequently sailing. Of course going into the interior--to the Copan valley--is going to be harder. But an expedition from a large college was recently there and succeeded, after much labor, in excavating part of a buried city. Whether or not it was Kurzon I am unable to say. "But if there was one ancient city there must be more. So I want to make an attempt. And I counted on you, Tom. You have had considerable experience in strange quarters of the earth, and you're just the one to help me. I don't need money, for I have interested a certain millionaire, and my own college will put up part of the funds." "Oh, it isn't a question of money," said Tom. "It's time." "That's just what it is with me!" exclaimed Professor Bumper. "I haven't any time to lose. My rivals may, even now, be on their way to Honduras!" "Your rivals!" cried Tom. "You didn't say anything about them!" "No, I believe I didn't. There were so many other things to talk about. But there is a rival archaeologist who would ask nothing better than to get ahead of me in this matter. He is younger than I am, and youth is a big asset nowadays." "Pooh! You're not old!" cried Mr. Damon. "You're no older than I am, and I'm still young. I'm a lot younger than some of these boys who are afraid to tackle a trip through a tropical wilderness," and he playfully nudged Tom in the ribs. "I'm not a bit afraid!" retorted the young inventor. "No, I know you're not," laughed Mr. Damon. "But I've got to say something, Tom, to stir you up. Ned, how about you? Would you go?" "I can't, unless Tom does. You see I'm his financial man now." "There you are, Tom Swift!" cried Mr. Damon. "You see you are holding back a number of persons just because you don't want to go." "I certainly wouldn't like to go without Tom," said the professor slowly. "I really need his help. You know, Tom, we would never have found the city of Pelone if it had not been for you and your marvelous powder. The conditions in the Copan valley are likely to be still more difficult to overcome, and I feel that I risk failure without your young energy and your inventive mind to aid in the work and to suggest possible means of attaining our object. Come, Tom, reconsider, and decide to make the trip." "And my promise to go was dependent on Tom's agreement to accompany us," said Mr. Damon. "Come on!" urged the professor, much as one boy might urge another to take part in a ball game. "Don't let my rival get ahead of me." "I wouldn't like to see that," Tom said slowly. "Who is he--any one I know?" "I don't believe so, Tom. He's connected with a large, new college that has plenty of money to spend on explorations and research work. Beecher is his name--Fenimore Beecher." "Beecher!" exclaimed Tom, and there was such a change in his manner that his friends could not help noticing it. He jumped to his feet, his eyes snapping, and he looked eagerly and anxiously at Professor Bumper. "Did you say his name was Fenimore Beecher?" Tom asked in a tense voice. "That's what it is--Professor Fenimore Beecher. He is really a learned young man, and thoroughly in earnest, though I do not like his manner. But he is trying to get ahead of me, which may account for my feeling." Tom Swift did not answer. Instead he hurried from the room with a murmured apology. "I'll be back in about five minutes," he said, as he went out. "Well, what's up now?" asked Mr. Damon of Ned, as the young inventor departed. "What set him off that way?" "The mention of Beecher's name, evidently. Though I never heard him mention such a person before." "Nor did I ever hear Professor Beecher speak of Tom," said the bald-headed scientist. "Well, we'll just have to wait until----" At that moment Tom came back into the room. "Gentlemen," he said, "I have reconsidered my refusal to go to the Copan valley after the idol of gold. I'm going with you!" "Good!" cried Professor Bumper. "Fine!" ejaculated Mr. Damon. "Bless my time-table! I thought you'd come around, Tom Swift." "But what about your stabilizer?" asked Ned. "I was just talking to my father about it," the young inventor replied. "He will be able to put the finishing touches on it. So I'll leave it with him. As soon as I can get ready I'll go, since you say haste is necessary, Professor Bumper." "It is, if we are to get ahead of Beecher." "Then we'll get ahead of him!" cried Tom. "I'm with you now from the start to the finish. I'll show him what I can do!" he added, while Ned and the others wondered at the sudden change in their friend's manner. CHAPTER V THE LITTLE GREEN GOD "Tom how soon can we go?" asked Professor Bumper, as he began arranging his papers, maps and documents ready to place them back in the valise. "Within a week, if you want to start that soon." "The sooner the better. A week will suit me. I don't know just what Beecher's plans are, but, he may try to get on the ground first. Though, without boasting, I may say that he has not had as much experience as I have had, thanks to you, Tom, when you helped me find the lost city of Pelone." "Well, I hope we'll be as successful this time," murmured Tom. "I don't want to see Beecher beat you." "I didn't know you knew him, Tom," said the professor. "Oh, yes, I have met him, once," and there was something in Tom's manner, though he tried to speak indifferently, that made Ned believe there was more behind his chum's sudden change of determination than had yet appeared. "He never mentioned you," went on Professor Bumper; "yet the last time I saw him I said I was coming to see you, though I did not tell him why." "No, he wouldn't be likely to speak of me," said Tom significantly. "Well, if that's all settled, I guess I'll go back home and pack up," said Mr. Damon, making a move to depart. "There's no special rush," Tom said. "We won't leave for a week. I can't get ready in much less time than that." "Bless my socks! I know that," ejaculated Mr. Damon. "But if I get my things packed I can go to a hotel to stay while my wife is away. She might take a notion to come home unexpectedly, and, though she is a dear, good soul, she doesn't altogether approve of my going off on these wild trips with you, Tom Swift. But if I get all packed, and clear out, she can't find me and she can't hold me back. She is visiting her mother now. I can send her a wire from Kurzon after I get there." "I don't believe the telegraph there is working," laughed Professor Bumper. "But suit yourself. I must go back to New York to arrange for the goods we'll have to take with us. In a week, Tom, we'll start." "You must stay to dinner," Tom said. "You can't get a train now anyhow, and father wants to meet you again. He's pretty well, considering his age. And he's much better I verily believe since I said I'd turn over to him the task of finishing the stabilizer. He likes to work." "We'll stay and take the night train back," agreed Mr. Damon. "It will be like old times, Tom," he went on, "traveling off together into the wilds. Central America is pretty wild, isn't it?" he asked, as if in fear of being disappointed on that score. "Oh, it's wild enough to suit any one," answered Professor Bumper. "Well, now to settle a few details," observed Tom. "Ned, what is the situation as regards the financial affairs of my father and myself? Nothing will come to grief if we go away, will there?" "I guess not, Tom. But are you going to take your father with you?" "No, of course not." "But you spoke of 'we.'" "I meant you and I are going." "Me, Tom?" "Sure, you! I wouldn't think of leaving you behind. You want Ned along, don't you, Professor?" "Of course. It will be an ideal party--we four. We'll have to take natives when we get to Honduras, and make up a mule pack-train for the interior. I had some thoughts of asking you to take an airship along, but it might frighten the Indians, and I shall have to depend on them for guides, as well as for porters. So it will be an old-fashioned expedition, in a way." Mr. Swift came in at this point to meet his old friends. "The boy needs a little excitement," he said. "He's been puttering over that stabilizer invention too long. I can finish the model for him in a very short time." Professor Bumper told Mr. Swift something about the proposed trip, while Mr. Damon went out with Tom and Ned to one of the shops to look at a new model aeroplane the young inventor had designed. There was a merry party around the table at dinner, though now and then Ned noticed that Tom had an abstracted and preoccupied air. "Thinking about the idol of gold?" asked Ned in a whisper to his chum, when they were about to leave the table. "The idol of gold? Oh, yes! Of course! It will be great if we can bring that back with us." But the manner in which he said this made Ned feel sure that Tom had had other thoughts, and that he had used a little subterfuge in his answer. Ned was right, as he proved for himself a little later, when, Mr. Damon and the professor having gone home, the young financial secretary took his friend to a quiet corner and asked: "What's the matter, Tom?" "Matter? What do you mean?" "I mean what made you make up your mind so quickly to go on this expedition when you heard Beecher was going?" "Oh--er--well, you wouldn't want to see our old friend Professor Bumper left, would you, after he had worked out the secret of the idol of gold? You wouldn't want some young whipper-snapper to beat him in the race, would you, Ned?" "No, of course not." "Neither would I. That's why I changed my mind. This Beecher isn't going to get that idol if I can stop him!" "You seem rather bitter against him." "Bitter? Oh, not at all. I simply don't want to see my friends disappointed." "Then Beecher isn't a friend of yours?" "Oh, I've met him, that is all," and Tom tried to speak indifferently. "Humph!" mused Ned, "there's more here than I dreamed of. I'm going to get at the bottom of it." But though Ned tried to pump Tom, he was not successful. The young inventor admitted knowing the youthful scientist, but that was all, Tom reiterating his determination not to let Professor Bumper be beaten in the race for the idol of gold. "Let me see," mused Ned, as he went home that evening. "Tom did not change his mind until he heard Beecher's name mentioned. Now this shows that Beecher had something to do with it. The only reason Tom doesn't want Beecher to get this idol or find the buried city is because Professor Bumper is after it. And yet the professor is not an old or close friend of Tom's. They met only when Tom went to dig his big tunnel. There must be some other reason." Ned did some more thinking. Then he clapped his hands together, and a smile spread over his face. "I believe I have it!" he cried. "The little green god as compared to the idol of gold! That's it. I'm going to make a call on my way home." This he did, stopping at the home of Mary Nestor, a pretty girl, who, rumor had it, was tacitly engaged to Tom. Mary was not at home, but Mr. Nestor was, and for Ned's purpose this answered. "Well, well, glad to see you!" exclaimed Mary's father. "Isn't Tom with you?" he asked a moment later, seeing that Ned was alone. "No, Tom isn't with me this evening," Ned answered. "The fact is, he's getting ready to go off on another expedition, and I'm going with him." "You young men are always going somewhere," remarked Mrs. Nestor. "Where is it to this time?" "Some place in Central America," Ned answered, not wishing to be too particular. He was wondering how he could find out what he wanted to know, when Mary's mother unexpectedly gave him just the information he was after. "Central America!" she exclaimed. "Why, Father," and she looked at her husband, "that's where Professor Beecher is going, isn't it?" "Yes, I believe he did mention something about that." "Professor Beecher, the man who is an authority on Aztec ruins?" asked Ned, taking a shot in the dark. "Yes," said Mr. Nestor. "And a mighty fine young man he is, too. I knew his father well. He was here on a visit not long ago, young Beecher was, and he talked most entertainingly about his discoveries. You remember how interested Mary was, Mother?" "Yes, she seemed to be," said Mrs. Nestor. "Tom Swift dropped in during the course of the evening," she added to Ned, "and Mary introduced him to Professor Beecher. But I can't say that Tom was much interested in the professor's talk." "No?" questioned Ned. "No, not at all. But Tom did not stay long. He left just as Mary and the professor were drawing a map so the professor could indicate where he had once made a big discovery." "I see," murmured Ned. "Well, I suppose Tom must have been thinking of something else at the time." "Very likely," agreed Mr. Nestor. "But Tom missed a very profitable talk. I was very much interested myself in what the professor told us, and so was Mary. She invited Mr. Beecher to come again. He takes after his father in being very thorough in what he does. "Sometimes I think," went on Mr. Nestor, "that Tom isn't quite steady enough. He's thinking of so many things, perhaps, that he can't get his mind down to the commonplace. I remember he once sent something here in a box labeled 'dynamite.' Though there was no explosive in it, it gave us a great fright. But Tom is a boy, in spite of his years. Professor Beecher seems much older. We all like him very much." "That's nice," said Ned, as he took his departure. He had found out what he had come to learn. "I knew it!" Ned exclaimed as he walked home. "I knew something was in the wind. The little green god of jealousy has Tom in his clutches. That's why my inventive friend was so anxious to go on this expedition when he learned Beecher was to go. He wants to beat him. I guess the professor has plainly shown that he wouldn't like anything better than to cut Tom out with Mary. Whew! that's something to think about!" CHAPTER VI UNPLEASANT NEWS Ned Newton decided to keep to himself what he had heard at the Nestor home. Not for the world would he let Tom Swift know of the situation. "That is, I won't let him know that I know," said Ned to himself, "though he is probably as well aware of the situation as I am. But it sure is queer that this Professor Beecher should have taken such a fancy to Mary, and that her father should regard him so well. That is natural, I suppose. But I wonder how Mary herself feels about it. That is the part Tom would be most interested in. "No wonder Tom wants to get ahead of this young college chap, who probably thinks he's the whole show. If he can find the buried city, and get the idol of gold, it would be a big feather in his cap. "He'd have no end of honors heaped on him, and I suppose his hat wouldn't come within three sizes of fitting him. Then he'd stand in better than ever with Mr. Nestor. And, maybe, with Mary, too, though I think she is loyal to Tom. But one never can tell. "However, I'm glad I know about it. I'll do all I can to help Tom, without letting him know that I know. And if I can do anything to help in finding that idol of gold for Professor Bumper, and, incidentally, Tom, I'll do it," and he spoke aloud in his enthusiasm. Ned, who was walking along in the darkness, clapped his open hand down on Tom's magazine he was carrying home to read again, and the resultant noise was a sharp crack. As it sounded a figure jumped from behind a tree and called tensely: "Hold on there!" Ned stopped short, thinking he was to be the victim of a holdup, but his fears were allayed when he beheld one of the police force of Shopton confronting him. "I heard what you said about gettin' the gold," went on the officer. "I was walkin' along and I heard you talkin'. Where's your pal?" "I haven't any, Mr. Newbold," answered Ned with a laugh, as he recognized the man. "Oh, pshaw! It's Ned Newton!" exclaimed the disappointed officer. "I thought you was talkin' to a confederate about gold, and figured maybe you was goin' to rob the bank." "No, nothing like that," answered Ned, still much amused. "I was talking to myself about a trip Tom Swift and I are going to take and----" "Oh, that's all right," responded the policeman. "I can understand it, if it had anything to do with Tom. He's a great boy." "Indeed he is," agreed Ned, making a mental resolve not to be so public with his thoughts in the future. He chatted for a moment with the officer, and then, bidding him good-night, walked on to his home, his mind in a whirl with conglomerate visions of buried cities, great grinning idols of gold, and rival professors seeking to be first at the goal. The next few days were busy ones for Tom, Ned and, in fact, the whole Swift household. Tom and his father had several consultations and conducted several experiments in regard to the new stabilizer, the completion of which was so earnestly desired. Mr. Swift was sure he could carry the invention to a successful conclusion. Ned was engaged in putting the financial affairs of the Swift Company in shape, so they would practically run themselves during his absence. Then, too, there was the packing of their baggage which must be seen to. Of course, the main details of the trip were left to Professor Bumper, who knew just what to do. He had told Tom and Ned that all they and Mr. Damon would have to do would be to meet him at the pier in New York, where they would find all arrangements made. One day, near the end of the week (the beginning of the next being set for the start) Eradicate came shuffling into the room where Tom was sorting out the possessions he desired to take with him, Ned assisting him in the task. "Well, Rad, what is it?" asked Tom, with businesslike energy. "I done heah, Massa Tom, dat yo' all's gwine off on a long trip once mo'. Am dat so?" "Yes, that's so, Rad." "Well, den, I'se come to ast yo' whut I'd bettah take wif me. Shall I took warm clothes or cool clothes?" "Well, if you were going, Rad," answered Tom with a smile, "you'd need cool clothes, for we're going to a sort of jungle-land. But I'm sorry to say you're not going this trip." "I---- I ain't gwine? Does yo' mean dat yo' all ain't gwine to take me, Massa Tom?" "That's it, Rad. It isn't any trip for you." "Is certain not!" broke in the voice of Koku, the giant, who entered with a big trunk Tom had sent him for. "Master want strong man like a bull. He take Koku!" "Look heah!" spluttered Eradicate, and his eyes flashed. "Yo'--yo' giant yo'--yo' may be strong laik a bull, but ya' ain't got as much sense as mah mule, Boomerang! Massa Tom don't want no sich pusson wif him. He's gwine to take me." "He take me!" cried Koku, and his voice was a roar while he beat on his mighty chest with his huge fists. Tom, seeing that the dispute was likely to be bothersome, winked at Ned and began to speak. "I don't believe you'd like it there, Rad--not where we're going. It's a bad country. Why the mosquitoes there bite holes in you--raise bumps on you as big as eggs." "Oh, good land!" ejaculated the old colored man. "Am dat so Massa Tom?" "It sure is. Then there's another kind of bug that burrows under your fingernails, and if you don't get 'em out, your fingers drop off." "Oh, good land, Massa Tom! Am dat a fact?" "It sure is. I don't want to see those things happen to you, Rad." Slowly the old colored man shook his head. "I don't mahse'f," he said. "I---- I guess I won't go." Eradicate did not stop to ask how Tom and Ned proposed to combat these two species of insects. But there remained Koku to dispose of, and he stood smiling broadly as Eradicate shuffled off. "Me no 'fraid bugs," said the giant. "No," said Tom, with a look at Ned, for he did not want to take the big man on the trip for various reasons. "No, maybe not, Koku. Your skin is pretty tough. But I understand there are deep pools of water in the land where we are going, and in them lives a fish that has a hide like an alligator and a jaw like a shark. If you fall in it's all up with you." "Dat true, Master Tom?" and Koku's voice trembled. "Well, I've never seen such a fish, I'm sure, but the natives tell about it." Koku seemed to be considering the matter. Strange as it may seem, the giant, though afraid of nothing human and brave when it came to a hand-to-claw argument with a wild animal, had a very great fear of the water and the unseen life within it. Even a little fresh-water crab in a brook was enough to send him shrieking to shore. So when Tom told of this curious fish, which many natives of Central America firmly believe in, the giant took thought with himself. Finally, he gave a sigh and said: "Me stay home and keep bad mans out of master's shop." "Yes, I guess that's the best thing for you," assented Tom with an air of relief. He and Ned had talked the matter over, and they had agreed that the presence of such a big man as Koku, in an expedition going on a more or less secret mission, would attract too much attention. "Well, I guess that clears matters up," said Tom, as he looked over a collection of rifles and small arms, to decide which to take. "We won't have them to worry about." "No, only Professor Beecher," remarked Ned, with a sharp look at his chum. "Oh, we'll dispose of him all right!" asserted Tom boldly. "He hasn't had any experience in business of this sort, and with what you and Professor Bumper and Mr. Damon know we ought to have little trouble in getting ahead of the young man." "Not to speak of your own aid," added Ned. "Oh, I'll do what I can, of course," said Tom, with an air of indifference. But Ned knew his chum would work ceaselessly to help get the idol of gold. Tom gave no sign that there was any complication in his affair with Mary Nestor, and of course Ned did not tell anything of what he knew about it. That night saw the preparations of Ned and Tom about completed. There were one or two matters yet to finish on Tom's part in relation to his business, but these offered no difficulties. The two chums were in the Swift home, talking over the prospective trip, when Mrs. Baggert, answering a ring at the front door, announced that Mr. Damon was outside. "Tell him to come in," ordered Tom. "Bless my baggage check!" exclaimed the excitable man, as he shook hands with Tom and Ned and noted the packing evidences all about. "You're ready to go to the land of wonders." "The land of wonders?" repeated Ned. "Yes, that's what Professor Bumper calls the part of Honduras we're going to. And it must be wonderful, Tom. Think of whole cities, some of them containing idols and temples of gold, buried thirty and forty feet under the surface! Wonderful is hardly the name for it!" "It'll be great!" cried Ned. "I suppose you're ready, Mr. Damon--you and the professor?" "Yes. But, Tom, I have a bit of unpleasant news for you." "Unpleasant news?" "Yes. You know Professor Bumper spoke of a rival--a man named Beecher who is a member of the faculty of a new and wealthy college." "I heard him speak of him--yes," and the way Tom said it no one would have suspected that he had any personal interest in the matter. "He isn't going to give his secret away," thought Ned. "Well, this Professor Beecher, you know," went on Mr. Damon, "also knows about the idol of gold, and is trying to get ahead of Professor Bumper in the search." "He did say something of it, but nothing was certain," remarked Tom. "But it is certain!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my toothpick, it's altogether too certain!" "How is that?" asked Tom. "Is Beecher certainly going to Honduras?" "Yes, of course. But what is worse, he and his party will leave New York on the same steamer with us!" CHAPTER VII TOM HEARS SOMETHING On hearing Mr. Damon's rather startling announcement, Tom and Ned looked at one another. There seemed to be something back of the simple statement--an ominous and portending "something." "On the same steamer with us, is he?" mused Tom. "How did you learn this?" asked Ned. "Just got a wire from Professor Bumper telling me. He asked me to telephone to you about it, as he was too busy to call up on the long distance from New York. But instead of 'phoning I decided to come over myself." "Glad you did," said Tom, heartily. "Did Professor Bumper want us to do anything special, now that it is certain his rival will be so close on his trail?" "Yes, he asked me to warn you to be careful what you did and said in reference to the expedition." "Then does he fear something?" asked Ned. "Yes, in a way. I think he is very much afraid this young Beecher will not only be first on the site of the underground city, but that he may be the first to discover the idol of gold. It would be a great thing for a young archaeologist like Beecher to accomplish a mission of this sort, and beat Professor Bumper in the race." "Do you think that's why Beecher decided to go on the same steamer we are to take?" asked Ned. "Yes, I do," said Mr. Damon. "Though from what Professor Bumper said I know he regards Professor Beecher as a perfectly honorable man, as well as a brilliant student. I do not believe Beecher or his party would stoop to anything dishonorable or underhand, though they would not hesitate, nor would we, to take advantage of every fair chance to win in the race." "No, I suppose that's right," observed Tom; but there was a queer gleam in his eye, and his chum wondered if Tom did not have in mind the prospective race between himself and Fenimore Beecher for the regard of Mary Nestor. "We'll do our best to win, and any one is at liberty to travel on the same steamer we are to take," added the young inventor, and his tone became more incisive. "It will be all the livelier with two expeditions after the same golden idol," remarked Ned. "Yes, I think we're in for some excitement," observed Tom grimly. But even he did not realize all that lay before them ere they would reach Kurzon. Mr. Damon, having delivered his message, and remarking that his preparations for leaving were nearly completed, went back to Waterfield, from there to proceed to New York in a few days with Tom and Ned, to meet Professor Bumper. "Well, I guess we have everything in pretty good shape," remarked Tom to his chum a day or so after the visit of Mr. Damon. "Everything is packed, and as I have a few personal matters to attend to I think I'll take the afternoon off." "Go to it!" laughed Ned, guessing a thing of two. "I've got a raft of stuff myself to look after, but don't let that keep you." "If there is anything I can do," began Tom, "don't hesitate to----" "Nonsense!" exclaimed Ned. "I can do it all alone. It's some of the company's business, anyhow, and I'm paid for looking after that." "All right, then I'll cut along," Tom said, and he wore a relieved air. "He's going to see Mary," observed Ned with a grin, as he observed Tom hop into his trim little roadster, which under his orders, Koku had polished and cleaned until it looked as though it had just come from the factory. A little later the trim and speedy car drew up in front of the Nestor home, and Tom bounded up on the front porch, his heart not altogether as light as his feet. "No, I'm sorry, but Mary isn't in," said Mrs. Nestor, answering his inquiry after greeting him. "Not at home?" "No, she went on a little visit to her cousin's at Fayetteville. She said something about letting you know she was going." "She did drop me a card," answered Tom, and, somehow he did not feel at all cheerful. "But I thought it wasn't until next week she was going." "That was her plan, Tom. But she changed it. Her cousin wired, asking her to advance the date, and this Mary did. There was something about a former school chum who was also to be at Myra's house--Myra is Mary's cousin you know." "Yes, I know," assented the young inventor. "And so Mary is gone. How long is she going to stay?" "Oh, about two weeks. She wasn't quite certain. It depends on the kind of a time she has, I suppose." "Yes, I suppose so," agreed Tom. "Well, if you write before I do you might say I called, Mrs. Nestor." "I will, Tom. And I know Mary will be sorry she wasn't here to take a ride with you; it's such a nice day," and the lady smiled as she looked at the speedy roadster. "Maybe--maybe you'd like to come for a spin?" asked Tom, half desperately. "No, thank you. I'm too old to be jounced around in one of those small cars." "Nonsense! She rides as easily as a Pullman sleeper." "Well, I have to go to a Red Cross meeting, anyhow, so I can't come, Tom. Thank you, just the same." Tom did not drive back immediately to his home. He wanted to do a bit of thinking, and he believed he could do it best by himself. So it was late afternoon when he again greeted Ned, who, meanwhile, had been kept very busy. "Well?" called Tom's chum. "Um!" was the only answer, and Tom called Koku to put the car away in the garage. "Something wrong," mused Ned. The next three days were crowded with events and with work. Mr. Damon came over frequently to consult with Tom and Ned, and finally the last of their baggage had been packed, certain of Tom's inventions and implements sent on by express to New York to be taken to Honduras, and then our friends themselves followed to the metropolis. "Good-bye, Tom," said his father. "Good-bye, and good luck! If you don't get the idol of gold I'm sure you'll have experiences that will be valuable to you." "We're going to get the idol of gold!" said Tom determinedly. "Look out for the bad bugs," suggested Eradicate. "We will," promised Ned. Tom's last act was to send a message to Mary Nestor, and then he, with Ned and Mr. Damon, who blessed everything in sight from the gasoline in the automobile to the blue sky overhead, started for the station. New York was reached without incident. The trio put up at the hotel where Professor Bumper was to meet them. "He hasn't arrived yet," said Tom, after glancing over the names on the hotel register and not seeing Professor Bumper's among them. "Oh, he'll be here all right," asserted Mr. Damon. "Bless my galvanic battery! he sent me a telegram at one o'clock this morning saying he'd be sure to meet us in New York. No fear of him not starting for the land of wonders." "There are some other professors registered, though," observed Ned, as he glanced at the book, noting the names of several scientists of whom he and Tom had read. "Yes. I wonder what they're doing in New York," replied Tom. "They are from New England. Maybe there's a convention going on. Well, we'll have to wait, that's all, until Professor Bumper comes." And during that wait Tom heard something that surprised him and caused him no little worry. It was when Ned came back to his room, which adjoined Tom's, that the young treasurer gave his chum the news. "I say, Tom!" Ned exclaimed. "Who do you think those professors are, whose names we saw on the register?" "I haven't the least idea." "Why, they're of Beecher's party!" "You don't mean it!" "I surely do." "How do you know?" "I happened to overhear two of them talking down in the lobby a while ago. They didn't make any secret of it. They spoke freely of going with Beecher to some ancient city in Honduras, to look for an idol of gold." "They did? But where is Beecher?" "He hasn't joined them yet. Their plans have been changed. Instead of leaving on the same steamer we are to take in the morning they are to come on a later one. The professors here are waiting for Beecher to come." "Why isn't he here now?" "Well, I heard one of the other scientists say that he had gone to a place called Fayetteville, and will come on from there." "Fayetteville!" ejaculated Tom. "Yes. That isn't far from Shopton." "I know," assented Tom. "I wonder--I wonder why he is going there?" "I can tell you that, too." "You can? You're a regular detective." "No, I just happened to overhear it. Beecher is going to call on Mary Nestor in Fayetteville, so his friends here said he told them, and his call has to do with an important matter--to him!" and Ned gazed curiously at his chum. CHAPTER VIII OFF FOR HONDURAS Just what Tom's thoughts were, Ned, of course, could not guess. But by the flush that showed under the tan of his chum's cheeks the young financial secretary felt pretty certain that Tom was a bit apprehensive of the outcome of Professor Beecher's call on Mary Nestor. "So he is going to see her about 'something important,' Ned?" "That's what some members of his party called it." "And they're waiting here for him to join them?" "Yes. And it means waiting a week for another steamer. It must be something pretty important, don't you think, to cause Beecher to risk that delay in starting after the idol of gold?" "Important? Yes, I suppose so," assented Tom. "And yet even if he waits for the next steamer he will get to Honduras nearly as soon as we do." "How is that?" "The next boat is a faster one." "Then why don't we take that? I hate dawdling along on a slow freighter." "Well, for one thing it would hardly do to change now, when all our goods are on board. And besides, the captain of the _Relstab_, on which we are going to sail, is a friend of Professor Bumper's." "Well, I'm just as glad Beecher and his party aren't going with us," resumed Ned, after a pause. "It might make trouble." "Oh, I'm ready for any trouble HE might make!" quickly exclaimed Tom. He meant trouble that might be developed in going to Honduras, and starting the search for the lost city and the idol of gold. This kind of trouble Tom and his friends had experienced before, on other trips where rivals had sought to frustrate their ends. But, in his heart, though he said nothing to Ned about it, Tom was worried. Much as he disliked to admit it to himself, he feared the visit of Professor Beecher to Mary Nestor in Fayetteville had but one meaning. "I wonder if he's going to propose to her," thought Tom. "He has the field all to himself now, and her father likes him. That's in his favor. I guess Mr. Nestor has never quite forgiven me for that mistake about the dynamite box, and that wasn't my fault. Then, too, the Beecher and Nestor families have been friends for years. Yes, he surely has the inside edge on me, and if he gets her to throw me over---- Well, I won't give up without a fight!" and Tom mentally girded himself for a battle of wits. "He's relying on the prestige he'll get out of this idol of gold if his party finds it," thought on the young inventor. "But I'll help find it first. I'm glad to have a little start of him, anyhow, even if it isn't more than two days. Though if our vessel is held back much by storms he may get on the ground first. However, that can't be helped. I'll do the best I can." These thoughts shot through Tom's mind even as Ned was asking his questions and making comments. Then the young inventor, shaking his shoulders as though to rid them of some weight, remarked: "Well, come on out and see the sights. It will be long before we look on Broadway again." When the chums returned from their sightseeing excursion, they found that Professor Bumper had arrived. "Where's Professor Bumper?" asked Ned, the next day. "In his room, going over books, papers and maps to make sure he has everything." "And Mr. Damon?" Tom did not have to answer that last question. Into the apartment came bursting the excited individual himself. "Bless my overshoes!" he cried, "I've been looking everywhere for you! Come on, there's no time to lose!" "What's the matter now?" asked Ned. "Is the hotel on fire?" "Has anything happened to Professor Bumper?" Tom demanded, a wild idea forming in his head that perhaps some one of the Beecher party had tried to kidnap the discoverer of the lost city of Pelone. "Oh, everything is all right," answered Mr. Damon. "But it's nearly time for the show to start, and we don't want to be late. I have tickets." "For what?" asked Tom and Ned together. "The movies," was the laughing reply. "Bless my loose ribs! but I wouldn't miss him for anything. He's in a new play called 'Up in a Balloon Boys.' It's great!" and Mr. Damon named a certain comic moving picture star in whose horse-play Mr. Damon took a curious interest. Tom and Ned were glad enough to go, Tom that he might have a chance to do a certain amount of thinking, and Ned because he was still boy enough to like moving pictures. "I wonder, Tom," said Mr. Damon, as they came out of the theater two hours later, all three chuckling at the remembrance of what they had seen, "I wonder you never turned your inventive mind to the movies." "Maybe I will, some day," said Tom. He spoke rather uncertainly. The truth of the matter was that he was still thinking deeply of the visit of Professor Beecher to Mary Nestor, and wondering what it portended. But if Tom's sleep was troubled that night he said nothing of it to his friends. He was up early the next morning, for they were to leave that day, and there was still considerable to be done in seeing that their baggage and supplies were safely loaded, and in attending to the last details of some business matters. While at the hotel they had several glimpses of the members of the Beecher party who were awaiting the arrival of the young professor who was to lead them into the wilds of Honduras. But our friends did not seek the acquaintance of their rivals. The latter, likewise, remained by themselves, though they knew doubtless that there was likely to be a strenuous race for the possession of the idol of gold, then, it was presumed, buried deep in some forest-covered city. Professor Bumper had made his arrangements carefully. As he explained to his friends, they would take the steamer from New York to Puerto Cortes, one of the principal seaports of Honduras. This is a town of about three thousand inhabitants, with an excellent harbor and a big pier along which vessels can tie up and discharge their cargoes directly into waiting cars. The preparations were finally completed. The party went aboard the steamer, which was a large freight vessel, carrying a limited number of passengers, and late one afternoon swung down New York Bay. "Off for Honduras!" cried Ned gaily, as they passed the Statue of Liberty. "I wonder what will happen before we see that little lady again." "Who knows?" asked Tom, shrugging his shoulders, Spanish fashion. And there came before him the vision of a certain "little lady," about whom he had been thinking deeply of late. CHAPTER IX VAL JACINTO "Rather tame, isn't it, Tom?" "Well, Ned, it isn't exactly like going up in an airship," and Tom Swift who was gazing over the rail down into the deep blue water of the Caribbean Sea, over which their vessel was then steaming, looked at his chum beside him. "No, and your submarine voyage had it all over this one for excitement," went on Ned. "When I think of that----" "Bless my sea legs!" interrupted Mr. Damon, overhearing the conversation. "Don't speak of THAT trip. My wife never forgave me for going on it. But I had a fine time," he added with a twinkle of his eyes. "Yes, that was quite a trip," observed Tom, as his mind went back to it. "But this one isn't over yet remember. And I shouldn't be surprised if we had a little excitement very soon." "What do you mean?" asked Ned. Up to this time the voyage from New York down into the tropical seas had been anything but exciting. There were not many passengers besides themselves, and the weather had been fine. At first, used as they were to the actions of unscrupulous rivals in trying to thwart their efforts, Tom and Ned had been on the alert for any signs of hidden enemies on board the steamer. But aside from a little curiosity when it became known that they were going to explore little-known portions of Honduras, the other passengers took hardly any interest in our travelers. It was thought best to keep secret the fact that they were going to search for a wonderful idol of gold. Not even the mule and ox-cart drivers, whom they would hire to take them into the wilds of the interior would be told of the real object of the search. It would be given out that they were looking for interesting ruins of ancient cities, with a view to getting such antiquities as might be there. "What do you mean?" asked Ned again, when Tom did not answer him immediately. "What's the excitement?" "I think we're in for a storm," was the reply. "The barometer is falling and I see the crew going about making everything snug. So we may have a little trouble toward this end of our trip." "Let it come!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "We're not afraid of trouble, Tom Swift, are we?" "No, to be sure we're not. And yet it looks as though the storm would be a bad one." "Then I am going to see if my books and papers are ready, so I can get them together in a hurry in case we have to take to the life-boats," said Professor Bumper, coming on deck at that moment. "It won't do to lose them. If we didn't have the map we might not be able to find----" "Ahem!" exclaimed Tom, with unnecessary emphasis it seemed. "I'll help you go over your papers, Professor," he added, and with a wink and a motion of his hand, he enjoined silence on his friend. Ned looked around for a reason for this, and observed a man, evidently of Spanish extraction, passing them as he paced up and down the deck. "What's the matter?" asked the scientist in a whisper, as the man went on. "Do you know him? Is he a----?" "I don't know anything about him," said Tom; "but it is best not to speak of our trip before strangers." "You are right, Tom," said Professor Bumper. "I'll be more careful." A storm was brewing, that was certain. A dull, sickly yellow began to obscure the sky, and the water, from a beautiful blue, turned a slate color and ran along the sides of the vessel with a hissing sound as though the sullen waves would ask nothing better than to suck the craft down into their depths. The wind, which had been freshening, now sang in louder tones as it hummed through the rigging and the funnel stays and bowled over the receiving conductors of the wireless. Sharp commands from the ship's officers hastened the work of the crew in making things snug, and life lines were strung along deck for the safety of such of the passengers as might venture up when the blow began. The storm was not long in coming. The howling of the wind grew louder, flecks of foam began to separate themselves from the crests of the waves, and the vessel pitched, rolled and tossed more violently. At first Tom and his friends thought they were in for no more than an ordinary blow, but as the storm progressed, and the passengers became aware of the anxiety on the part of the officers and crew, the alarm spread among them. It really was a violent storm, approaching a hurricane in force, and at one time it seemed as though the craft, having been heeled far over under a staggering wave that swept her decks, would not come back to an even keel. There was a panic among some of the passengers, and a few excited men behaved in a way that caused prompt action on the part of the first officer, who drove them back to the main cabin under threat of a revolver. For the men were determined to get to the lifeboats, and a small craft would not have had a minute to live in such seas as were running. But the vessel proved herself sturdier than the timid ones had dared to hope, and she was soon running before the blast, going out of her course, it is true, but avoiding the danger among the many cays, or small islands, that dot the Caribbean Sea. There was nothing to do but to let the storm blow itself out, which it did in two days. Then came a period of delightful weather. The cargo had shifted somewhat, which gave the steamer a rather undignified list. This, as well as the loss of a deckhand overboard, was the effect of the hurricane, and though the end of the trip came amid sunshine and sweet-scented tropical breezes, many could not forget the dangers through which they had passed. In due time Tom and his party found themselves safely housed in the small hotel at Puerto Cortes, their belongings stored in a convenient warehouse and themselves, rather weary by reason of the stress of weather, ready for the start into the interior wilds of Honduras. "How are we going to make the trip?" asked Ned, as they sat at supper, the first night after their arrival, eating of several dishes, the red-pepper condiments of which caused frequent trips to the water pitcher. "We can go in two ways, and perhaps we shall find it to our advantage to use both means," said Professor Bumper. "To get to this city of Kurzon," he proceeded in a low voice, so that none of the others in the dining-room would hear them, "we will have to go either by mule back or boat to a point near Copan. As near as I can tell by the ancient maps, Kurzon is in the Copan valley. "Now the Chamelecon river seems to run to within a short distance of there, but there is no telling how far up it may be navigable. If we can go by boat it will be much more comfortable. Travel by mules and ox-carts is slow and sure, but the roads are very bad, as I have heard from friends who have made explorations in Honduras. "And, as I said, we may have to use both land and water travel to get us where we want to go. We can proceed as far as possible up the river, and then take to the mules." "What about arranging for boats and animals?" asked Tom. "I should think----" He suddenly ceased talking and reached for the water, taking several large swallows. "Whew!" he exclaimed, when he could catch his breath. "That was a hot one." "What did you do?" asked Ned. "Bit into a nest of red pepper. Guess I'll have to tell that cook to scatter his hits. He's bunching 'em too much in my direction," and Tom wiped the tears from his eyes. "To answer your question," said Professor Bumper, "I will say that I have made partial arrangements for men and animals, and boats if it is found feasible to use them. I've been in correspondence with one of the merchants here, and he promised to make arrangements for us." "When do we leave?" asked Mr. Damon. "As soon as possible. I am not going to risk anything by delay," and it was evident the professor referred to his young rival whose arrival might be expected almost any time. As the party was about to leave the table, they were approached by a tall, dignified Spaniard who bowed low, rather exaggeratedly low, Ned thought, and addressed them in fairly good English. "Your pardons, Senors," he began, "but if it will please you to avail yourself of the humble services of myself, I shall have great pleasure in guiding you into the interior. I have at my command both mules and boats." "How do you know we are going into the interior?" asked Tom, a bit sharply, for he did not like the assurance of the man. "Pardon, Senor. I saw that you are from the States. And those from the States do not come to Honduras except for two reasons. To travel and make explorations or to start trade, and professors do not usually engage in trade," and he bowed to Professor Bumper. "I saw your name on the register," he proceeded, "and it was not difficult to guess your mission," and he flashed a smile on the party, his white teeth showing brilliantly beneath his small, black moustache. "I make it my business to outfit traveling parties, either for business, pleasure or scientific matters. I am, at your service, Val Jacinto," and he introduced himself with another low bow. For a moment Tom and his friends hardly knew how to accept this offer. It might be, as the man had said, that he was a professional tour conductor, like those who have charge of Egyptian donkey-boys and guides. Or might he not be a spy? This occurred to Tom no less than to Professor Bumper. They looked at one another while Val Jacinto bowed again and murmured: "At your service!" "Can you provide means for taking us to the Copan valley?" asked the professor. "You are right in one respect. I am a scientist and I purpose doing some exploring near Copan. Can you get us there?" "Most expensively--I mean, most expeditionlessly," said Val Jacinto eagerly. "Pardon my unhappy English. I forget at times. The charges will be most moderate. I can send you by boat as far as the river travel is good, and then have mules and ox-carts in waiting." "How far is it?" asked Tom. "A hundred miles as the vulture flies, Senor, but much farther by river and road. We shall be a week going." "A hundred miles in a week!" groaned Ned. "Say, Tom, if you had your aeroplane we'd be there in an hour." "Yes, but we haven't it. However, we're in no great rush." "But we must not lose time," said Professor Bumper. "I shall consider your offer," he added to Val Jacinto. "Very good, Senor. I am sure you will be pleased with the humble service I may offer you, and my charges will be small. Adios," and he bowed himself away. "What do you think of him?" asked Ned, as they went up to their rooms in the hotel, or rather one large room, containing several beds. "He's a pretty slick article," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my check-book! but he spotted us at once, in spite of our secrecy." "I guess these guide purveyors are trained for that sort of thing," observed the scientist. "I know my friends have often spoken of having had the same experience. However, I shall ask my friend, who is in business here, about this Val Jacinto, and if I find him all right we may engage him." Inquiries next morning brought the information, from the head of a rubber exporting firm with whom the professor was acquainted, that the Spaniard was regularly engaged in transporting parties into the interior, and was considered efficient, careful and as honest as possible, considering the men he engaged as workers. "So we have decided to engage you," Professor Bumper informed Val Jacinto the afternoon following the meeting. "I am more than pleased, Senor. I shall take you into the wilds of Honduras. At your service!" and he bowed low. "Humph! I don't just like the way our friend Val says that," observed Tom to Ned a little later. "I'd have been better pleased if he had said he'd guide us into the wilds and out again." If Tom could have seen the crafty smile on the face of the Spaniard as the man left the hotel, the young inventor might have felt even less confidence in the guide. CHAPTER X IN THE WILDS "All aboard! Step lively now! This boat makes no stops this side of Boston!" cried Ned Newton gaily, as he got into one of the several tree canoes provided for the transportation of the party up the Chamelecon river, for the first stage of their journey into the wilds of Honduras. "All aboard! This reminds me of my old camping days, Tom." It brought those days back, in a measure, to Tom also. For there were a number of canoes filled with the goods of the party, while the members themselves occupied a larger one with their personal baggage. Strong, half-naked Indian paddlers were in charge of the canoes which were of sturdy construction and light draft, since the river, like most tropical streams, was of uncertain depths, choked here and there with sand bars or tropical growths. Finding that Val Jacinto was regularly engaged in the business of taking explorers and mine prospectors into the interior, Professor Bumper had engaged the man. He seemed to be efficient. At the promised time he had the canoes and paddlers on hand and the goods safely stowed away while one big craft was fitted up as comfortably as possible for the men of the party. As Ned remarked, it did look like a camping party, for in the canoes were tents, cooking utensils and, most important, mosquito canopies of heavy netting. The insect pests of Honduras, as in all tropical countries, are annoying and dangerous. Therefore it was imperative to sleep under mosquito netting. On the advice of Val Jacinto, who was to accompany them, the travelers were to go up the river about fifty miles. This was as far as it would be convenient to use the canoes, the guide told Tom and his friends, and from there on the trip to the Copan valley would be made on the backs of mules, which would carry most of the baggage and equipment. The heavier portions would be transported in ox-carts. As Professor Bumper expected to do considerable excavating in order to locate the buried city, or cities, as the case might be, he had to contract for a number of Indian diggers and laborers. These could be hired in Copan, it was said. The plan, therefore, was to travel by canoes during the less heated parts of the day, and tie up at night, making camp on shore in the net-protected tents. As for the Indians, they did not seem to mind the bites of the insects. They sometimes made a smudge fire, Val Jacinto had said, but that was all. "Well, we haven't seen anything of Beecher and his friends," remarked the young inventor as they were about to start. "No, he doesn't seem to have arrived," agreed Professor Bumper. "We'll get ahead of him, and so much the better. "Well, are we all ready to start?" he continued, as he looked over the little flotilla which carried his party and his goods. "The sooner the better!" cried Tom, and Ned fancied his chum was unusually eager. "I guess he wants to make good before Beecher gets the chance to show Mary Nestor what he can do," thought Ned. "Tom sure is after that idol of gold." "You may start, Senor Jacinto," said the professor, and the guide called something in Indian dialect to the rowers. Lines were cast off and the boats moved out into the stream under the influence of the sturdy paddlers. "Well, this isn't so bad," observed Ned, as he made himself comfortable in his canoe. "How about it, Tom?" "Oh, no. But this is only the beginning." A canopy had been arranged over their boat to keep off the scorching rays of the sun. The boat containing the exploring party and Val Jacinto took the lead, the baggage craft following. At the place where it flowed into the bay on which Puerto Cortes was built, the stream was wide and deep. The guide called something to the Indians, who increased their stroke. "I tell them to pull hard and that at the end of the day's journey they will have much rest and refreshment," he translated to Professor Bumper and the others. "Bless my ham sandwich, but they'll need plenty of some sort of refreshment," said Mr. Damon, with a sigh. "I never knew it to be so hot." "Don't complain yet," advised Tom, with a laugh. "The worst is yet to come." It really was not unpleasant traveling, aside from the heat. And they had expected that, coming as they had to a tropical land. But, as Tom said, what lay before them might be worse. In a little while they had left behind them all signs of civilization. The river narrowed and flowed sluggishly between the banks which were luxuriant with tropical growth. Now and then some lonely Indian hut could be seen, and occasionally a craft propelled by a man who was trying to gain a meager living from the rubber forest which hemmed in the stream on either side. As the canoe containing the men was paddled along, there floated down beside it what seemed to be a big, rough log. "I wonder if that is mahogany," remarked Mr. Damon, reaching over to touch it. "Mahogany is one of the most valuable woods of Honduras, and if this is a log of that nature---- "Bless my watch chain!" he suddenly cried. "It's alive!" And the "log" was indeed so, for there was a sudden flash of white teeth, a long red opening showed, and then came a click as an immense alligator, having opened and closed his mouth, sank out of sight in a swirl of water. Mr. Damon drew back so suddenly that he tilted the canoe, and the black paddlers looked around wonderingly. "Alligator," explained Jacinto succinctly, in their tongue. "Ugh!" they grunted. "Bless my--bless my----" hesitated Mr. Damon, and for one of the very few times in his life his language failed him. "Are there many of them hereabouts?" asked Ned, looking back at the swirl left by the saurian. "Plenty," said the guide, with a shrug of his shoulders. He seemed to do as much talking that way, and with his hands, as he did in speech. "The river is full of them." "Dangerous?" queried Tom. "Don't go in swimming," was the significant advice. "Wait, I'll show you," and he called up the canoe just behind. In this canoe was a quantity of provisions. There was a chunk of meat among other things, a gristly piece, seeing which Mr. Damon had objected to its being brought along, but the guide had said it would do for fish bait. With a quick motion of his hand, as he sat in the awning-covered stern with Tom, Ned and the others, Jacinto sent the chunk of meat out into the muddy stream. Hardly a second later there was a rushing in the water as though a submarine were about to come up. An ugly snout was raised, two rows of keen teeth snapped shut as a scissors-like jaw opened, and the meat was gone. "See!" was the guide's remark, and something like a cold shiver of fear passed over the white members of the party. "This water is not made in which to swim. Be careful!" "We certainly shall," agreed Tom. "They're fierce." "And always hungry," observed Jacinto grimly. "And to think that I--that I nearly had my hand on it," murmured Mr. Damon. "Ugh! Bless my eyeglasses!" "The alligator nearly had your hand," said the guide. "They can turn in the water like a flash, wherefore it is not wise to pat one on the tail lest it present its mouth instead." They paddled on up the river, the dusky Indians now and then breaking out into a chant that seemed to give their muscles new energy. The song, if song it was, passed from one boat to the other, and as the chant boomed forth the craft shot ahead more swiftly. They made a landing about noon, and lunch was served. Tom and his friends were hungry in spite of the heat. Moreover, they were experienced travelers and had learned not to fret over inconveniences and discomforts. The Indians ate by themselves, two acting as servants to Jacinto and the professor's party. As is usual in traveling in the tropics, a halt was made during the heated middle of the day. Then, as the afternoon shadows were waning, the party again took to the canoes and paddled on up the river. "Do you know of a good place to stop during the night?" asked Professor Bumper of Jacinto. "Oh, yes; a most excellent place. It is where I always bring scientific parties I am guiding. You may rely on me." It was within an hour of dusk--none too much time to allow in which to pitch camp in the tropics, where night follows day suddenly--when a halt was called, as a turn of the river showed a little clearing on the edge of the forest-bound river. "We stay here for the night," said Jacinto. "It is a good place." "It looks picturesque enough," observed Mr. Damon. "But it is rather wild." "We are a good distance from a settlement," agreed the guide. "But one can not explore--and find treasure in cities," and he shrugged his shoulders again. "Find treasure? What do you mean?" asked Tom quickly. "Do you think that we----?" "Pardon, Senor," replied Jacinto softly. "I meant no offense. I think that all you scientific parties will take treasure if you can find it." "We are looking for traces of the old Honduras civilization," put in Professor Bumper. "And doubtless you will find it," was the somewhat too courteous answer of the guide. "Make camp quickly!" he called to the Indians in their tongue. "You must soon get under the nets or you will be eaten alive!" he told Tom. "There are many mosquitoes here." The tents were set up, smudge fires built and supper quickly prepared. Dusk fell rapidly, and as Tom and Ned walked a little way down toward the river before turning in under the mosquito canopies, the young financial man said: "Sort of lonesome and gloomy, isn't it, Tom?" "Yes. But you didn't expect to find a moving picture show in the wilds of Honduras, did you?" "No, and yet-- Look out! What's that?" suddenly cried Ned, as a great soft, black shadow seemed to sweep out of a clump of trees toward him. Involuntarily he clutched Tom's arm and pointed, his face showing fear in the fast-gathering darkness. CHAPTER XI THE VAMPIRES Tom Swift looked deliberately around. It was characteristic of him that, though by nature he was prompt in action, he never acted so hurriedly as to obscure his judgment. So, though now Ned showed a trace of strange excitement, Tom was cool. "What is it?" asked the young inventor. "What's the matter? What did you think you saw, Ned; another alligator?" "Alligator? Nonsense! Up on shore? I saw a black shadow, and I didn't THINK I saw it, either. I really did." Tom laughed quietly. "A shadow!" he exclaimed. "Since when were you afraid of shadows, Ned?" "I'm not afraid of ordinary shadows," answered Ned, and in his voice there was an uncertain tone. "I'm not afraid of my shadow or yours, Tom, or anybody's that I can see. But this wasn't any human shadow. It was as if a great big blob of wet darkness had been waved over your head." "That's a queer explanation," Tom said in a low voice. "A great big blob of wet darkness!" "But that just describes it," went on Ned, looking up and around. "It was just as if you were in some dark room, and some one waved a wet velvet cloak over your head--spooky like! It didn't make a sound, but there was a smell as if a den of some wild beast was near here. I remember that odor from the time we went hunting with your electric rifle in the jungle, and got near the den in the rocks where the tigers lived." "Well, there is a wild beast smell all around here," admitted Tom, sniffing the air. "It's the alligators in the river I guess. You know they have an odor of musk." "Do you mean to say you didn't feel that shadow flying over us just now?" asked Ned. "Well, I felt something sail through the air, but I took it to be a big bird. I didn't pay much attention. To tell you the truth I was thinking about Beecher--wondering when he would get here," added Tom quickly as if to forestall any question as to whether or not his thoughts had to do with Beecher in connection with Tom's affair of the heart. "Well it wasn't a bird--at least not a regular bird," said Ned in a low voice, as once more he looked at the dark and gloomy jungle that stretched back from the river and behind the little clearing where the camp had been made. "Come on!" cried Tom, in what he tried to make a cheerful voice. "This is getting on your nerves, Ned, and I didn't know you had any. Let's go back and turn in. I'm dog-tired and the mosquitoes are beginning to find that we're here. Let's get under the nets. Then the black shadows won't get you." Not at all unwilling to leave so gloomy a scene, Ned, after a brief glance up and down the dark river, followed his chum. They found Professor Bumper and Mr. Damon in their tent, a separate one having been set up for the two men adjoining that of the youths. "Bless my fountain pen!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he caught sight of Tom and Ned in the flickering light of the smudge fire between the two canvas shelters. "We were just wondering what had become of you." "We were chasing shadows!" laughed Tom. "At least Ned was. But you look cozy enough in there." It did, indeed, look cheerful in contrast to the damp and dark jungle all about. Professor Bumper, being an experienced traveler, knew how to provide for such comforts as were possible. Folding cots had been opened for himself, Mr. Damon and the guide to sleep on, others, similar, being set up in the tent where Tom and Ned were to sleep. In the middle of the tent the professor had made a table of his own and Mr. Damon's suit cases, and on this placed a small dry battery electric light. He was making some notes, doubtless for a future book. Jacinto was going about the camp, seeing that the Indians were at their duties, though most of them had gone directly to sleep after supper. "Better get inside and under the nets," advised Professor Bumper to Tom and Ned. "The mosquitoes here are the worst I ever saw." "We're beginning to believe that," returned Ned, who was unusually quiet. "Come on, Tom. I can't stand it any longer. I'm itching in a dozen places now from their bites." As Tom and Ned had no wish for a light, which would be sure to attract insects, they entered their tent in the dark, and were soon stretched out in comparative comfort. Tom was just on the edge of a deep sleep when he heard Ned murmur: "I can't understand it!" "What's that?" asked the young inventor. "I say I can't understand it." "Understand what?" "That shadow. It was real and yet----" "Oh, go to sleep!" advised Tom, and, turning over, he was soon breathing heavily and regularly, indicating that he, at least, had taken his own advice. Ned, too, finally succumbed to the overpowering weariness of the first day of travel, and he, too, slept, though it was an uneasy slumber, disturbed by a feeling as though some one were holding a heavy black quilt over his head, preventing him from breathing. The feeling, sensation or dream--whatever it was--perhaps a nightmare--became at last so real to Ned that he struggled himself into wakefulness. With an effort he sat up, uttering an inarticulate cry. To his surprise he was answered. Some one asked: "What is the matter?" "Who--who are you?" asked Ned quickly, trying to peer through the darkness. "This is Jacinto--your guide," was the soft answer. "I was walking about camp and, hearing you murmuring, I came to your tent. Is anything wrong?" For a moment Ned did not answer. He listened and could tell by the continued heavy and regular breathing of his chum that Tom was still asleep. "Are you in our tent?" asked Ned, at length: "Yes," answered Jacinto. "I came in to see what was the matter with you. Are you ill?" "No, of course not," said Ned, a bit shortly. "I--I had a bad dream, that was all. All right now." "For that I am glad. Try to get all the sleep you can, for we must start early to avoid the heat of the day," and there was the sound of the guide leaving and arranging the folds of the mosquito net behind him to keep out the night-flying insects. Once more Ned composed himself to sleep, and this time successfully, for he did not have any more unpleasant dreams. The quiet of the jungle settled down over the camp, at least the comparative quiet of the jungle, for there were always noises of some sort going on, from the fall of some rotten tree limb to the scream or growl of a wild beast, while, now and again, from the river came the pig-like grunts of the alligators. It was about two o'clock in the morning, as they ascertained later, when the whole camp--white travelers and all--was suddenly awakened by a wild scream. It seemed to come from one of the natives, who called out a certain word ever and over again. To Tom and Ned it sounded like: "Oshtoo! Oshtoo! Oshtoo!" "What's the matter?" cried Professor Bumper. "The vampires!" came the answering voice of Jacinto. "One of the Indians has been attacked by a big vampire bat! Look out, every one! It may be a raid by the dangerous creatures! Be careful!" Notwithstanding this warning Ned stuck his head out of the tent. The same instant he was aware of a dark enfolding shadow passing over him, and, with a shudder of fear, he jumped back. CHAPTER XII A FALSE FRIEND "What is it? What's the matter?" cried Tom springing from his cot and hastening to the side of his chum in the tent. "What has happened, Ned?" "I don't know, but Jacinto is yelling something about vampires!" "Vampires?" "Yes. Big bats. And he's warning us to be careful. I stuck my head out just now and I felt that same sort of shadow I felt this evening when we were down near the river." "Nonsense!" "I tell you I did!" At that instant Tom flashed a pocket electric lamp he had taken from beneath his pillow and in the gleam of it he and Ned saw fluttering about the tent some dark, shadow-like form, at the sight of which Tom's chum cried: "There it is! That's the shadow! Look out!" and he held up his hands instinctively to shield his face. "Shadow!" yelled Tom, unconsciously adding to the din that seemed to pervade every part of the camp. "That isn't a shadow. It's substance. It's a monster bat, and here goes for a strike at it!" He caught up his camera tripod which was near his cot, and made a swing with it at the creature that had flown into the tent through an opening it had made for itself. "Look out!" yelled Ned. "If it's a vampire it'll----" "It won't do anything to me!" shouted Tom, as he struck the creature, knocking it into the corner of the tent with a thud that told it must be completely stunned, if not killed. "But what's it all about, anyhow?" Tom asked. "What's the row?" From without the tent came the Indian cries of: "Oshtoo! Oshtoo!" Mingled with them were calls of Jacinto, partly in Spanish, partly in the Indian tongue and partly in English. "It is a raid by vampire bats!" was all Tom and Ned could distinguish. "We shall have to light fires to keep them away, if we can succeed. Every one grab up a club and strike hard!" "Come on!" cried Tom, getting on some clothes by the light of his gleaming electric light which he had set on his cot. "You're not going out there, are you?" asked Ned. "I certainly am! If there's a fight I want to be in it, bats or anything else. Here, you have a light like mine. Flash it on, and hang it somewhere on yourself. Then get a club and come on. The lights will blind the bats, and we can see to hit 'em!" Tom's plan seemed to be a good one. His lamp and Ned's had small hooks on them, so they could be carried in the upper coat pocket, showing a gleam of light and leaving the hands free for use. Out of the tents rushed the young men to find Professor Bumper and Mr. Damon before them. The two men had clubs and were striking about in the half darkness, for now the Indians had set several fires aglow. And in the gleams, constantly growing brighter as more fuel was piled on, the young inventor and his chum saw a weird sight. Circling and wheeling about in the camp clearing were many of the black shadowy forms that had caused Ned such alarm. Great bats they were, and a dangerous species, if Jacinto was to be believed. The uncanny creatures flew in and out among the trees and tents, now swooping low near the Indians or the travelers. At such times clubs would be used, often with the effect of killing or stunning the flying pests. For a time it seemed as if the bats would fairly overwhelm the camp, so many of them were there. But the increasing lights, and the attacks made by the Indians and the white travelers turned the tide of battle, and, with silent flappings of their soft, velvety wings, the bats flew back to the jungle whence they had emerged. "We are safe--for the present!" exclaimed Jacinto with a sigh of relief. "Do you think they will come back?" asked Tom. "They may--there is no telling." "Bless my speedometer!" cried Mr. Damon, "If those beasts or birds--whatever they are--come back I'll go and hide in the river and take my chances with the alligators!" "The alligators aren't much worse," asserted Jacinto with a visible shiver. "These vampire bats sometimes depopulate a whole village." "Bless my shoe laces!" cried Mr. Damon. "You don't mean to say that the creatures can eat up a whole village?" "Not quite. Though they might if they got the chance," was the answer of the Spanish guide. "These vampire bats fly from place to place in great swarms, and they are so large and blood-thirsty that a few of them can kill a horse or an ox in a short time by sucking its blood. So when the villagers find they are visited by a colony of these vampires they get out, taking their live stock with them, and stay in caves or in densely wooded places until the bats fly on. Then the villagers come back. "It was only a small colony that visited us tonight or we would have had more trouble. I do not think this lot will come back. We have killed too many of them," and he looked about on the ground where many of the uncanny creatures were still twitching in the death struggle. "Come back again!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my skin! I hope not! I've had enough of bats--and mosquitoes," he added, as he slapped at his face and neck. Indeed the party of whites were set upon by the night insects to such an extent that it was necessary to hurry back to the protection of the nets. Tom and Ned kicked outside the bat the former had killed in their tent, and then both went back to their cots. But it was some little time before they fell asleep. And they did not have much time to rest, for an early start must be made to avoid the terrible heat of the middle of the day. "Whew!" whistled Ned, as he and Tom arose in the gray dawn of the morning when Jacinto announced the breakfast which the Indian cook had prepared. "That was some night! If this is a sample of the wilds of Honduras, give me the tameness of Shopton." "Oh, we've gone through with worse than this," laughed Tom. "It's all in the day's work. We've only got started. I guess we're a bit soft, Ned, though we had hard enough work in that tunnel-digging." After breakfast, while the Indians were making ready the canoes, Professor Bumper, who, in a previous visit to Central America, had become interested in the subject, made a brief examination of some of the dead bats. They were exceptionally large, some almost as big as hawks, and were of the sub-family _Desmodidae_, the scientist said. "This is a true blood-sucking bat," went on the professor. "This," and he pointed to the nose-leaves, "is the sucking apparatus. The bat makes an opening in the skin with its sharp teeth and proceeds to extract the blood. I can well believe two or three of them, attacking a steer or mule at once, could soon weaken it so the animal would die." "And a man, too?" asked Ned. "Well a man has hands with which to use weapons, but a helpless quadruped has not. Though if a sufficient number of these bats attacked a man at the same time, he would have small chance to escape alive. Their bites, too, may be poisonous for all I know." The Indians seemed glad to leave the "place of the bats," as they called the camp site. Jacinto explained that the Indians believed a vampire could kill them while they slept, and they were very much afraid of the blood-sucking bats. There were many other species in the tropics, Professor Bumper explained, most of which lived on fruit or on insects they caught. The blood-sucking bats were comparatively few, and the migratory sort fewer still. "Well, we're on our way once more," remarked Tom as again they were in the canoes being paddled up the river. "How much longer does your water trip take, Professor?" "I hardly know," and Professor Bumper looked to Jacinto to answer. "We go two more days in the canoes," the guide answered, "and then we shall find the mules waiting for us at a place called Hidjio. From then on we travel by land until--well until you get to the place where you are going. "I suppose you know where it is?" he added, nodding toward the professor. "I am leaving that part to you." "Oh, I have a map, showing where I want to begin some excavations," was the answer. "We must first go to Copan and see what arrangements we can make for laborers. After that--well, we shall trust to luck for what we shall find." "There are said to be many curious things," went on Jacinto, speaking as though he had no interest. "You have mentioned buried cities. Have you thought what may be in them--great heathen temples, idols, perhaps?" For a moment none of the professor's companions spoke. It was as though Jacinto had tried to get some information. Finally the scientist said: "Oh, yes, we may find an idol. I understand the ancient people, who were here long before the Spaniards came, worshiped idols. But we shall take whatever antiquities we find." "Huh!" grunted Jacinto, and then he called to the paddlers to increase their strokes. The journey up the river was not very eventful. Many alligators were seen, and Tom and Ned shot several with the electric rifle. Toward the close of the third day's travel there was a cry from one of the rear boats, and an alarm of a man having fallen overboard was given. Tom turned in time to see the poor fellow's struggles, and at the same time there was a swirl in the water and a black object shot forward. "An alligator is after him!" yelled Ned. "I see," observed Tom calmly. "Hand me the rifle, Ned." Tom took quick aim and pulled the trigger. The explosive electric bullet went true to its mark, and the great animal turned over in a death struggle. But the river was filled with them, and no sooner had the one nearest the unfortunate Indian been disposed of than another made a dash for the man. There was a wild scream of agony and then a dark arm shot up above the red foam. The waters seethed and bubbled as the alligators fought under it for possession of the paddler. Tom fired bullet after bullet from his wonderful rifle into the spot, but though he killed some of the alligators this did not save the man's life. His body was not seen again, though search was made for it. The accident cast a little damper over the party, and there was a feeling of gloom among the Indians. Professor Bumper announced that he would see to it that the man's family did not want, and this seemed to give general satisfaction, especially to a brother who was with the party. Aside from being caught in a drenching storm and one or two minor accidents, nothing else of moment marked the remainder of the river journey, and at the end of the third day the canoes pulled to shore and a night camp was made. "But where are the mules we are to use in traveling to-morrow?" asked the professor of Jacinto. "In the next village. We shall march there in the morning. No use to go there at night when all is dark." "I suppose that is so." The Indians made camp as usual, the goods being brought from the canoes and piled up near the tents. Then night settled down. "Hello!" cried Tom, awakening the next morning to find the sun streaming into his tent. "We must have overslept, Ned. We were to start before old Sol got in his heavy work, but we haven't had breakfast yet." "I didn't hear any one call us," remarked Ned. "Nor I. Wonder if we're the only lazy birds." He looked from the tent in time to see Mr. Damon and the professor emerging. Then Tom noticed something queer. The canoes were not on the river bank. There was not an Indian in sight, and no evidence of Jacinto. "What's the matter?" asked the young inventor. "Have the others gone on ahead?" "I rather think they've gone back," was the professor's dry comment. "Gone back?" "Yes. The Indians seem to have deserted us at the ending of this stage of our journey." "Bless my time-table!" cried Mr. Damon. "You don't say so! What does it mean? What has becomes of our friend Jacinto?" "I'm afraid he was rather a false friend," was the professor's answer. "This is the note he left. He has gone and taken the canoes and all the Indians with him," and he held out a paper on which was some scribbled writing. CHAPTER XIII FORWARD AGAIN "What does it all mean?" asked Tom, seeing that the note was written in Spanish, a tongue which he could speak slightly but read indifferently. "This is some of Beecher's work," was Professor Bumper's grim comment. "It seems that Jacinto was in his pay." "In his pay!" cried Mr. Damon. "Do you mean that Beecher deliberately hired Jacinto to betray us?" "Well, no. Not that exactly. Here, I'll translate this note for you," and the professor proceeded to read: "Senors: I greatly regret the step I have to take, but I am a gentleman, and, having given my word, I must keep it. No harm shall come to you, I swear it on my honor!" "Queer idea of honor he has!" commented Tom, grimly. Professor Bumper read on: "Know then, that before I engaged myself to you I had been engaged by Professor Beecher through a friend to guide him into the Copan valley, where he wants to make some explorations, for what I know not, save maybe that it is for gold. I agreed, in case any rival expeditions came to lead them astray if I could. "So, knowing from what you said that you were going to this place, I engaged myself to you, planning to do what I have done. I greatly regret it, as I have come to like you, but I had given my promise to Professor Beecher's friend, that I would first lead him to the Copan valley, and would keep others away until he had had a chance to do his exploration. "So I have led you to this wilderness. It is far from the Copan, but you are near an Indian village, and you will be able to get help in a week or so. In the meanwhile you will not starve, as you have plenty of supplies. If you will travel northeast you will come again to Puerto Cortes in due season. As for the money I had from you, I deposit it to your credit, Professor Beecher having made me an allowance for steering rival parties on the wrong trail. So I lose nothing, and I save my honor. "I write this note as I am leaving in the night with the Indians. I put some harmless sedative in your tea that you might sleep soundly, and not awaken until we were well on our way. Do not try to follow us, as the river will carry us swiftly away. And, let me add, there is no personal animosity on the part of Professor Beecher against you. I should have done to any rival expedition the same as I have done with you. JACINTO." For a moment there was silence, and then Tom Swift burst out with: "Well, of all the mean, contemptible tricks of a human skunk this is the limit!" "Bless my hairbrush, but he is a scoundrel!" ejaculated Mr. Damon, with great warmth. "I'd like to start after him the biggest alligator in the river," was Ned's comment. Professor Bumper said nothing for several seconds. There was a strange look on his face, and then he laughed shortly, as though the humor of the situation appealed to him. "Professor Beecher has more gumption than I gave him credit for," he said. "It was a clever trick!" "Trick!" cried Tom. "Yes. I can't exactly agree that it was the right thing to do, but he, or some friend acting for him, seems to have taken precautions that we are not to suffer or lose money. Beecher goes on the theory that all is fair in love and war, I suppose, and he may call this a sort of scientific war." Ned wondered, as he looked at his chum, how much love there was in it. Clearly Beecher was determined to get that idol of gold. "Well, it can't be helped, and we must make the best of it," said Tom, after a pause. "True. But now, boys, let's have breakfast, and then we'll make what goods we can't take with us as snug as possible, until we can send the mule drivers after them," went on Professor Bumper. "Send the mule drivers after them?" questioned Ned. "What do you mean to do?" "Do? Why keep on, of course. You don't suppose I'm going to let a little thing like this stand between me and the discovery of Kurzon and the idol of gold, do you?" "But," began Mr. Damon, "I don't see how--" "Oh, we'll find a way," interrupted Tom. "It isn't the first time I've been pretty well stranded on an expedition of this kind, and sometimes from the same cause--the actions of a rival. Now we'll turn the tables on the other fellows and see how they like it. The professor's right--let's have breakfast. Jacinto seems to have told the truth. Nothing of ours is missing." Tom and Ned got the meal, and then a consultation was held as to what was best to be done. "We can't go on any further by water, that's sure," said Tom. "In the first place the river is too shallow, and secondly we have no canoes. So the only thing is to go on foot through the jungle." "But how can we, and carry all this stuff?" asked Ned. "We needn't carry it!" cried Professor Bumper. "We'll leave it here, where it will be safe enough, and tramp on to the nearest Indian village. There we'll hire bearers to take our stuff on until we can get mules. I'm not going to turn back!" "Good!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my rubber boots! but that's what I say--keep on!" "Oh, no! we'll never turn back," agreed Tom. "But how can we manage it?" asked Ned. "We've just got to! And when you have to do a thing, it's a whole lot easier to do than if you just feel as though you ought to. So, lively is the word!" cried Tom, in answer. "We'll pack up what we can carry and leave the rest," added the scientist. Being an experienced traveler Professor Bumper had arranged his baggage so that it could be carried by porters if necessary. Everything could be put into small packages, including the tents and food supply. "There are four of us," remarked Tom, "and if we can not pack enough along with us to enable us to get to the nearest village, we had better go back to civilization. I'm not afraid to try." "Nor I!" cried Mr. Damon. The baggage, stores and supplies that were to be left behind were made as snug as possible, and so piled up that wild beasts could do the least harm. Then a pack was made up for each one to carry. They would take weapons, of course, Tom Swift's electric rifle being the one he choose for himself. They expected to be able to shoot game on their way, and this would provide them food in addition to the concentrated supply they carried. Small tents, in sections, were carried, there being two, one for Tom and Ned and one for Mr. Damon and the professor. As far as could be learned from a casual inspection, Jacinto and his deserting Indians had taken back with them only a small quantity of food. They were traveling light and down stream, and could reach the town much more quickly than they had come away from it. "That Beecher certainly was slick," commented Professor Bumper when they were ready to start. "He must have known about what time I would arrive, and he had Jacinto waiting for us. I thought it was too good to be true, to get an experienced guide like him so easily. But it was all planned, and I was so engrossed in thinking of the ancient treasures I hope to find that I never thought of a possible trick. Well, let's start!" and he led the way into the jungle, carrying his heavy pack as lightly as did Tom. Professor Bumper had a general idea in which direction lay a number of native villages, and it was determined to head for them, blazing a path through the wilderness, so that the Indians could follow it back to the goods left behind. It was with rather heavy hearts that the party set off, but Tom's spirits could not long stay clouded, and the scientist was so good-natured about the affair and seemed so eager to do the utmost to render Beecher's trick void, that the others fell into a lighter mood, and went on more cheerfully, though the way was rough and the packs heavy. They stopped at noon under a bower they made of palms, and, spreading the nets over them, got a little rest after a lunch. Then, when the sun was less hot, they started off again. "Forward is the word!" cried Ned cheerfully. "Forward!"' They had not gone more than an hour on the second stage of their tramp when Tom, who was in the lead, following the direction laid out by the compass, suddenly stopped, and reached around for his electric rifle, which he was carrying at his back. "What is it?" asked Ned in a whisper. "I don't know, but it's some big animal there in the bushes," was Tom's low-voiced answer. "I'm ready for it." The rustling increased, and a form could be seen indistinctly. Tom aimed the deadly gun and stood ready to pull the trigger. Ned, who had a side view into the underbrush, gave a sudden cry. "Don't shoot, Tom!" he yelled. "It's a man!" CHAPTER XIV A NEW GUIDE In spite of Ned Newton's cry, Tom's finger pressed the switch-trigger of the electric rifle, for previous experience had taught him that it was sometimes the best thing to awe the natives in out-of-the-way corners of the earth. But the young inventor quickly elevated the muzzle, and the deadly missile went hissing through the air over the head of a native Indian who, at that moment, stepped from the bush. The man, startled and alarmed, shrank back and was about to run into the jungle whence he had emerged. Small wonder if he had, considering the reception he so unwittingly met with. But Tom, aware of the necessity for making inquiries of one who knew that part of the jungle, quickly called to him. "Hold on!" he shouted. "Wait a minute. I didn't mean that. I thought at first you were a tapir or a tiger. No harm intended. I say, Professor," Tom called back to the savant, "you'd better speak to him in his lingo, I can't manage it. He may be useful in guiding us to that Indian village Jacinto told us of." This Professor Bumper did, being able to make himself understood in the queer part-Spanish dialect used by the native Hondurians, though he could not, of course, speak it as fluently as had Jacinto. Professor Bumper had made only a few remarks to the man who had so unexpectedly appeared out of the jungle when the scientist gave an exclamation of surprise at some of the answers made. "Bless my moving picture!" cried Mr. Damon. "What's the matter now? Is anything wrong? Does he refuse to help us?" "No, it isn't that," was the answer. "In fact he came here to help us. Tom, this is the brother of the Indian who fell overboard and who was eaten by the alligators. He says you were very kind to try to save his brother with your rifle, and for that reason he has come back to help us." "Come back?" queried Tom. "Yes, he went off with the rest of the Indians when Jacinto deserted us, but he could not stand being a traitor, after you had tried to save his brother's life. These Indians are queer people. They don't show much emotion, but they have deep feelings. This one says he will devote himself to your service from now on. I believe we can count on him. He is deeply grateful to you, Tom." "I'm glad of that for all our sakes. But what does he say about Jacinto?" The professor asked some more questions, receiving answers, and then translated them. "This Indian, whose name is Tolpec, says Jacinto is a fraud," exclaimed Professor Bumper. "He made all the Indians leave us in the night, though many of them were willing to stay and fill the contract they had made. But Jacinto would not let them, making them desert. Tolpec went away with the others, but because of what Tom had done he planned to come back at the first chance and be our guide. Accordingly he jumped ashore from one of the canoes, and made his way to our camp. He got there, found it deserted and followed us, coming up just now." "Well I'm glad I didn't frighten him off with my gun," remarked Tom grimly. "So he agrees with us that Jacinto is a scoundrel, does he? I guess he might as well classify Professor Beecher in the same way." "I am not quite so sure of that," said Professor Bumper slowly. "I can not believe Beecher would play such a trick as this, though some over-zealous friend of his might." "Oh, of course Beecher did it!" cried Tom. "He heard we were coming here, figured out that we'd start ahead of him, and he wanted to side-track us. Well, he did it all right," and Tom's voice was bitter. "He has only side-tracked us for a while," announced Professor Bumper in cheerful tones. "What do you mean?" asked Mr. Damon. "I mean that this Indian comes just in the nick of time. He is well acquainted with this part of the jungle, having lived here all his life, and he offers to guide us to a place where we can get mules to transport ourselves and our baggage to Copan." "Fine!" cried Ned. "When can we start?" Once more the professor and the native conversed in the strange tongue, and then Professor Bumper announced: "He says it will be better for us to go back where we left our things and camp there. He will stay with us to-night and in the morning go on to the nearest Indian town and come back with porters and helpers." "I think that is good advice to follow," put in Tom, "for we do need our goods; and if we reached the settlement ourselves, we would have to send back for our things, with the uncertainty of getting them all." So it was agreed that they would make a forced march back through the jungle to where they had been deserted by Jacinto. There they would make camp for the night, and until such time as Tolpec could return with a force of porters. It was not easy, that backward tramp through the jungle, especially as night had fallen. But the new Indian guide could see like a cat, and led the party along paths they never could have found by themselves. The use of their pocket electric lights was a great help, and possibly served to ward off the attacks of jungle beasts, for as they tramped along they could hear stealthy sounds in the underbush on either side of the path, as though tigers were stalking them. For there was in the woods an animal of the leopard family, called tiger or "tigre" by the natives, that was exceedingly fierce and dangerous. But watchfulness prevented any accident, and eventually the party reached the place where they had left their goods. Nothing had been disturbed, and finally a fire was made, the tents set up and a light meal, with hot tea served. "We'll get ahead of Beecher yet," said Tom. "You seem as anxious as Professor Bumper," observed Mr. Damon. "I guess I am," admitted Tom. "I want to see that idol of gold in the possession of our party." The night passed without incident, and then, telling his new friends that he would return as soon as possible with help, Tolpec, taking a small supply of food with him, set out through the jungle again. As the green vines and creepers closed after him, and the explorers were left alone with their possessions piled around them, Ned remarked: "After all, I wonder if it was wise to let him go?" "Why not?" asked Tom. "Well, maybe he only wanted to get us back here, and then he'll desert, too. Maybe that's what he's done now, making us lose two or three days by inducing us to return, waiting for what will never happen--his return with other natives." A silence followed Ned's intimation. CHAPTER XV IN THE COILS "Ned, do you really think Tolpec is going to desert us?" asked Tom. "Well, I don't know," was the slowly given reply. "It's a possibility, isn't it?" "Yes, it is," broke in Professor Bumper. "But what if it is? We might as well trust him, and if he proves true, as I believe he will, we'll be so much better off. If he proves a traitor we'll only have lost a few days, for if he doesn't come back we can go on again in the way we started." "But that's just it!" complained Tom. "We don't want to lose any time with that Beecher chap on our trail." "I am not so very much concerned about him," remarked Professor Bumper, dryly. "Why not?" snapped out Mr. Damon. "Well, because I think he'll have just about as hard work locating the hidden city, and finding the idol of gold, as we'll have. In other words it will be an even thing, unless he gets too far ahead of us, or keeps us back, and I don't believe he can do that now. "So I thought it best to take a chance with this Indian. He would hardly have taken the trouble to come all the way back, and run the risks he did, just to delay us a few days. However, we'll soon know. Meanwhile, we'll take it easy and wait for the return of Tolpec and his friends." Though none of them liked to admit it, Ned's words had caused his three friends some anxiety, and though they busied themselves about the camp there was an air of waiting impatiently for something to occur. And waiting is about the hardest work there is. But there was nothing for it but to wait, and it might be at least a week, Professor Bumper said, before the Indian could return with a party of porters and mules to move their baggage. "Yes, Tolpec has not only to locate the settlement," Tom admitted, "but he must persuade the natives to come back with him. He may have trouble in that, especially if it is known that he has left Jacinto, who, I imagine, is a power among the tribes here." But there were only two things left to do--wait and hope. The travelers did both. Four days passed and there was no sign of Tolpec. Eagerly, and not a little anxiously, they watched the jungle path along which he had disappeared. "Oh, come on!" exclaimed Tom one morning, when the day seemed a bit cooler than its predecessor. "Let's go for a hunt, or something! I'm tired of sitting around camp." "Bless my watch hands! So am I!" cried Mr. Damon. "Let's all go for a trip. It will do us good." "And perhaps I can get some specimens of interest," added Professor Bumper, who, in addition to being an archaeologist, was something of a naturalist. Accordingly, having made everything snug in camp, the party, Tom and Ned equipped with electric rifles, and the professor with a butterfly net and specimen boxes, set forth. Mr. Damon said he would carry a stout club as his weapon. The jungle, as usual, was teeming with life, but as Ned and Tom did not wish to kill wantonly they refrained from shooting until later in the day. For once it was dead, game did not keep well in that hot climate, and needed to be cooked almost immediately. "We'll try some shots on our back trip," said the young inventor. Professor Bumper found plenty of his own particular kind of "game" which he caught in the net, transferring the specimens to the boxes he carried. There were beautiful butterflies, moths and strange bugs in the securing of which the scientist evinced great delight, though when one beetle nipped him firmly and painfully on his thumb his involuntary cry of pain was as real as that of any other person. "But I didn't let him get away," he said in triumph when he had dropped the clawing insect into the cyanide bottle where death came painlessly. "It is well worth a sore thumb." They wandered on through the jungle, taking care not to get too far from their camp, for they did not want to lose their way, nor did they want to be absent too long in case Tolpec and his native friends should return. "Well, it's about time we shot something, I think," remarked Ned, when they had been out about two hours. "Let's try for some of these wild turkeys. They ought to go well roasted even if it isn't Thanksgiving." "I'm with you," agreed Tom. "Let's see who has the best luck. But tone down the charge in your rifle and use a smaller projectile, or you'll have nothing but a bunch of feathers to show for your shot. The guns are loaded for deer." The change was made, and once more the two young men started off, a little ahead of Professor Bumper and Mr. Damon. Tom and Ned had not gone far, however, before they heard a strange cry from Mr. Damon. "Tom! Ned!" shouted the eccentric man, "Here's a monster after me! Come quick!" "A tiger!" ejaculated Tom, as he began once more to change the charge in his rifle to a larger one, running back, meanwhile, in the direction of the sound of the voice. There were really no tigers in Honduras, the jaguar being called a tiger by the natives, while the cougar is called a lion. The presence of these animals, often dangerous to man, had been indicated around camp, and it was possible that one had been bold enough to attack Mr. Damon, not through hunger, but because of being cornered. "Come on, Ned!" cried Tom. "He's in some sort of trouble!" But when, a moment later, the young inventor burst through a fringe of bushes and saw Mr. Damon standing in a little clearing, with upraised club, Tom could not repress a laugh. "Kill it, Tom! Kill it!" begged the eccentric man. "Bless my insurance policy, but it's a terrible beast!" And so it was, at first glance. For it was a giant iguana, one of the most repulsive-looking of the lizards. Not unlike an alligator in shape, with spikes on its head and tail, with a warty, squatty ridge-encrusted body, a big pouch beneath its chin, and long-toed claws, it was enough to strike terror into the heart of almost any one. Even the smaller ones look dangerous, and this one, which was about five feet long, looked capable of attacking a man and injuring him. As a matter of fact the iguanas are harmless, their shape and coloring being designed to protect them. "Don't be afraid, Mr. Damon," called Tom, still laughing. "It won't hurt you!" "I'm not so positive of that. It won't let me pass." "Just take your club and poke it out of the way," the young inventor advised. "It's only waiting to be shoved." "Then you do it, Tom. Bless my looking glass, but I don't want to go near it! If my wife could see me now she'd say it served me just right." Mr. Damon was not a coward, but the giant iguana was not pleasant to look at. Tom, with the butt of his rifle, gave it a gentle shove, whereupon the creature scurried off through the brush as though glad to make its escape unscathed. "I thought it was a new kind of alligator," said Mr. Damon with a sigh of relief. "Where is it?" asked Professor Bumper, coming up at this juncture. "A new species of alligator? Let me see it!" "It's too horrible," said Mr. Damon. "I never want to see one again. It was worse than a vampire bat!" Notwithstanding this, when he heard that it was one of the largest sized iguanas ever seen, the professor started through the jungle after it. "We can't take it with us if we get it," Tom called after his friend. "We might take the skin," answered the professor. "I have a standing order for such things from one of the museums I represent. I'd like to get it. Then they are often eaten. We can have a change of diet, you see." "We'd better follow him," said Tom to Ned. "We'll have to let the turkeys go for a while. He may get into trouble. Come on." Off they started through the jungle, trailing after the impetuous professor who was intent on capturing the iguana. The giant lizard's progress could be traced by the disturbance of the leaves and underbrush, and the professor was following as closely as possible. So fast did he go that Ned, Tom and Mr. Damon, following, lost sight of him several times, and Tom finally called: "Wait a minute. We'll all be lost if you keep this up." "I'll have him in another minute," answered the professor. "I can almost reach him now. Then---- Oh!" His voice ended in a scream that seemed to be one of terror. So sudden was the change that Tom and Ned, who were together, ahead of Mr. Damon, looked at one another in fear. "What has happened?" whispered Ned, pausing. "Don't stop to ask--come on!" shouted Tom. At that instant again came the voice of the savant. "Tom! Ned!" he gasped, rather than cried. "I'm caught in the coils! Quick--quick if you would save me!" "In the coils!" repeated Ned. "What does he mean? Can the giant iguana----" Tom Swift did not stop to answer. With his electric rifle in readiness, he leaped forward through the jungle. CHAPTER XVI A MEETING IN THE JUNGLE Before Tom and Ned reached the place whence Professor Bumper had called, they heard strange noises, other than the imploring voice of their friend. It seemed as though some great body was threshing about in the jungle, lashing the trees, bushes and leaves about, and when the two young men, followed by Mr. Damon, reached the scene they saw that, in a measure, this really accounted for what they heard. Something like a great whip was beating about close to two trees that grew near together. And then, when the storm of twigs, leaves and dirt, caused by the leaping, threshing thing ceased for a moment, the onlookers saw something that filled them with terror. Between the two trees, and seemingly bound to them by a great coiled rope, spotted and banded, was the body of Professor Bumper. His arms were pinioned to his sides and there was horror and terror on his face, that looked imploringly at the youths from above the topmost coil of those encircling him. "What is it?" cried Mr. Damon, as he ran pantingly up. "What has caught him? Is it the giant iguana?" "It's a snake--a great boa!" gasped Tom. "It has him in its coils. But it is wound around the trees, too. That alone prevents it from crushing the professor to death. "Ned, be ready with your rifle. Put in the heaviest charge, and watch your chance to fire!" The great, ugly head of the boa reared itself up from the coils which it had, with the quickness of thought, thrown about the man between the two trees. This species of snake is not poisonous, and kills its prey by crushing it to death, making it into a pulpy mass, with scarcely a bone left unbroken, after which it swallows its meal. The crushing power of one of these boas, some of which reach a length of thirty feet, with a body as large around as that of a full-grown man, is enormous. "I'm going to fire!" suddenly cried Tom. He had seen his chance and he took it. There was the faint report--the crack of the electric rifle--and the folds of the serpent seemed to relax. "I see a good chance now," added Ned, who had taken the small charge from his weapon, replacing it with a heavier one. His rifle was also discharged in the direction of the snake, and Tom saw that the hit was a good one, right through the ugly head of the reptile. "One other will be enough to make him loosen his coils!" cried Tom, as he fired again, and such was the killing power of the electric bullets that the snake, though an immense one, and one that short of decapitation could have received many injuries without losing power, seemed to shrivel up. Its folds relaxed, and the coils of the great body fell in a heap at the roots of the two trees, between which the scientist had been standing. Professor Bumper seemed to fall backward as the grip of the serpent relaxed, but Tom, dropping his rifle, and calling to Ned to keep an eye on the snake, leaped forward and caught his friend. "Are you hurt?" asked Tom, carrying the limp form over to a grassy place. There was no answer, the savant's eyes were closed and he breathed but faintly. Ned Newton fired two more electric bullets into the still writhing body of the boa. "I guess he's all in," he called to Tom. "Bless my horseradish! And so our friend seems to be," commented Mr. Damon. "Have you anything with which to revive him, Tom?" "Yes. Some ammonia. See if you can find a little water." "I have some in my flask." Tom mixed a dose of the spirits which he carried with him, and this, forced between the pallid lips of the scientist, revived him. "What happened?" he asked faintly as he opened his eyes. "Oh, yes, I remember," he added slowly. "The boa----" "Don't try to talk," urged Tom. "You're all right. The snake is dead, or dying. Are you much hurt?" Professor Bumper appeared to be considering. He moved first one limb, then another. He seemed to have the power over all his muscles. "I see how it happened," he said, as he sat up, after taking a little more of the ammonia. "I was following the iguana, and when the big lizard came to a stop, in a little hollow place in the ground, at the foot of those two trees, I leaned over to slip a noose of rope about its neck. Then I felt myself caught, as if in the hands of a giant, and bound fast between the two trees." "It was the big boa that whipped itself around you, as you leaned over," explained Tom, as Ned came up to announce that the snake was no longer dangerous. "But when it coiled around you it also coiled around the two trees, you, fortunately slipping between them. Had it not been that their trunks took off some of the pressure of the coils you wouldn't have lasted a minute." "Well, I was pretty badly squeezed as it was," remarked the professor. "I hardly had breath enough left to call to you. I tried to fight off the serpent, but it was of no use." "I should say not!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my circus ring! one might as well try to combat an elephant! But, my dear professor, are you all right now?" "I think so--yes. Though I shall be lame and stiff for a few days, I fear. I can hardly walk." Professor Bumper was indeed unable to go about much for a few days after his encounter with the great serpent. He stretched out in a hammock under trees in the camp clearing, and with his friends waited for the possible return of Tolpec and the porters. Ned and Tom made one or two short hunting trips, and on these occasions they kept a lookout in the direction the Indian had taken when he went away. "For he's sure to come back that way--if he comes at all," declared Ned; "which I am beginning to doubt." "Well, he may not come," agreed Tom, who was beginning to lose some of his first hope. "But he won't necessarily come from the same direction he took. He may have had to go in an entirely different way to get help. We'll hope for the best." A week passed. Professor Bumper was able to be about, and Tom and Ned noticed that there was an anxious look on his face. Was he, too, beginning to despair? "Well, this isn't hunting for golden idols very fast," said Mr. Damon, the morning of the eighth day after their desertion by the faithless Jacinto. "What do you say, Professor Bumper; ought we not to start off on our own account?" "We had better if Tolpec does not return today," was the answer. They had eaten breakfast, had put their camp in order, and were about to have a consultation on what was best to do, when Tom suddenly called to Ned, who was whistling: "Hark!" Through the jungle came a faint sound of singing--not a harmonious air, but the somewhat barbaric chant of the natives. "It is Tolpec coming back!" cried Mr. Damon. "Hurray! Now our troubles are over! Bless my meal ticket! Now we can start!" "It may be Jacinto," suggested Ned. "Nonsense! you old cold-water pitcher!" cried Tom. "It's Tolpec! I can see him! He's a good scout all right!" And then, walking at the head of a band of Indians who were weirdly chanting while behind them came a train of mules, was Tolpec, a cheerful grin covering his honest, if homely, dark face. "Me come back!" he exclaimed in gutteral English, using about half of his foreign vocabulary. "I see you did," answered Professor Bumper in the man's own tongue. "Glad to see you. Is everything all right?" "All right," was the answer. "These Indians will take you where you want to go, and will not leave you as Jacinto did." "We'll start in the morning!" exclaimed the savant his own cheerful self again, now that there was a prospect of going further into the interior. "Tell the men to get something to eat, Tolpec. There is plenty for all." "Good!" grunted the new guide and soon the hungry Indians, who had come far, were satisfying their hunger. As they ate Tolpec explained to Professor Bumper, who repeated it to the youths and Mr. Damon, that it had been necessary to go farther than he had intended to get the porters and mules. But the Indians were a friendly tribe, of which he was a member, and could be depended on. There was a feast and a sort of celebration in camp that night. Tom and Ned shot two deer, and these formed the main part of the feast and the Indians made merry about the fire until nearly midnight. They did not seem to mind in the least the swarms of mosquitoes and other bugs that flew about, attracted by the light. As for Tom Swift and his friends, their nets protected them. An early start was made the following morning. Such packages of goods and supplies as could not well be carried by the Indians in their head straps, were loaded on the backs of the pack-mules. Tolpec explained that on reaching the Indian village, where he had secured the porters, they could get some ox-carts which would be a convenience in traveling into the interior toward the Copan valley. The march onward for the next two days was tiresome; but the Indians Tolpec had secured were as faithful and efficient as he had described them, and good progress was made. There were a few accidents. One native fell into a swiftly running stream as they were fording it and lost a box containing some much-needed things. But as the man's life was saved Professor Bumper said it made up for the other loss. Another accident did not end so auspiciously. One of the bearers was bitten by a poisonous snake, and though prompt measures were taken, the poison spread so rapidly that the man died. In due season the Indian village was reached, where, after a day spent in holding funeral services over the dead bearer, preparations were made for proceeding farther. This time some of the bearers were left behind, and ox-carts were substituted for them, as it was possible to carry more goods this way. "And now we're really off for Copan!" exclaimed Professor Bumper one morning, when the cavalcade, led by Tolpec in the capacity of head guide, started off. "I hope we have no more delays." "I hope not, either," agreed Tom. "That Beecher may be there ahead of us." Weary marches fell to their portion. There were mountains to climb, streams to ford or swim, sending the carts over on rudely made rafts. There were storms to endure, and the eternal heat to fight. But finally the party emerged from the lowlands of the coast and went up in among the hills, where though the going was harder, the climate was better. It was not so hot and moist. Not wishing to attract attention in Copan itself, Professor Bumper and his party made a detour, and finally, after much consultation with Tom over the ancient maps, the scientist announced that he thought they were in the vicinity of the buried city. "We will begin test excavations in the morning," he said. The party was in camp, and preparations were made for spending the night in the forest, when from among the trees there floated to the ears of our friends a queer Indian chant. "Some one is coming," said Tom to Ned. Almost as he spoke there filed into the clearing where the camp had been set up, a cavalcade of white men, followed by Indians. And at the sight of one of the white men Tom Swift uttered a cry. "Professor Beecher!" gasped the young inventor. CHAPTER XVII THE LOST MAP The on-marching company of white men, with their Indian attendants, came to a halt on the edge of the clearing as they caught sight of the tents already set up there. The barbaric chant of the native bearers ceased abruptly, and there was a look of surprise shown on the face of Professor Fenimore Beecher. For Professor Beecher it was, in the lead of the rival expedition. "Bless my shoe laces!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Is it really Beecher?" asked Ned, though he knew as well as Tom that it was the young archaeologist. "It certainly is!" declared Tom. "And he has nerve to follow us so closely!" "Maybe he thinks we have nerve to get here ahead of him," suggested Ned, smiling grimly. "Probably," agreed Tom, with a short laugh. "Well, it evidently surprises him to find us here at all, after the mean trick he played on us to get Jacinto to lead us into the jungle and desert us." "That's right," assented Ned. "Well, what's the next move?" There seemed to be some doubt about this on the part of both expeditions. At the sight of Professor Beecher, Professor Bumper, who had come out of his tent, hurriedly turned to Tom and asked him what he thought it best to do. "Do!" exclaimed the eccentric Mr. Damon, not giving Tom time to reply. "Why, stand your ground, of course! Bless my house and lot! but we're here first! For the matter of that, I suppose the jungle is free and we can no more object to his coming here than he can to our coming. First come, first served, I suppose is the law of the forest." Meanwhile the surprise occasioned by the unexpected meeting of their rivals seemed to have spread something like consternation among the white members of the Beecher party. As for the natives they evidently did not care one way or the other. There was a hasty consultation among the professors accompanying Mr. Beecher, and then the latter himself advanced toward the tents of Tom and his friends and asked: "How long have you been here?" "I don't see that we are called upon to answer that question," replied Professor Bumper stiffly. "Perhaps not, and yet----" "There is no perhaps about it!" said Professor Bumper quickly. "I know what your object is, as I presume you do mine. And, after what I may term your disgraceful and unsportsmanlike conduct toward me and my friends, I prefer not to have anything further to do with you. We must meet as strangers hereafter." "Very well," and Professor Beecher's voice was as cold and uncompromising as was his rival's. "Let it be as your wish. But I must say I don't know what you mean by unsportsmanlike conduct." "An explanation would be wasted on you," said Professor Bumper stiffly. "But in order that you may know I fully understand what you did I will say that your efforts to thwart us through your tool Jacinto came to nothing. We are here ahead of you." "Jacinto!" cried Professor Beecher in real or simulated surprise. "Why, he was not my 'tool,' as you term it." "Your denial is useless in the light of his confession," asserted Professor Bumper. "Confession?" "Now look here!" exclaimed the older professor, "I do not propose to lower myself by quarreling with you. I know certainly what you and your party tried to do to prevent us from getting here. But we got out of the trap you set for us, and we are on the ground first. I recognize your right to make explorations as well as ourselves, and I presume you have not fallen so low that you will not recognize the unwritten law in a case of this kind--the law which says the right of discovery belongs to the one who first makes it." "I shall certainly abide by such conduct as is usual under the circumstances," said Professor Beecher more stiffly than before. "At the same time I must deny having set a trap. And as for Jacinto----" "It will be useless to discuss it further!" broke in Professor Bumper. "Then no more need be said," retorted the younger man. "I shall give orders to my friends, as well as to the natives, to keep away from your camp, and I shall expect you to do the same regarding mine." "I should have suggested the same thing myself," came from Tom's friend, and the two rival scientists fairly glared at one another, the others of both parties looking on with interest. Professor Bumper turned and walked defiantly back to his tent. Professor Beecher did the same thing. Then, after a short consultation among the white members of the latter's organization, their tents were set up in another clearing, removed and separated by a screen of trees and bushes from those of Tom Swift's friends. The natives of the Beecher party also withdrew a little way from those of Professor Bumper's organization, and then preparations for spending the night in the jungle went on in the rival headquarters. "Well, he certainly had nerve, to deny, practically, that he had set Jacinto up to do what he did," commented Tom. "I should say so!" agreed Ned. "How do you imagine he got here nearly as soon as we did, when he did not start until later?" asked Mr. Damon. "He did not have the unfortunate experience of being deserted in the jungle," replied Tom. "He probably had Jacinto, or some of that unprincipled scoundrel's friends, show him a short route to Copan and he came on from there." "Well, I did hope we might have the ground to ourselves, at least for the preliminary explorations and excavations. But it is not to be. My rival is here," sighed Professor Bumper. "Don't let that discourage you!" exclaimed Tom. "We can fight all the better now the foe is in the open, and we know where he is." "Yes, Tom Swift, that is true," agreed the scientist. "I am not going to give up, but I shall have to change my plans a little. Perhaps you will come into the tent with me," and he nodded to Tom and Ned. "I want to talk over certain matters with you and Mr. Damon." "Pleased to," assented the young inventor, and his financial secretary nodded. A little later, supper having been eaten, the camp made shipshape and the natives settled down, Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon and Professor Bumper assembled in the tent of the scientist, where a dry battery lamp gave sufficient illumination to show a number of maps and papers scattered over an improvised table. "Now, gentlemen," said the professor, "I have called you here to go over my plans more in detail than I have hitherto done, now we are on the ground. You know in a general way what I hope to accomplish, but the time has come when I must be specific. "Aside from being on the spot, below which, or below the vicinity where, I believe, lies the lost city of Kurzon and, I hope, the idol of gold, a situation has arisen--an unexpected situation, I may say--which calls for different action from that I had counted on. "I refer to the presence of my rival, Professor Beecher. I will not dwell now on what he has done. It is better to consider what he may do." "That's right," agreed Ned. "He may get up in the night, dig up this city and skip with that golden image before we know it." "Hardly," grinned Tom. "No," said Professor Bumper. "Excavating buried cities in the jungle of Honduras is not as simple as that. There is much work to be done. But accidents may happen, and in case one should occur to me, and I be unable to prosecute the search, I want one of you to do it. For that reason I am going to show you the maps and ancient documents and point out to you where I believe the lost city lies. Now, if you will give me your attention, I'll proceed." The professor went over in detail the story of how he had found the old documents relating to the lost city of Kurzon, and of how, after much labor and research, he had located the city in the Copan valley. The great idol of gold was one of the chief possessions of Kurzon, and it was often referred to in the old papers; copies and translations of which the professor had with him. "But this is the most valuable of all," he said, as he opened an oiled-silk packet. "And before I show it to you, suppose you two young men take a look outside the tent." "What for?" asked Mr. Damon. "To make sure that no emissaries from the Beecher crowd are sneaking around to overhear what we say," was the somewhat bitter answer of the scientist. "I do not trust him, in spite of his attempted denial." Tom and Ned took a quick but thorough observation outside the tent. The blackness of the jungle night was in strange contrast to the light they had just left. "Doesn't seem to be any one around here," remarked Ned, after waiting a minute or two. "No. All's quiet along the Potomac. Those Beecher natives are having some sort of a song-fest, though." In the distance, and from the direction of their rivals' camp, came the weird chant. "Well, as long as they stay there we'll be all right," said Tom. "Come on in. I'm anxious to hear what the professor has to say." "Everything's quiet," reported Ned. "Then give me your attention," begged the scientist. Carefully, as though about to exhibit some, precious jewel, he loosened the oiled-silk wrappings and showed a large map, on thin but tough paper. "This is drawn from the old charts," the professor explained. "I worked on it many months, and it is the only copy in the world. If it were to be destroyed I should have to go all the way back to New York to make another copy. I have the original there in a safe deposit vault." "Wouldn't it have been wise to make two copies?" asked Tom. "It would have only increased the risk. With one copy, and that constantly in my possession, I can be sure of my ground. Otherwise not. That is why I am so careful of this. Now I will show you why I believe we are about over the ancient city of Kurzon." "Over it!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my gunpowder! What do you mean?" and he looked down at the earthen floor of the tent as though expecting it to open and swallow him. "I mean that the city, like many others of Central and South America, is buried below the refuse of centuries," went on the professor. "Very soon, if we are fortunate, we shall be looking on the civilization of hundreds of years ago--how long no one knows. "Considerable excavation has been done in Central America," went on Professor Bumper, "and certain ruins have been brought to light. Near us are those of Copan, while toward the frontier are those of Quirigua, which are even better preserved than the former. We may visit them if we have time. But I have reason to believe that in this section of Copan is a large city, the existence of which has not been made certain of by any one save myself--and, perhaps, Professor Beecher. "Certainly no part of it has seen the light of day for many centuries. It shall be our pleasure to uncover it, if possible, and secure the idol of gold." "How long ago do you think the city was buried?" asked Tom. "It would be hard to say. From the carvings and hieroglyphics I have studied it would seem that the Mayan civilization lasted about five hundred years, and that it began perhaps in the year A. D. five hundred." "That would mean," said Mr. Damon, "that the ancient cities were in ruins, buried, perhaps, long before Columbus discovered the new world." "Yes," assented the professor. "Probably Kurzon, which we now seek, was buried deep for nearly five hundred years before Columbus landed at San Salvadore. The specimens of writing and architecture heretofore disclosed indicate that. But, as a matter of fact, it is very hard to decipher the Mayan pictographs. So far, little but the ability to read their calendars and numerical system is possessed by us, though we are gradually making headway. "Now this is the map of the district, and by the markings you can see where I hope to find what I seek. We shall begin digging here," and he made a small mark with a pencil on the map. "Of course," the professor explained, "I may be wrong, and it will take some time to discover the error if we make one. When a city is buried thirty or forty feet deep beneath earth and great trees have grown over it, it is not easy to dig down to it." "How do you ever expect to find it?" asked Ned. "Well, we will sink shafts here and there. If we find carved stones, the remains of ancient pottery and weapons, parts of buildings or building stones, we shall know we are on the right track," was the answer. "And now that I have shown you the map, and explained how valuable it is, I will put it away again. We shall begin our excavations in the morning." "At what point?" asked Tom. "At a point I shall indicate after a further consultation of the map. I must see the configuration of the country by daylight to decide. And now let's get some rest. We have had a hard day." The two tents housing the four white members of the Bumper party were close together, and it was decided that the night would be divided into four watches, to guard against possible treachery on the part of the Beecher crowd. "It seems an unkind precaution to take against a fellow scientist," said Professor Bumper, "but I can not afford to take chances after what has occurred." The others agreed with him, and though standing guard was not pleasant it was done. However the night passed without incident, and then came morning and the excitement of getting breakfast, over which the Indians made merry. They did not like the cold and darkness, and always welcomed the sun, no matter how hot. "And now," cried Tom, when the meal was over, "let us begin the work that has brought us here." "Yes," agreed Professor Bumper, "I will consult the map, and start the diggers where I think the city lies, far below the surface. Now, gentlemen, if you will give me your attention----" He was seeking through his outer coat pockets, after an ineffectual search in the inner one. A strange look came over his face. "What's the matter?" asked Tom. "The map--the map!" gasped the professor. "The map I was showing you last night! The map that tells where we are to dig for the idol of gold! It's gone!" "The map gone?" gasped Mr. Damon. "I--I'm afraid so," faltered the professor. "I put it away carefully, but now----" He ceased speaking to make a further search in all his pockets. "Maybe you left it in another coat," suggested Ned. "Or maybe some of the Beecher crowd took it!" snapped Tom. CHAPTER XVIII "EL TIGRE!" The four men gazed at one another. Consternation showed on the face of Professor Bumper, and was reflected, more or less, on the countenances of his companions. "Are you sure the map is gone?" asked Tom. "I know how easy it is to mislay anything in a camp of this sort. I couldn't at first find my safety razor this morning, and when I did locate it the hoe was in one of my shoes. I'm sure a rat or some jungle animal must have dragged it there. Now maybe they took your map, Professor. That oiled silk in which it was wrapped might have appealed to the taste of a rat or a snake." "It is no joking matter," said Professor Bumper. "But I know you appreciate the seriousness of it as much as I do, Tom. But I had the map in the pocket of this coat, and now it is gone!" "When did you put it there?" asked Ned. "This morning, just before I came to breakfast." "Oh, then you have had it since last night!" Tom ejaculated. "Yes, I slept with it under my clothes that I rolled up for a pillow, and when it was my turn to stand guard I took it with me. Then I put it back again and went to sleep. When I awoke and dressed I put the packet in my pocket and ate breakfast. Now when I look for it--why, it's gone!" "The map or the oiled-silk package?" asked Mr. Damon, who, once having been a businessman, was sometimes a stickler for small points. "Both," answered the professor. "I opened the silk to tie it more smoothly, so it would not be such a lump in my pocket, and I made sure the map was inside." "Then the whole thing has been taken--or you have lost it," suggested Ned. "I am not in the habit of losing valuable maps," retorted the scientist. "And the pocket of my coat I had made deep, for the purpose of carrying the long map. It could not drop out." "Well, we mustn't overlook any possible chances," suggested Tom. "Come on now, we'll search every inch of the ground over which you traveled this morning, Professor." "It MUST be found," murmured the scientist. "Without it all our work will go for naught." They all went into the tent where the professor and Mr. Damon had slept when they were not on guard. The camp was a busy place, with the Indians finishing their morning meal, and getting ready for the work of the day. For word had been given out that there would be no more long periods of travel. In consequence, efforts were being directed by the head men of the bearers to making a more permanent camp in the wilderness. Shelters of palm-thatched huts were being built, a site for cooking fires made, and, at the direction of Mr. Damon, to whom this part was entrusted, some sanitary regulations were insisted on. Leaving this busy scene, the four, with solemn faces, proceeded to the tent where it was hoped the map would be found. But though they went through everything, and traced and retraced every place the professor could remember having traversed about the canvas shelter, no signs of the important document could be found. "I don't believe I dropped it out of my pocket," said the scientist, for perhaps the twentieth time. "Then it was taken," declared Tom. "That's what I say!" chimed in Ned. "And by some of Beecher's party!" "Easy, my boy," cautioned Mr. Damon. "We don't want to make accusations we can't prove." "That is true," agreed Professor Bumper. "But, though I am sorry to say it of a fellow archaelogist, I can not help thinking Beecher had something to do with the taking of my map." "But how could any of them get it?" asked Mr. Damon. "You say you had the map this morning, and certainly none of them has been in our camp since dawn, though of course it is possible that some of them sneaked in during the night." "It does seem a mystery how it could have been taken in open daylight, while we were about camp together," said Tom. "But is the loss such a grave one, Professor Bumper?" "Very grave. In fact I may say it is impossible to proceed with the excavating without the map." "Then what are we to do?" asked Ned. "We must get it back!" declared Tom. "Yes," agreed the scientist, "we can not work without it. As soon as I make a little further search, to make sure it could not have dropped in some out-of-the-way place, I shall go over to Professor Beecher's camp and demand that he give me back my property." "Suppose he says he hasn't taken it?" asked Tom. "Well, I'm sure he either took it personally, or one of his party did. And yet I can't understand how they could have come here without our seeing them," and the professor shook his head in puzzled despair. A more detailed search did not reveal the missing map, and Mr. Damon and his friend the scientist were on the point of departing for the camp of their rivals, less than a mile away, when Tom had what really amounted to an inspiration. "Look here, Professor!" he cried. "Can you remember any of the details of your map--say, for instance, where we ought to begin excavating to get at the wonders of the underground city?" "Well, Tom, I did intend to compare my map with the configuration of the country about here. There is a certain mountain which serves as a landmark and a guide for a starting point. I think that is it over there," and the scientist pointed to a distant snow-capped peak. The party had left the low and marshy land of the true jungle, and were among the foothills, though all about them was dense forest and underbush, which, in reality, was as much a jungle as the lower plains, but was less wet. "The point where I believe we should start to dig," said the professor, "is near the spot where the top of the mountain casts a shadow when the sun is one hour high. At least that is the direction given in the old manuscripts. So, though we can do little without the map, we might make a start by digging there." "No, not there!" exclaimed Tom. "Why not?" "Because we don't want to let Beecher's crowd know that we are on the track of the idol of gold." "But they know anyhow, for they have the map," commented Ned, puzzled by his chum's words. "Maybe not," said Tom slowly. "I think this is a time for a big bluff. It may work and it may not. Beecher's crowd either has the map or they have not. If they have it they will lose no time in trying to find the right place to start digging and then they'll begin excavating. "Very good! If they do that we have a right to dig near the same place. But if they have not the map, which is possible, and if we start to dig where the professor's memory tells him is the right spot, we'll only give them the tip, and they'll dig there also." "I'm sure they have the map," the professor said. "But I believe your plan is a good one, Tom." "Just what do you propose doing?" asked Ned. "Fooling 'em!" exclaimed Tom quickly. "We'll dig in some place remote from the spot where the mountain casts its shadow. They will think, if they haven't the map, that we are proceeding by it, and they'll dig, too. When they find nothing, as will also happen to us, they may go away. "If, on the other hand, they have the map, and see us digging at a spot not indicated on it, they will be puzzled, knowing we must have some idea of where the buried city lies. They will think the map is at fault, perhaps, and not make use of it. Then we can get it back." "Bless my hatband!" cried Mr. Damon. "I believe you're right, Tom. We'll dig in the wrong place to fool 'em." And this was done. Search for the precious map was given up for the time being, and the professor and his friends set the natives to work digging shafts in the ground, as though sinking them down to the level of the buried city. But though this false work was prosecuted with vigor for several days, there was a feeling of despair among the Bumper party over the loss of the map. "If we could only get it back!" exclaimed the professor, again and again. Meanwhile the Beecher party seemed inactive. True, some members of it did come over to look on from a respectful distance at what the diggers were doing. Some of the rival helpers, under the direction of the head of the expedition, also began sinking shafts. But they were not in the locality remembered by Professor Bumper as being correct. "I can't imagine what they're up to," he said. "If they have my map they would act differently, I should think." "Whatever they're up to," answered Tom, "the time has come when we can dig at the place where we can hope for results." And the following day shafts were started in the shadow of the mountain. Until some evidence should have been obtained by digging, as to the location beneath the surface of a buried city, there was nothing for the travelers to do but wait. Turns were taken in directing the efforts of the diggers, and an occasional inspection was made of the shafts. "What do you expect to find first?" asked Tom of Professor Bumper one day, when the latter was at the top of a shaft waiting for a bucket load of dirt to be hoisted up. "Potsherds and artifacts," was the answer. "What sort of bugs are they?" asked Ned with a laugh. He and Tom were about to go hunting with their electric rifles. "Artifacts are things made by the Indians--or whatever members of the race who built the ancient cities were called--such as household articles, vases, ornaments, tools and so on. Anything made by artificial means is called an artifact." "And potsherds are things with those Chinese laundry ticket scratches on them," added Tom. "Exactly," said the professor, laughing. "Though some of the strange-appearing inscriptions give much valuable information. As soon as we find some of them--say a broken bit of pottery with hieroglyphics on--I will know I am on the right track." And while the scientist and Mr. Damon kept watch at the top of the shaft, Tom and Ned went out into the jungle to hunt. They had killed some game, and were stalking a fine big deer, which would provide a feast for the natives, when suddenly the silence of the lonely forest was broken by a piercing scream, followed by an agonized cry of "El tigre! El tigre!" CHAPTER XIX POISONED ARROWS "Did you hear that, Tom?" asked Ned, in a hoarse whisper. "Surely," was the cautious answer. "Keep still, and I'll try for a shot." "Better be quick," advised Ned in a tense voice. "The chap who did that yelling seems to be in trouble!" And as Ned's voice trailed off into a whisper, again came the cry, this time in frenzied pain. "El tigre! El tigre!" Then there was a jumble of words. "It's over this way!" and this time Ned shouted, seeing no need for low voices since the other was so loud. Tom looked to where Ned had parted the bushes alongside a jungle path. Through the opening the young inventor saw, in a little glade, that which caused him to take a firmer grip on his electric rifle, and also a firmer grip on his nerves. Directly in front of him and Ned, and not more than a hundred yards away, was a great tawny and spotted jaguar--the "tigre" or tiger of Central America. The beast, with lashing tail, stood over an Indian upon whom it seemed to have sprung from some lair, beating the unfortunate man to the ground. Nor had he fallen scatheless, for there was blood on the green leaves about him, and it was not the blood of the spotted beast. "Oh, Tom, can you--can you----" and Ned faltered. The young inventor understood the unspoken question. "I think I can make a shot of it without hitting the man," he answered, never turning his head. "It's a question, though, if the beast won't claw him in the death struggle. It won't last long, however, if the electric bullet goes to the right place, and I've got to take the chance." Cautiously Tom brought his weapon to bear. Quiet as Ned and he had been after the discovery, the jaguar seemed to feel that something was wrong. Intent on his prey, for a time he had stood over it, gloating. Now the brute glanced uneasily from side to side, its tail nervously twitching, and it seemed trying to gain, by a sniffing of the air, some information as to the direction in which danger lay, for Tom and Ned had stooped low, concealing themselves by a screen of leaves. The Indian, after his first frenzied outburst of fear, now lay quiet, as though fearing to move, moaning in pain. Suddenly the jaguar, attracted either by some slight movement on the part of Ned or Tom, or perhaps by having winded them, turned his head quickly and gazed with cruel eyes straight at the spot where the two young men stood behind the bushes. "He's seen us," whispered Ned. "Yes," assented Tom. "And it's a perfect shot. Hope I don't miss!" It was not like Tom Swift to miss, nor did he on this occasion. There was a slight report from the electric rifle--a report not unlike the crackle of the wireless--and the powerful projectile sped true to its mark. Straight through the throat and chest under the uplifted jaw of the jaguar it went--through heart and lungs. Then with a great coughing, sighing snarl the beast reared up, gave a convulsive leap forward toward its newly discovered enemies, and fell dead in a limp heap, just beyond the native over which it had been crouching before it delivered the death stroke, now never to fall. "You did it, Tom! You did it!" cried Ned, springing up from where he had been kneeling to give his chum a better chance to shoot. "You did it, and saved the man's life!" And Ned would have rushed out toward the still twitching body. "Just a minute!" interposed Tom. "Those beasts sometimes have as many lives as a cat. I'll give it one more for luck." Another electric projectile through the head of the jaguar produced no further effect than to move the body slightly, and this proved conclusively that there was no life left. It was safe to approach, which Tom and Ned did. Their first thought, after a glance at the jaguar, was for the Indian. It needed but a brief examination to show that he was not badly hurt. The jaguar had leaped on him from a low tree as he passed under it, as the boys learned afterward, and had crushed the man to earth by the weight of the spotted body more than by a stroke of the paw. The American jaguar is not so formidable a beast as the native name of tiger would cause one to suppose, though they are sufficiently dangerous, and this one had rather badly clawed the Indian. Fortunately the scratches were on the fleshy parts of the arms and shoulders, where, though painful, they were not necessarily serious. "But if you hadn't shot just when you did, Tom, it would have been all up with him," commented Ned. "Oh, well, I guess you'd have hit him if I hadn't," returned the young inventor. "But let's see what we can do for this chap." The man sat up wonderingly--hardly able to believe that he had been saved from the dreaded "tigre." His wounds were bleeding rather freely, and as Tom and Ned carried with them a first-aid kit they now brought it into use. The wounds were bound up, the man was given water to drink and then, as he was able to walk, Tom and Ned offered to help him wherever he wanted to go. "Blessed if I can tell whether he's one of our Indians or whether he belongs to the Beecher crowd," remarked Tom. "Senor Beecher," said the Indian, adding, in Spanish, that he lived in the vicinity and had only lately been engaged by the young professor who hoped to discover the idol of gold before Tom's scientific friend could do so. Tom and Ned knew a little Spanish, and with that, and simple but expressive signs on the part of the Indian, they learned his story. He had his palm-thatched hut not far from the Beecher camp, in a small Indian village, and he, with others, had been hired on the arrival of the Beecher party to help with the excavations. These, for some reason, were delayed. "Delayed because they daren't use the map they stole from us," commented Ned. "Maybe," agreed Tom. The Indian, whose name, it developed, was Tal, as nearly as Tom and Ned could master it, had left camp to go to visit his wife and child in the jungle hut, intending to return to the Beecher camp at night. But as he passed through the forest the jaguar had dropped on him, bearing him to earth. "But you saved my life, Senor," he said to Tom, dropping on one knee and trying to kiss Tom's hand, which our hero avoided. "And now my life is yours," added the Indian. "Well, you'd better get home with it and take care of it," said Tom. "I'll have Professor Bumper come over and dress your scratches in a better and more careful way. The bandages we put on are only temporary." "My wife she make a poultice of leaves--they cure me," said the Indian. "I guess that will be the best way," observed Ned. "These natives can doctor themselves for some things, better than we can." "Well, we'll take him home," suggested Tom. "He might keel over from loss of blood. Come on," he added to Tal, indicating his object. It was not far to the native's hut from the place where the jaguar had been killed, and there Tom and Ned underwent another demonstration of affection as soon as those of Tal's immediate family and the other natives understood what had happened. "I hate this business!" complained Tom, after having been knelt to by the Indian's wife and child, who called him the "preserver" and other endearing titles of the same kind. "Come on, let's hike back." But Indian hospitality, especially after a life has been saved, is not so simple as all that. "My life--my house--all that I own is yours," said Tal in deep gratitude. "Take everything," and he waved his hand to indicate all the possessions in his humble hut. "Thanks," answered Tom, "but I guess you need all you have. That's a fine specimen of blow gun though," he added, seeing one hanging on the wall. "I wouldn't mind having one like that. If you get well enough to make me one, Tal, and some arrows to go with it, I'd like it for a curiosity to hang in my room at home." "The Senor shall have a dozen," promised the Indian. "Look, Ned," went on Tom, pointing to the native weapon. "I never saw one just like this. They use small arrows or darts, tipped with wild cotton, instead of feathers." "These the arrows," explained Tal's wife, bringing a bundle from a corner of the one-room hut. As she held them out her husband gave a cry of fear. "Poisoned arrows! Poisoned arrows!" he exclaimed. "One scratch and the senors are dead men. Put them away!" In fear the Indian wife prepared to obey, but as she did so Tom Swift caught sight of the package and uttered a strange cry. "Thundering hoptoads, Ned!" he exclaimed. "The poisoned arrows are wrapped in the piece of oiled silk that was around the professor's missing map!" CHAPTER XX AN OLD LEGEND Fascinated, Tom and Ned gazed at the package the Indian woman held out to them. Undoubtedly it was oiled silk on the outside, and through the almost transparent covering could be seen the small arrows, or darts, used in the blow gun. "Where did you get that?" asked Tom, pointing to the bundle and gazing sternly at Tal. "What is the matter, Senor?" asked the Indian in turn. "Is it that you are afraid of the poisoned arrows? Be assured they will not harm you unless you are scratched by them." Tom and Ned found it difficult to comprehend all the rapid Spanish spoken by their host, but they managed to understand some, and his eloquent gestures made up the rest. "We're not afraid," Tom said, noting that the oiled skin well covered the dangerous darts. "But where did you get that?" "I picked it up, after another Indian had thrown it away. He got it in your camp, Senor. I will not lie to you. I did not steal. Valdez went to your camp to steal--he is a bad Indian--and he brought back this wrapping. It contained something he thought was gold, but it was not, so he----" "Quick! Yes! Tell us!" demanded Tom eagerly. "What did he do with the professor's map that was in the oiled silk? Where is it?" "Oh, Senors!" exclaimed the Indian woman, thinking perhaps her husband was about to be dealt harshly with when she heard Tom's excited voice. "Tal do no harm!" "No, he did no harm," went on Tom, in a reassuring tone. "But he can do a whole lot of good if he tells us what became of the map that was in this oiled silk. Where is it?" he asked again. "Valdez burn it up," answered Tal. "What, burned the professor's map?" cried Ned. "If that was in this yellow cloth--yes," answered the injured man. "Valdez he is bad. He say to me he is going to your camp to see what he can take. How he got this I know not, but he come back one morning with the yellow package. I see him, but he make me promise not to tell. But you save my life I tell you everything. "Valdez open the package; but it is not gold, though he think so because it is yellow, and the man with no hair on his head keep it in his pocket close, so close," and Tal hugged himself to indicate what he meant. "That's Professor Bumper," explained Ned. "How did Valdez get the map out of the professor's coat?" asked Tom. "Valdez he very much smart. When man with no hair on his head take coat off for a minute to eat breakfast Valdez take yellow thing out of pocket." "The Indian must have sneaked into camp when we were eating," said Tom. "Those from Beecher's party and our workers look all alike to us. We wouldn't know one from the other, and one of our rival's might slip in." "One evidently did, if this is really the piece of oiled silk that was around the professor's map," said Ned. "It certainly is the same," declared the young inventor. "See, there is his name," and he stretched out his hand to point. "Don't touch!" cried Tal. "Poisoned arrows snake poison--very dead-like and quick." "Don't worry, I won't touch," said Tom grimly. "But go on. You say Valdez sneaked into our camp, took the oiled-silk package from the coat pocket of Professor Bumper and went back to his own camp with it, thinking it was gold." "Yes," answered Tal, though it is doubtful if he understood all that Tom said, as it was half Spanish and half English. But the Indian knew a little English, too. "Valdez, when he find no gold is very mad. Only papers in the yellow silk-papers with queer marks on. Valdez think it maybe a charm to work evil, so he burn them up--all up!" "Burned that rare map!" gasped Tom. "All in fire," went on Tal, indicating by his hands the play of flames. "Valdez throw away yellow silk, and I take for my arrows so rain not wash off poison. I give to you, if you like, with blow gun." "No, thank you," answered Tom, in disappointed tones. "The oiled silk is of no use without the map, and that's gone. Whew! but this is tough!" he said to his chum. "As long as it was only stolen there was a chance to get it back, but if it's burned, the jig is up." "It looks so," agreed Ned. "We'd better get back and tell the professor. It he can't get along without the map it's time he started a movement toward getting another. So it wasn't Beecher, after all, who got it." "Evidently not," assented Tom. "But I believe him capable of it." "You haven't much use for him," remarked Ned. "Huh!" was all the answer given by his chum. "I am sorry, Senors," went on Tal, "but I could not stop Valdez, and the burning of the papers----" "No, you could not help it," interrupted the young inventor. "But it just happens that it brings bad luck to us. You see, Tal, the papers in this yellow covering, told of an old buried city that the bald-headed professor--the-man-with-no-hair-on-his-head--is very anxious to discover. It is somewhere under the ground," and he waved to the jungle all about them, pointing earthwards. "Paper Valdez burn tell of lost city?" asked Tal, his face lighting up. "Yes. But now, of course, we can't tell where to dig for it." The Indian turned to his wife and talked rapidly with her in their own dialect. She, too, seemed greatly excited, making quick gestures. Finally she ran out of the hut. "Where is she going?" asked Tom suspiciously. "To get her grandfather. He very old Indian. He know story of buried cities under trees. Very old story--what you call legend, maybe. But Goosal know. He tell same as his grandfather told him. You wait. Goosal come, and you listen." "Good, Ned!" suddenly cried Tom. "Maybe, we'll get on the track of lost Kurzon after all, through some ancient Indian legend. Maybe we won't need the map!" "It hardly seems possible," said Ned slowly. "What can these Indians know of buried cities that were out of existence before Columbus came here? Why, they haven't any written history." "No, and that may be just the reason they are more likely to be right," returned Tom. "Legends handed down from one grandfather to another go back a good many hundred years. If they were written they might be destroyed as the professor's map was. Somehow or other, though I can't tell why, I begin to see daylight ahead of us." "I wish I did," remarked Ned. "Here comes Goosal I think," murmured Tom, and he pointed to an Indian, bent with the weight of years, who, led by Tal's wife, was slowly approaching the hut. CHAPTER XXI THE CAVERN "Now Goosal can tell you," said Tal, evidently pleased that he had, in a measure, solved the problem caused by the burning of the professor's map. "Goosal very old Indian. He know old stories--legends--very old." "Well, if he can tell us how to find the buried city of Kurzon and the--the things in it," said Tom, "he's all right!" The aged Indian proceeded slowly toward the hut where the impatient youths awaited him. "I know what you seek in the buried city," remarked Tal. "Do you?" cried Tom, wondering if some one had indiscreetly spoken of the idol of gold. "Yes you want pieces of rock, with strange writings on them, old weapons, broken pots. I know. I have helped white men before." "Yes, those are the things we want," agreed Tom, with a glance at his chum. "That is--some of them. But does your wife's grandfather talk our language?" "No, but I can tell you what he says." By this time the old man, led by "Mrs. Tal"--as the young men called the wife of the Indian they had helped--entered the hut. He seemed nervous and shy, and glanced from Tom and Ned to his grandson-in-law, as the latter talked rapidly in the Indian dialect. Then Goosal made answer, but what it was all about the boys could not tell. "Goosal say," translated Tal, "that he know a story of a very old city away down under ground." "Tell us about it!" urged Tom eagerly. But a difficulty very soon developed. Tal's intentions were good, but he was not equal to the task of translating. Nor was the understanding of Tom and Ned of Spanish quite up to the mark. "Say, this is too much for me!" exclaimed Tom. "We are losing the most valuable part of this by not understanding what Goosal says, and what Tal translates." "What can we do?" asked Ned. "Get the professor here as soon as possible. He can manage this dialect, and he'll get the information at first hand. If Goosal can tell where to begin excavating for the city he ought to tell the professor, not us." "That's right," agreed Ned. "We'll bring the professor here as soon as we can." Accordingly they stopped the somewhat difficult task of listening to the translated story and told Tal, as well as they could, that they would bring the "man-with-no-hair-on-his-head" to listen to the tale. This seemed to suit the Indians, all of whom in the small colony appeared to be very grateful to Tom and Ned for having saved the life of Tal. "That was a good shot you made when you bowled over the jaguar," said Ned, as the two young explorers started back to their camp. "Better than I realized, if it leads to the discovery of Kurzon and the idol of gold," remarked Tom. "And to think we should come across the oiled-silk holding the poisoned arrows!" went on Ned. "That's the strangest part of the whole affair. If it hadn't been that you shot the jaguar this never would have come about." That Professor Bumper was astonished, and Mr. Damon likewise, when they heard the story of Tom and Ned, is stating it mildly. "Come on!" exclaimed the scientist, as Tom finished, "we must see this Goosal at once. If my map is destroyed, and it seems to be, this old Indian may be our only hope. Where did he say the buried city was, Tom?" "Oh, somewhere in this vicinity, as nearly as I could make out. But you'd better talk with him yourself. We didn't say anything about the idol of gold." "That's right. It's just as well to let the natives think we are only after ordinary relics." "Bless my insurance policy!" gasped Mr. Damon. "It does not seem possible that we are on the right track." "Well, I think we are, from what little information Goosal gave us," remarked Tom. "This buried city of his must be a wonderful place." "It is, if it is what I take it to be," agreed the professor. "I told you I would bring you to a land of wonders, Tom Swift, and they have hardly begun yet. Come, I am anxious to talk to Goosal." In order that the Indians in the Bumper camp might not hear rumors of the new plan to locate the hidden city, and, at the same time, to keep rumors from spreading to the camp of the rivals, the scientist and his friends started a new shaft, and put a shift of men at work on it. "We'll pretend we are on the right track, and very busy," said Tom. "That will fool Beecher." "Are you glad to know he did not take your map Professor Bumper?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, yes. It is hard to believe such things of a fellow scientist." "If he didn't take it he wanted to," said Tom. "And he has done, or will do, things as unsportsmanlike." "Oh, you are hardly fair, perhaps, Tom," commented Ned. "Um!" was all the answer he received. With the Indians in camp busy on the excavation work, and having ascertained that similar work was going on in the Beecher outfit, Professor Bumper, with Mr. Damon and the young men, set off to visit the Indian village and listen to Goosal's story. They passed the place where Tom had slain the jaguar, but nothing was left but the bones; the ants, vultures and jungle animals having picked them clean in the night. On the arrival of Tom and his friends at the Indian's hut, Goosal told, in language which Professor Bumper could understand, the ancient legend of the buried city as he had had it from his grandfather. "But is that all you know about it, Goosal?" asked the savant. "No, Learned One. It is true most of what I have told you was told to me by my father and his father's father. But I--I myself--with these eyes, have looked upon the lost city." "You have!" cried the professor, this time in English. "Where? When? Take us to it! How do you get here?" "Through the cavern of the dead," was the answer when the questions were modified. "Bless my diamond ring!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, when Professor Bumper translated the reply. "What does he mean?" And then, after some talk, this information came out. Years before, when Goosal was a young man, he had been taken by his grandfather on a journey through the jungle. They stopped one day at the foot of a high mountain, and, clearing away the brush and stones at a certain place, an entrance to a great cavern was revealed. This, it appeared, was the Indian burial ground, and had been used for generations. Goosal, though in fear and trembling, was lead through it, and came to another cavern, vaster than the first. And there he saw strange and wonderful sights, for it was the remains of a buried city, that had once been the home of a great and powerful tribe unlike the Indians--the ancient Mayas it would seem. "Can you take us to this cavern?" asked the professor. "Yes," answered Goosal. "I will lead to it those who saved the life of Tal--them and their friends. I will take you to the lost city!" "Good!" cried Mr. Damon, when this had been translated. "Now let Beecher try to play any more tricks on us! Ho! for the cavern and the lost city of Kurzon." "And the idol of gold," said Tom Swift to himself. "I hope we can get it ahead of Beecher. Perhaps if I can help in that--Oh, well, here's hoping, that's all!" and a little smile curved his lips. Greatly excited by the strange news, but maintaining as calm an air outwardly as possible, so as not to excite the Indians, Tom and his friends returned to camp to prepare for their trip. Goosal had said the cavern lay distant more than a two-days' journey into the jungle. CHAPTER XXII THE STORM "Now," remarked Tom, once they were back again in their camp, "we must go about this trip to the cavern in a way that will cause no suspicion over there as to what our object is," and he nodded in the direction of the quarters of his rival. "Do you mean to go off quietly?" asked Ned. "Yes. And to keep the work going on here, at these shafts," put in the scientist, "so that if any of their spies happen to come here they will think we still believe the buried city to be just below us. To that end we must keep the Indians digging, though I am convinced now that it is useless." Accordingly preparations were made for an expedition into the jungle under the leadership of Goosal. Tal had not sufficiently recovered from the jaguar wounds to go with the party, but the old man, in spite of his years, was hale and hearty and capable of withstanding hardships. One of the most intelligent of the Indians was put in charge of the digging gangs as foreman, and told to keep them at work, and not to let them stray. Tolpec, whose brother Tom had tried to save, proved a treasure. He agreed to remain behind and look after the interests of his friends, and see that none of their baggage or stores were taken. "Well, I guess we're as ready as we ever shall be," remarked Tom, as the cavalcade made ready to start. Mules carried the supplies that were to be taken into the jungle, and others of the sturdy animals were to be ridden by the travelers. The trail was not an easy one, Goosal warned them. Tom and his friends found it even worse than they had expected, for all their experience in jungle and mountain traveling. In places it was necessary to dismount and lead the mules along, sometimes pushing and dragging them. More than once the trail fairly hung on the edge of some almost bottomless gorge, and again it wound its way between great walls of rock, so poised that they appeared about to topple over and crush the travelers. But they kept on with dogged patience, through many hardships. To add to their troubles they seemed to have entered the abode of the fiercest mosquitoes encountered since coming to Honduras. At times it was necessary to ride along with hats covered with mosquito netting, and hands encased in gloves. They had taken plenty of condensed food with them, and they did not suffer in this respect. Game, too, was plentiful and the electric rifles of Tom and Ned added to the larder. One night, after a somewhat sound sleep induced by hard travel on the trail that day, Tom awoke to hear some one or something moving about among their goods, which included their provisions. "Who's there?" asked the young inventor sharply, as he reached for his electric rifle. There was no answer, but a rattling of the pans. "Speak, or I'll fire!" Tom warned, adding this in such Spanish as he could muster, for he thought it might be one of the Indians. No reply came, and then, seeing by the light of the stars a dark form moving in front of the tent occupied by himself and Ned, Tom fired. There was a combined grunt and squeal of pain, then a savage growl, and Ned yelled: "What's the matter, Tom?" for he had been awakened, and heard the crackle of the electrical discharge. "I don't know," Tom answered. "But I shot something--or somebody!" "Maybe some of Beecher's crowd," ventured his chum. But when they got their electric torches, and focused them on the inert, black object, it was found to be a bear which had come to nose about the camp for dainty morsels. Bruin was quite dead, and as he was in prime condition there was a feast of bear meat at the following dinner. The white travelers found it rather too strong for their palates, but the Indians reveled in it. It was shortly after noon the next day, when Goosal, after remarking that a storm seemed brewing, announced that they would be at the entrance to the cavern in another hour. "Good!" cried Professor Bumper. "At last we are near the buried city." "Don't be too sure," advised Mr. Damon, "We may be disappointed. Though I hope not for your sake, my dear Professor." Goosal now took the lead, and the old Indian, traveling on foot, for he said he could better look for the old landmark that way than on the back of a mule, walked slowly along a rough cliff. "Here, somewhere, is the entrance to the cavern," said the aged man. "It was many years ago that I was here--many years. But it seems as though yesterday. It is little changed." Indeed little did change in that land of wonders. Only nature caused what alterations there were. The hand of man had long been absent. Slowly Goosal walked along the rocky trail, on one side a sheer rock, towering a hundred feet or more toward the sky. On the other side a deep gash leading to a great fertile valley below. Suddenly the old man paused, and looked about him as though uncertain. Then, more slowly still, he put out his hand and pulled at some bushes that grew on a ledge of the rock. They came away, having no depth of earth, and a small opening was disclosed. "It is here," said Goosal quietly. "The entrance to the cavern that leads to the burial place of the dead, and the city that is dead also. It is here." He stood aside while the others hurried forward. It took but a few minutes to prove that he was right--at least as to the existence of the cavern--for the four men were soon peering into the opening. "Come on!" cried Tom, impetuously. "Wait a moment," suggested the professor, "Sometimes the air in these places is foul. We must test it." But a torch one of the Indians threw in burned with a steady glow. That test was conclusive at least. They made ready to enter. Torches of a light bark, that glowed with a steady flame and little smoke, had been provided, as well as a good supply of electric dry-battery lamps, and the way into the cavern was thus well lighted. At first the Indians were afraid to enter, but a word or two from Goosal reassured them, and they followed Professor Bumper, Tom, and the others into the cavern. For several hundred feet there was nothing remarkable about the cave. It was like any other cavern of the mountains, though wonderful for the number of crystal formations on the roof and walls--formations that sparkled like a million diamonds in the flickering lights. "Talk about a wonderland!" cried Tom. "This is fairyland!" A moment later, as Goosal walked on beside the professor and Tom, the aged Indian came to a pause, and, pointing ahead, murmured: "The city of the dead!" They saw the niches cut in the rock walls, niches that held the countless bones of those who had died many, many years before. It was a vast Indian grave. "Doubtless a wealth of material of historic interest here," said Professor Bumper, flashing his torch on the skeletons. "But it will keep. Where is the city you spoke of, Goosal?" "Farther on, Senor. Follow me." Past the stone graves they went, deeper and deeper into the great cave. Their footsteps echoed and re-echoed. Suddenly Tom, who with Ned had gone a little ahead, came to a sudden halt and said: "Well, this may be a burial place sure enough, but I think I see something alive all right--if it isn't a ghost." He pointed ahead. Surely those were lights flickering and moving about, and, yes, there were men carrying them. The Bumper party came to a surprised halt. The other lights advanced, and then, to the great astonishment of Professor Bumper and his friends, there confronted them in the cave several scientists of Professor Beecher's party and a score or more of Indians. Professor Hylop, who was known to Professor Bumper, stepped forward and asked sharply: "What are you doing here?" "I might ask you the same thing," was the retort. "You might, but you would not be answered," came sharply. "We have a right here, having discovered this cavern, and we claim it under a concession of the Honduras Government. I shall have to ask you to withdraw." "Do you mean leave here?" asked Mr Damon. "That is it, exactly. We first discovered this cave. We have been conducting explorations in it for several days, and we wish no outsiders." "Are you speaking for Professor Beecher?" asked Tom. "I am. But he is here in the cave, and will speak for himself if you desire it. But I represent him, and I order you to leave. If you do not go peaceably we will use force. We have plenty of it," and he glanced back at the Indians grouped behind him--scowling savage Indians. "We have no wish to intrude," observed Professor Bumper, "and I fully recognize the right of prior discovery. But one member of our party (he did not say which one) was in this cave many years ago. He led us to it." "Ours is a government concession!" exclaimed Professor Hylop harshly. "We want no intruders! Go!" and he pointed toward the direction whence Tom's party had come. "Drive them out!" he ordered the Indians in Spanish, and with muttered threats the dark-skinned men advanced toward Tom and the others. "You need not use force," said Professor Bumper. He and Professor Hylop had quarreled bitterly years before on some scientific matter, and the matter was afterward found to be wrong. Perhaps this made him vindictive. Tom stepped forward and started to protest, but Professor Bumper interposed. "I guess there is no help for it but to go. It seems to be theirs by right of discovery and government concession," he said, in disappointed tone. "Come friends"; and dejectedly they retraced their steps. Followed by the threatening Indians, the Bumper party made its way back to the entrance. They had hoped for great things, but if the cavern gave access to the buried city--the ancient city of Kurzon on the chief altar of which stood the golden idol, Quitzel--it looked as though they were never to enter it. "We'll have to get our Indians and drive those fellows out!" declared Tom. "I'm not going to be beaten this way--and by Beecher!" "It is galling," declared Professor Bumper. "Still he has right on his side, and I must give in to priority, as I would expect him to. It is the unwritten law." "Then we've failed!" cried Tom bitterly. "Not yet," said Professor Bumper. "If I can not unearth that buried city I may find another in this wonderland. I shall not give up." "Hark! What's that noise?" asked Tom, as they approached the entrance to the cave. "Sounds like a great wind blowing," commented Ned. It was. As they stood in the entrance they looked out to find a fierce storm raging. The wind was sweeping down the rocky trail, the rain was falling in veritable bucketfuls from the overhanging cliff, and deafening thunder and blinding lightning roared and flashed. "Surely you would not drive us out in this storm," said Professor Bumper to his former rival. "You can not stay in the cave! You must get out!" was the answer, as a louder crash of thunder than usual seemed to shake the very mountain. CHAPTER XXIII ENTOMBED ALIVE For an instant Tom and his friends paused at the entrance to the wonderful cavern, and looked at the raging storm. It seemed madness to venture out into it, yet they had been driven from the cave by those who had every right of discovery to say who, and who should not, partake of its hospitality. "We can't go out into that blow!" cried Ned. "It's enough to loosen the very mountains!" "Let's stay here and defy them!" murmured Tom. "If the--if what we seek--is here we have as good a right to it as they have." "We must go out," said Professor Bumper simply. "I recognize the right of my rival to dispossess us." "He may have the right, but it isn't human," said Mr. Damon. "Bless my overshoes! If Beecher himself were here he wouldn't have the heart to send us out in this storm." "I would not give him the satisfaction of appealing to him," remarked Professor Bumper. "Come, we will go out. We have our ponchos, and we are not fair-weather explorers. If we can't get to the lost city one way we will another. Come my friends." And despite the downpour, the deafening thunder and the lightning that seemed ready to sear one's eyes, he walked out of the cave entrance, followed by Tom and the others. "Come on!" cried Tom, in a voice he tried to render confident, as they went out into the terrible storm. "We'll beat 'em yet!" The rain fell harder than ever. Small torrents were now rushing down the trail, and it was only a question of a few minutes before the place where they stood would be a raging river, so quickly does the rain collect in the mountains and speed toward the valleys. "We must take to the forest!" cried Tom. "There'll be some shelter there, and I don't like the way the geography of this place is behaving. There may be a landslide at any moment." As he spoke he motioned upward through the mist of the rain to the sloping side of the mountain towering above them. Loose stones were beginning to roll down, accompanied by patches of earth loosened by the water. Some of the patches carried with them bunches of grass and small bushes. "Yes, it will be best to move into the jungle," said the professor. "Goosal, you had better take the lead." It was wonderful to see how well the aged Indian bore up in spite of his years, and walked on ahead. They had left their mules tethered some distance back, in a sheltering clump of trees, and they hoped the animals would be safe. The guide found a place where they could leave the trail, though going down a dangerous slope, and take to the forest. As carefully as possible they descended this, the rain continuing to fall, the wind to blow, the lightning to sizzle all about them and the thunder to boom in their ears. They went on until they were beneath the shelter of the thick jungle growth of trees, which kept off some of the pelting drops. "This is better!" exclaimed Ned, shaking his poncho and getting rid of some of the water that had settled on it. "Bless my overcoat!" cried Mr. Damon. "We seem to have gotten out of the frying pan into the fire!" "How?" asked Tom. "We are partly sheltered here, though had we stayed in the cave in spite of----" A deafening crash interrupted him, and following the flash one of the giant trees of the forest was seen to blaze up and then topple over. "Struck by lightning!" yelled Ned. "Yes; and it may happen to us!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "We were safer from the lightning in the open. Maybe----" Again came an interruption, but this time a different one. The very ground beneath their feet seemed to be shaking and trembling. "What is it?" gasped Ned, while Goosal fell on his knees and began fervently to pray. "It's an earthquake!" yelled Tom Swift. As he spoke there came another sound--the sound of a mass of earth in motion. It came from the direction of the mountain trail they had just left. They looked toward it and their horror-stricken eyes saw the whole side of the mountain sliding down. Slowly at first the earth slid down, but constantly gathering force and speed. In the face of this new disaster the rain seemed to have ceased and the thunder and lightning to be less severe. It was as though one force of nature gave way to the other. "Look! Look!" gasped Ned. In silence, which was broken now only by a low and ominous rumble, more menacing than had been the awful fury of the elements, the travelers looked. Suddenly there was a quicker movement of seemingly one whole section of the mountain. Great rocks and trees, carried down by the appalling force of the landslide were slipping over the trail, obliterating it as though it had never existed. "There goes the entrance to the cavern!" cried Ned, and as the others looked to where he pointed they saw the hole in the side of the mountain--the mouth of the cave that led to the lost city of Kurzon--completely covered by thousands of tons of earth and stones. "That's the end of them!" exclaimed Tom, as the rumble of the earthquake died away. "Of----" Ned stopped, his eyes staring. "Of Professor Beecher's party. They're entombed alive!" CHAPTER XXIV THE REVOLVING STONE Stunned, not alone by the realization of the awfulness of the fate of their rivals, but also by the terrific storm and the effect of the earthquake and the landslide, Tom and his friends remained for a moment gazing toward the mouth of the cavern, now completely out of sight, buried by a mass of broken trees, tangled bushes, rocks and earth. Somewhere, far beyond that mass, was the Beecher party, held prisoners in the cave that formed the entrance to the buried city. Tom was the first to come to a realization of what was needed to be done. "We must help them!" he exclaimed, and it was characteristic of him that he harbored no enmity. "How?" asked Ned. "We must get a force of Indians and dig them out," was the prompt answer. At Tom's vigorous words Professor Bumper's forces were energized into action, and he stated: "Fortunately we have plenty of excavating tools. We may be in time to save them. Come on! the storm seems to have passed as suddenly as it came up, and the earthquake, which, after all did not cover a wide area, seems to be over. We must start the work of rescue at once. We must go back to camp and get all the help we can muster." The storm, indeed, seemed to be over, but it was no easy matter to get back over the soggy, rain-soaked ground to the trail they had left to take shelter in the forest. Fortunately the earthquake had not involved that portion where they had left their mules, but most of the frightened animals had broken loose, and it was some little time before they could all be caught. "It is no use to try to get back to camp tonight," said Tom, when the last of the pack and saddle animals had been corralled. "It is getting late and there is no telling the condition of the trail. We must stay here until morning." "But what about them?" and Mr. Damon nodded in the direction of the entombed ones. "We can help them best by waiting until the beginning of a new day," said the professor. "We shall need a large force, and we could not bring it up to-night. Besides, Tom is right, and if we tried to go along the trail after dark, torn and disturbed as it is bound to be by the rain, we might get into difficulties ourselves. No, we must camp here until morning and then go for help." They all decided finally this was best. The professor, too, pointed out that their rivals were in a large and roomy cave, not likely to suffer from lack of air nor food or water, since they must have supplies with them. "The only danger is that the cave has been crushed in," added Tom; "but in that event we would be of no service to them anyhow." The night seemed very long, and it was a most uncomfortable one, because of the shock and exertions through which the party had passed. Added to this was the physical discomfort caused by the storm. But in time there was the light in the east that meant morning was at hand, and with it came action. A hasty breakfast, cups of steaming coffee forming a most welcome part, put them all in better condition, and once more they were on their way, heading back to the main camp where they had left their force of Indians. "My!" exclaimed Tom, as they made their way slowly along, "it surely was some storm! Look at those big trees uprooted over there. They're almost as big as the giant redwoods of California, and yet they were bowled over as if they were tenpins." "I wonder if the wind did it or the earthquake," ventured Mr. Damon. "No wind could do that," declared Ned. "It must have been the landslide caused by the earthquake." "The wind could do it if the ground was made soft by the rain; and that was probably what did it," suggested Tom. "There is no harm in settling the point," commented Professor Bumper. "It is not far off our trail, and will take only a few minutes to go over to the trees. I should like to get some photographs to accompany an article that perhaps I shall write on the effects of sudden and severe tropical storms. We will go to look at the overturned trees and then we'll hurry on to camp to get the rescue party." The uprooted trees lay on one side of the mountain trail, perhaps a mile from the mouth of the cave which had been covered over, entombing the Beecher party. Leaving the mules in charge of one of the Indians, Professor Bumper and his friends, accompanied by Goosal, approached the fallen trees. As they neared them they saw that in falling the trees had lifted with their roots a large mass of earth and imbedded rocks that had clung to the twisted and gnarled fibers. This mass was as large as a house. "Look at the hole left when the roots pulled out!" cried Ned. "Why, it's like the crater of a small volcano!" he added. And, as they stood on the edge of it looking curiously at the hole made, the others agreed with Tom's chum. Professor Bumper was looking about, trying to ascertain if there were any evidences of the earthquake in the vicinity, when Tom, who had cautiously gone a little way down into the excavation caused by the fallen trees, uttered a cry of surprise. "Look!" he shouted. "Isn't that some sort of tunnel or underground passage?" and he pointed to a square opening, perhaps seven feet high and nearly as broad, which extended, no one knew where, downward and onward from the side of the hole made by the uprooting of the trees. "It's an underground passage all right," said Professor Bumper eagerly; "and not a natural one, either. That was fashioned by the hand of man, if I am any judge. It seems to go right under the mountain, too. Friends, we must explore this! It may be of the utmost importance! Come, we have our electric torches, and we shall need them, for it's very dark in there," and he peered into the passage in front of which they all stood now. It seemed to have been tunneled through the earth, the sides being lined by either slabs of stone, or walls made by a sort of concrete. "But what about the rescue work?" asked Mr. Damon. "I am not forgetting Professor Beecher and his friends," answered the scientist. "Perhaps this may be a better means of rescuing them than by digging them out, which will take a week at least," observed Tom. "This a better way?" asked Ned, pointing to the tunnel. "That's it," confirmed the savant. "If you will notice it extends back in the direction of the cave from which we were driven. Now if there is a buried city beneath all this jungle, this mountain of earth and stones, the accumulation of centuries, it is probably on the bottom of some vast cavern. It is my opinion that we were only in one end of that cavern, and this may be the entrance to another end of it." "Then," asked Mr. Damon, "do you mean that we can enter here, get into the cave that contains the buried city, or part of it, and find there Beecher and his friends?" "That's it. It is possible, and if we could it would save an immense lot of work, and probably be a surer way to save their lives than by digging a tunnel through the landslide to find the mouth of the cave where we first entered." "It's a chance worth taking," said Mr. Damon. "Of course it is a chance. But then everything connected with this expedition is; so one is no worse than another. As you say, we may find the entombed men more easily this way than any other." "I wonder," said Tom slowly, "if, by any chance, we shall find, through this passage, the lost city we are looking for." "And the idol of gold," added Ned. "Goosal, do you know anything about this?" asked Professor Bumper. "Did you ever hear of another passage leading to the cave where you saw the ancient city?" "No, Learned One, though I have heard stories about there being many cities, or parts of a big one, beneath the mountain, and when it was above ground there were many entrances to it." "That settles it!" cried the professor in English, having talked to Goosal in Spanish. "We'll try this and see where it leads." They entered the stone-lined passage. In spite of the fact that it had probably been buried and concealed from light and air for centuries, as evidenced by the growth of the giant trees above it, the air was fresh. "And this is one reason," said Tom, in commenting on this fact, "why I believe it leads to some vast cavern which is connected in some fashion with the outer air. Well, perhaps we shall soon make a discovery." Eagerly and anxiously the little party pressed forward by the light of the pocket electric lamps. They were obsessed by two thoughts--what they might find and the necessity for aiding in the rescue of their rivals. On and on they went, the darkness illuminated only by the torches they carried. But they noticed that the air was still fresh, and that a gentle wind blew toward them. The passage was undoubtedly artificial, a tunnel made by the hands of men now long crumbled into dust. It had a slightly upward slope, and this, Professor Bumper said, indicated that it was bored upward and perhaps into the very heart of the mountain somewhere in the interior of which was the Beecher party. Just how far they went they did not know, but it must have been more than two miles. Yet they did not tire, for the way was smooth. Suddenly Tom, who, with Professor Bumper, was in the lead, uttered a cry, as he held his torch above his head and flashed it about in a circle. "We're blocked!" he exclaimed. "We're up against a stone wall!" It was but too true. Confronting them, and extending from side to side across the passage and from roof to floor, was a great rough stone. Immense and solid it seemed when they pushed on it in vain. "Nothing short of dynamite will move that," said Ned in despair. "This is a blind lead. We'll have to go back." "But there must be something on the other side of that stone," cried Tom. "See, it is pierced with holes, and through them comes a current of air. If we could only move the stone!" "I believe it is an ancient door," remarked Professor Bumper. Eagerly and frantically they tried to move it by their combined weight. The stone did not give the fraction of the breadth of a hair. "We'll have to go back and get some of your big tunnel blasting powder, Tom," suggested Ned. As he spoke old Goosal glided forward. He had remained behind them in the passage while they were trying to move the rock. Now he said something in Spanish. "What does he mean?" asked Ned. "He asks that he be allowed to try," translated Professor Bumper. "Sometimes, he says, there is a secret way of opening stone doors in these underground caves. Let him try." Goosal seemed to be running his fingers lightly over the outer edge of the door. He was muttering to himself in his Indian tongue. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation, and, as he did so, there was a noise from the door itself. It was a grinding, scraping sound, a rumble as though rocks were being rolled one against the other. Then the astonished eyes of the adventurers saw the great stone door revolve on its axis and swing to one side, leaving a passage open through which they could pass. Goosal had discovered the hidden mechanism. What lay before them? CHAPTER XXV THE IDOL OF GOLD "Forward! cried Tom Swift. "Where?" asked Mr Damon, hanging back for an instant. "Bless my compass, Tom! do you know where you're going?" "I haven't the least idea, but it must lead to something, or the ancients who made this revolving stone door wouldn't have taken such care to block the passage." "Ask Goosal if he knows anything about it," suggested Mr. Damon to the professor. "He says he never was here before," translated the savant, "but years ago, when he went into the hidden city by the cave we left yesterday, he saw doors like this which opened this way." "Then we're on the right track!" cried Tom. "If this is the same kind of door, it must lead to the same place. Ho for Kurzon and the idol of gold!" As they passed through the stone door, Tom and Professor Bumper tried to get some idea of the mechanism by which it worked. But they found this impossible, it being hidden within the stone itself or in the adjoining walls. But, in order that it might not close of itself and entomb them, the portal was blocked open with stones found in the passage. "It's always well to have a line of retreat open," said Tom. "There's no telling what may lie beyond us." For a time there seemed to be nothing more than the same passage along which they had come. Then the passage suddenly widened, like the large end of a square funnel. Upward and outward the stone walls swept, and they saw dimly before them, in the light of their torches, a vast cavern, seemingly formed by the falling in of mountains, which, in toppling over, had met overhead in a sort of rough arch, thus protecting, in a great measure, that which lay beneath them. Goosal, who had brought with him some of the fiber bark torches, set a bundle of them aflame. As they flared up, a wondrous sight was revealed to Tom Swift and his friends. Stretching out before them, as though they stood at the end of an elevated street and gazed down on it, was a city--a large city, with streets, houses, open squares, temples, statues, fountains, dry for centuries--a buried and forgotten city--a city in ruins--a city of the dead, now dry as dust, but still a city, or, rather, the strangely preserved remains of one. "Look!" whispered Tom. A louder voice just then, would have seemed a sacrilege. "Look!" "Is it what we are looking for?" asked Ned in a low voice. "I believe it is," replied the professor. "It is the lost city of Kurzon, or one just like it. And now if we can find the idol of gold our search will be ended--at least the major part of it." "Where did you expect to find the idol?" asked Tom. "It should be in the main temple. Come, we will walk in the ancient streets--streets where no feet but ours have trod in many centuries. Come!" In eager silence they pressed on through this newly discovered wonderland. For it was a wonderful city, or had been. Though much of it was in ruins, probably caused by an earthquake or an eruption from a volcano, the central portion, covered as it was by the overtoppling mountains that formed the arching roof, was well preserved. There were rude but beautiful stone buildings. There were archways; temples; public squares; and images, not at all beautiful, for they seemed to be of man-monsters--doubtless ancient gods. There were smoothly paved streets; wondrously carved fountains, some in ruins, all now as dry as bone, but which must have been places of beauty where youths and maidens gathered in the ancient days. Of the ancient population there was not a trace left. Tom and his friends penetrated some of the houses, but not so much as a bone or a heap of mouldering dust showed where the remains of the people were. Either they had fled at the approaching doom of the city and were buried elsewhere, or some strange fire or other force of nature had consumed and obliterated them. "What a wealth of historic information I shall find here!" murmured Professor Bumper, as he caught sight of many inscriptions in strange characters on the walls and buildings. "I shall never get to the end of them." "But what about the idol of gold?" asked Mr. Damon, "Do you think you'll find that?" "We must hurry on to the temple over there," said the scientist, indicating a building further along. "And then we must see about rescuing your rivals, Professor," put in Tom. "Yes, Tom. But fortunately we are on the ground here before them," agreed the professor. Undoubtedly it was the chief temple, or place of worship, of the long-dead race which the explorers now entered. It was a building beautiful in its barbaric style, and yet simple. There were massive walls, and a great inner court, at the end of which seemed to be some sort of altar. And then, as they lighted fresh torches, and pressed forward with them and their electric lights, they saw that which caused a cry of satisfaction to burst from all of them. "The idol of gold!" Yes, there it squatted, an ugly, misshapen, figure, a cross between a toad and a gila monster, half man, half beast, with big red eyes--rubies probably--that gleamed in the repulsive golden face. And the whole figure, weighing many pounds, seemed to be of SOLID GOLD! Eagerly the others followed Professor Bumper up the altar steps to the very throne of the golden idol. The scientist touched it, tried to raise it and make sure of its solidity and material. "This is it!" he cried. "It is the idol of gold! I have found-- We have found it, for it belongs to all of us!" "Hurray!" cried Tom Swift, and Ned and Mr. Damon joined in the cry. There was no need for silence or caution now; and yet, as they stood about the squat and ugly figure, which, in spite of its hideousness, was worth a fortune intrinsically and as an antique, they heard from the direction of the stone passage a noise. "What is it?" asked Tom Swift. There was a murmur of voices. "Indians!" cried Professor Bumper, recognizing the language--a mixture of Spanish and Indian. The cave was illuminated by the glare of other torches which seemed to rush forward. A moment later it was seen that they were being carried by a number of Indians. "Friends," murmured Goosal, using the Spanish term, "Amigos." "They are our own Indians!" cried Tom Swift. "I see Tolpec!" and he pointed to the native who had deserted from Jacinto's force to help them. "How did they get here?" asked Professor Bumper. This was quickly told. In their camp, where, under the leadership of Tolpec they had been left to do the excavating, the natives had heard, seen and felt the effects of the storm and the earthquake, though it did little damage in their vicinity. But they became alarmed for the safety of the professor and his party and, at Tolpec's suggestion, set off in search of them. The Indians had seen, passing along the trail, the uprooted trees, and had noted the footsteps of the explorers going down to the stone passage. It was easy for them to determine that Tom and his friends had gone in, since the marks of their boots were plainly in evidence in the soft soil. None of the Indians was as much wrought up over the discovery of Kurzon and the idol as were the white adventurers. The gold, of course, meant something to the natives, but they were indifferent to the wonders of the underground city. Perhaps they had heard too many legends concerning such things to be impressed. "That statue is yours--all yours," said old Goosal when he had talked with his relatives and friends among the natives. "They all say what you find you keep, and we will help you keep it." "That's good," murmured Professor Bumper. "There was some doubt in my mind as to our right to this, but after all, the natives who live in this land are the original owners, and if they pass title to us it is clear. That settles the last difficulty." "Except that of getting the idol out," said Mr. Damon. "Oh, we'll accomplish that!" cried Tom. "I can hardly believe my good luck," declared Professor Bumper. "I shall write a whole book on this idol alone and then----" Once more came an interruption. This time it was from another direction, but it was of the same character--an approaching band of torch-bearers. They were Indians, too, but leading them were a number of whites. And at their head was no less personage than Professor Beecher himself. For a moment, as the three parties stood together in the ancient temple, in the glare of many torches, no one spoke. Then Professor Bumper found his voice. "We are glad to see you," he said to his rival. "That is glad to see you alive, for we saw the landslide bury you. And we were coming to dig you out. We thought this cave--the cave of the buried city--would lead us to you easier than by digging through the slide. We have just discovered this idol," and he put his hand on the grim golden image. "Oh, you have discovered it, have you?" asked Professor Beecher, and his voice was bitter. "Yes, not ten minutes ago. The natives have kindly acknowledged my right to it under the law of priority. I am sorry but----" With a look of disgust and chagrined disappointment on his face, Professor Beecher turned to the other scientists and said: "Let us go. We are too late. He has what I came after." "Well, it is the fortune of war--and discovery," put in Mr. Hardy, one of the party who seemed the least ill-natured. "Your luck might have been ours, Professor Bumper. I congratulate you." "Thank you! Are you sure your party is all right--not in need of assistance? How did you get out of the place you were buried?" "Thank you! We do not require any help. It was good of you to think of us. But we got out the way we came in. We did not enter the tunnel as you did, but came in through another entrance which was not closed by the landslide. Then we made a turn through a gateway in a tunnel connecting with ours--a gateway which seems to have been opened by the earthquake--and we came here, just now. "Too late, I see, to claim the discovery of the idol of gold," went on Mr. Hardy. "But I trust you will be generous, and allow us to make observations of the buildings and other relics." "As much as you please, and with the greatest pleasure in the world," was the prompt answer of Professor Bumper. "All I lay sole claim to is the golden idol. You are at liberty to take whatever else you find in Kurzon and to make what observations you like." "That is generous of you, and quite in contrast to--er--to the conduct of our leader. I trust he may awaken to a sense of the injustice he did you." But Professor Beecher was not there to hear this. He had stalked away in anger. "Humph!" grunted Tom. Then he continued: "That story about a government concession was all a fake, Professor, else he'd have put up a fight now. Contemptible sneak!" In fact the story of Tom Swift's trip to the underground land of wonders is ended, for with the discovery of the idol of gold the main object of the expedition was accomplished. But their adventures were not over by any means, though there is not room in this volume to record them. Suffice it to say that means were at once taken to get the golden image out of the cave of the ancient city. It was not accomplished without hard work, for the gold was heavy, and Professor Bumper would not, naturally, consent to the shaving off of so much as an ear or part of the flat nose, to say nothing of one of the half dozen extra arms and legs with which the ugly idol was furnished. Finally it was safely taken out of the cave, and along the stone passage to the opening formed by the overthrown trees, and thence on to camp. And at the camp a surprise awaited Tom. Some long-delayed mail had been forwarded from the nearest place of civilization and there were letters for all, including several for our hero. One in particular he picked out first and read eagerly. "Well, is every little thing all right, Tom?" asked Ned, as he saw a cheerful grin spread itself over his chum's face. "I should say it is, and then some! Look here, Ned. This is a letter from----" "I know. Mary Nestor. Go on." "How'd you guess?" "Oh, I'm a mind-reader." "Huh! Well, you know she was away when I went to call to say good-bye, and I was a little afraid Beecher had got an inside edge on me." "Had he?" "No, but he tried hard enough. He went to see Mary in Fayetteville, just as you heard, before he came on to join his party, but he didn't pay much of a visit to her." "No?" "No. Mary told him he'd better hurry along to Central America, or wherever it was he intended going, as she didn't care for him as much as he flattered himself she did." "Good!" cried Ned. "Shake, old man. I'm glad!" They shook hands. "Well, what's the matter? Didn't you read all of her letter?" asked Ned when he saw his chum once more perusing the epistle. "No. There's a postscript here." "'Sorry I couldn't see you before you left. It was a mistake, but when you come back----'" "Oh, that part isn't any of your affair!" and, blushing under his tan, Tom thrust the letter into his pocket and strode away, while Ned laughed happily. With the idol of gold safe in their possession, Professor Bumper's party could devote their time to making other explorations in the buried city. This they did, as is testified to by a long list of books and magazine articles since turned out by the scientist, dealing strictly with archaeological subjects, touching on the ancient Mayan race and its civilization, with particular reference to their system of computing time. Professor Beecher, young and foolish, would not consent to delve into the riches of the ancient city, being too much chagrined over the loss of the idol. It seems he had really promised to give a part of it to Mary Nestor. But he never got the chance. His colleagues, after their first disappointment at being beaten, joined forces with Professor Bumper in exploring the old city, and made many valuable discoveries. In one point Professor Bumper had done his rival an injustice. That was in thinking Professor Beecher was responsible for the treachery of Jacinto. That was due to the plotter's own work. It was true that Professor Beecher had tentatively engaged Jacinto, and had sent word to him to keep other explorers away from the vicinity of the ancient city if possible; but Jacinto, who did not return Professor Bumper's money, as he had promised, had acted treacherously in order to enrich himself. Professor Beecher had nothing to do with that, nor had he with the taking of the map, as has been seen, the loss of which, after all, was a blessing in disguise, for Kurzon would never have been located by following the directions given there, as it was very inaccurate. In another point it was demonstrated that the old documents were at fault. This was in reference to the golden idol having been overthrown and another set up in its place, an act which had caused the destruction of Kurzon. It is true that the city was destroyed, or rather, buried, but this catastrophe was probably brought about by an earthquake. And another great idol, one of clay, was found, perhaps a rival of Quitzel, but it was this clay image which was thrown down and broken, and not the golden one. Perhaps an effort had been made, just before the burying of the city, to change idols and the system of worship, but Quitzel seemed to have held his own. The old manuscripts were not very reliable, it was found, except in general. "Well, I guess this will hold Beecher for a while," said Tom, the night of the arrival of Mary's letter, and after he had written one in answer, which was dispatched by a runner to the nearest place whence mail could be forwarded. "Yes, luck seems to favor you," replied Ned. "You've had a hand in the discovery of the idol of gold, and----" "Yes. And I discovered something else I wasn't quite sure of," interrupted Tom, as he felt to make sure he had a certain letter safe in his pocket. It was several weeks later that the explorations of Kurzon came to an end--a temporary end, for the rainy season set in, when the tropics are unsuitable for white men. Tom, Professor Bumper, Ned and Mr. Damon set sail for the United States, the valuable idol of gold safe on board. And there, with their vessel plowing the blue waters of the Caribbean Sea, we will take leave of Tom Swift and his friends. 
43204	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 43204-h.htm or 43204-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43204/43204-h/43204-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43204/43204-h.zip) Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). [Illustration: THE BIG BEAST HAD A MONKEY IN ITS MOUTH.] THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO Or The Secret of the Buried City by CLARENCE YOUNG Author of "The Racer Boys Series" and "The Jack Ranger Series." New York Cupples & Leon Co. * * * * * * * BOOKS BY CLARENCE YOUNG =THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES= (_Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of._) 12mo. Illustrated Price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid THE MOTOR BOYS Or Chums Through Thick and Thin THE MOTOR BOYS OVERLAND Or A Long Trip for Fun and Fortune THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO Or The Secret of the Buried City THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS Or The Hermit of Lost Lake THE MOTOR BOYS AFLOAT Or The Stirring Cruise of the Dartaway THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC Or The Mystery of the Lighthouse THE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS Or Lost in a Floating Forest THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE PACIFIC Or The Young Derelict Hunters THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE CLOUDS Or A Trip for Fame and Fortune =THE JACK RANGER SERIES= 12mo. Finely Illustrated Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid JACK RANGER'S SCHOOLDAYS Or The Rivals of Washington Hall JACK RANGER'S WESTERN TRIP Or From Boarding School to Ranch and Range JACK RANGER'S SCHOOL VICTORIES Or Track, Gridiron and Diamond JACK RANGER'S OCEAN CRUISE Or The Wreck of the Polly Ann JACK RANGER'S GUN CLUB Or From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail * * * * * * * Copyright, 1906, by Cupples & Leon Company THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. THE PROFESSOR IN TROUBLE 1 II. THE PROFESSOR'S STORY 9 III. NEWS OF NODDY NIXON 17 IV. OVER THE RIO GRANDE 24 V. A THIEF IN THE NIGHT 32 VI. INTO THE WILDERNESS 41 VII. A FIERCE FIGHT 50 VIII. THE OLD MEXICAN 58 IX. A VIEW OF THE ENEMY 66 X. SOME TRICKS IN MAGIC 74 XI. NODDY NIXON'S PLOT 82 XII. NODDY SCHEMES WITH MEXICANS 90 XIII. ON THE TRAIL 98 XIV. THE ANGRY MEXICANS 105 XV. CAUGHT BY AN ALLIGATOR 112 XVI. THE LAUGHING SERPENT 120 XVII. AN INTERRUPTED KIDNAPPING 127 XVIII. THE UNDERGROUND CITY 133 XIX. IN AN ANCIENT TEMPLE 141 XX. MYSTERIOUS HAPPENINGS 148 XXI. NODDY HAS A TUMBLE 156 XXII. FACE TO FACE 163 XXIII. BOB IS KIDNAPPED 171 XXIV. BOB TRIES TO FLEE 179 XXV. AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND 187 XXVI. THE ESCAPE OF MAXIMINA 195 XXVII. A STRANGE MESSAGE 204 XXVIII. TO THE RESCUE 212 XXIX. THE FIGHT 220 XXX. HOMEWARD BOUND 229 PREFACE. _Dear Boys_: At last I am able to give you the third volume of "The Motor Boys Series," a line of books relating the doings of several wide-awake lads on wheels, in and around their homes and in foreign lands. The first volume of this series, called "The Motor Boys," told how Ned, Bob and Jerry became the proud possessors of motor-cycles, and won several races of importance, including one which gave to them, something that they desired with all their hearts, a big automobile touring car. Having obtained the automobile, the lads were not content until they arranged for a long trip to the great West, as told in "The Motor Boys Overland." On the way they fell in with an old miner, who held the secret concerning the location of a lost gold mine, and it was for this mine that they headed, beating out some rivals who were also their bitter enemies. While at the mine the boys, through a learned professor, learned of a buried city in Mexico, said to contain treasures of vast importance. Their curiosity was fired, and they arranged to go to Mexico in their touring car, and the present volume tells how this trip was accomplished. Being something of an automobile enthusiast myself, it has pleased me greatly to write this story, and I hope the boys will like "The Motor Boys in Mexico" fully as well as they appeared to enjoy "The Motor Boys" and "The Motor Boys Overland." CLARENCE YOUNG. _May 28, 1906._ THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO. CHAPTER I. THE PROFESSOR IN TROUBLE. "Bang! Bang! Bang!" It was the sound of a big revolver being fired rapidly. "Hi, there! Who you shootin' at?" yelled a voice. Miners ran from rude shacks and huts to see what the trouble was. Down the valley, in front of a log cabin, there was a cloud of smoke. "Who's killed? What's the matter? Is it a fight?" were questions the men asked rapidly of each other. Down by the cabin whence the shots sounded, and where the white vapor was rolling away, a Chinaman was observed dancing about on one foot, holding the other in his hands. "What is it?" asked a tall, bronzed youth, coming from his cabin near the shaft of a mine on top of a small hill. "Cowboys shooting the town up?" "I guess it's only a case of a Chinaman fooling with a gun, Jerry. Shall I run down and take a look?" asked a fat, jolly, good-natured-looking lad. "Might as well, Chunky," said the other. "Then come back and tell Ned and me. My, but it's warm!" The stout youth, whom his companion had called Chunky, in reference to his stoutness, hurried down toward the cabin, about which a number of the miners were gathering. In a little while he returned. "That was it," he said. "Dan Beard's Chinese cook got hold of a revolver and wanted to see how it worked. He found out." "Is he much hurt?" asked a third youth, who had joined the one addressed as Jerry, in the cabin door. "One bullet hit his big toe, but he's more scared than injured. He yelled as if he was killed, Ned." "Well, if that's all the excitement, I'm going in and finish the letter I was writing to the folks at home," remarked Jerry. The other lads entered the cabin with him, and soon all three were busy writing or reading notes, for one mail had come in and another was shortly to leave the mining camp. It was a bright day, early in November, though the air was as hot as if it was mid-summer, for the valley, which contained the gold diggings, was located in the southern part of Arizona, and the sun fairly burned as it blazed down. The three boys, who had gone back into their cabin when the excitement following the accidental shooting of the Chinaman had died away, were Jerry Hopkins, Bob Baker and Ned Slade. Bob was the son of Andrew Baker, a wealthy banker; Ned's father was a well-to-do merchant, and Jerry was the son of a widow, Julia Hopkins. All of the boys lived in Cresville, Mass., a town not far from Boston. The three boys had been chums through thick and thin for as many years as they could remember. A strange combination of circumstances had brought them to Arizona, where, in company with Jim Nestor, an old western miner, they had discovered a rich gold mine that had been lost for many years. "There, my letter's finished," announced Jerry, about half an hour after the incident of the shooting. "I had mine done an hour ago," said Ned. "Let's run into town in the auto and mail them. We need some supplies, anyhow," suggested Bob. "All right," assented the others. The three boys went to the shed where their touring car, a big, red machine in which they had come West, was stored. Ned cranked up, and with a rattle, rumble and bang of the exhaust, the car started off, carrying the three lads to Rockyford, a town about ten miles from the gold diggings. "I wonder if we'll ever see Noddy Nixon or Jack Pender again?" asked Bob, when the auto had covered about three miles. "And you might as well say Bill Berry and Tom Dalsett," put in Jerry. "They all got away together. I don't believe in looking on the dark side of things, but I'm afraid we'll have trouble yet with that quartette." "They certainly got away in great shape," said Bob. "I'll give Noddy credit for that, if he is a mean bully." Noddy Nixon was an old enemy of the three chums. As has been told in the story of "The Motor Boys," the first book of this series, Jerry, Ned and Bob, when at home in Massachusetts, had motor-cycles and used to go on long trips together, on several of which they met Noddy Nixon, Jack Pender and Bill Berry, a town ne'er-do-well, with no very pleasant results. The boys had been able to secure their motor-cycles through winning prizes at a bicycle race, in which Noddy was beaten. This made him more than ever an enemy of the Motor Boys. The latter, after having many adventures on their small machines, entered a motor-cycle race. In this they were again successful, defeating some crack riders, and the prize this time was a big, red touring automobile, the same they were now using. Once they had an auto they decided on a trip across the continent, and their doings on that journey are recorded in the second book of this series, entitled "The Motor Boys Overland." It was while out riding in their auto in Cresville one evening that they came across a wounded miner in a hut. He turned out to be Jim Nestor, who knew the secret of a lost mine in Arizona. While sick in the hut, Nestor was robbed of some gold he carried in a belt. Jack Pender was the thief, and got away, although the Motor Boys chased him. With Nestor as a guide, the boys set out to find the lost mine. On the way they had many adventures with wild cowboys and stampeded cattle, while once the auto caught fire. They made the acquaintance, on the prairies, of Professor Uriah Snodgrass, a collector of bugs, stones and all sorts of material for college museums, for he was a naturalist. They succeeded in rescuing the professor from a mob of cowboys, who, under the impression that the naturalist had stolen one of their horses, were about to hang him. The professor went with the boys and Nestor to the mine, and was still with them. The gold claim was not easily won. Noddy Nixon, Pender, Berry and one Pud Stoneham, a gambler, aided by Tom Dalsett, who used to work for Nestor, attacked the Motor Boys and their friends and tried to get the mine away from them. However, Jerry and his friends won out, the sheriff arrested Stoneham for several crimes committed, and the others fled in Noddy's auto, which he had stolen from his father, for Noddy had left home because it was discovered that he had robbed the Cresville iron mill of one thousand dollars, which crime Jerry and his two chums had discovered and fastened on the bully. So it was no small wonder, after all the trouble Noddy and his gang had caused, that Jerry felt he and his friends might hear more of their unpleasant acquaintances. Noddy, Jerry knew, was not one to give up an object easily. In due time town was reached, the letters were mailed, and the supplies purchased. Then the auto was headed back toward camp. About five miles from the gold diggings, Ned, who sat on the front seat with Bob, who was steering, called out: "Hark! Don't you hear some one shouting?" Bob shut off the power and, in the silence which ensued, the boys heard a faint call. "Help! Help! Help!" "It's over to the left," said Ned. "No; it's to the right, up on top of that hill," announced Jerry. They all listened intently, and it was evident that Jerry was correct. The cries could be heard a little more plainly now. "Help! Hurry up and help!" called the voice. "I'm down in a hole!" The boys jumped from the auto and ran to the top of the hill. At the summit they found an abandoned mine shaft. Leaning over this they heard groans issuing from it, and more cries for aid. "Who's there?" asked Jerry. "Professor Uriah Snodgrass, A. M., Ph.D., F. R. G. S., B. A. and A. B. H." "Our old friend, the professor!" exclaimed Ned. "How did you ever get there?" he called down the shaft. "Never mind how I got here, my dear young friend," expostulated the professor, "but please be so kind as to help me out. I came down a ladder, but the wood was rotten, and when I tried to climb out, the rungs broke. Have you a rope?" "Run back to the machine and get one," said Jerry to Bob. "We'll have to pull him up, just as we did the day he fell over the cliff." In a few minutes Bob came back with the rope. A noose was made in one end and this was lowered to the professor. "Put it around your chest, under your arms, and we will haul you up," said Jerry. "I can't!" cried the professor. "Why not?" "Can't use my hands." "Are your arms broken?" asked the boy, afraid lest his friend had met with an injury. "No, my dear young friend, my arms are not broken. I am not hurt at all." "Then, why can't you put the rope under your arms?" "Because I have a very rare specimen of a big, red lizard in one hand, and a strange kind of a bat in the other. They are both alive, and if I let them go to fix the rope they'll get away, and they're worth five hundred dollars each. I'd rather stay here all my life than lose these specimens." "How will we ever get him up?" asked Bob. CHAPTER II. THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. For a little while it did seem like a hard proposition. The professor could not, or rather would not, aid himself. Once the rope was around him it would be an easy matter for the boys to haul him out of the hole. "If we could lasso him it would be the proper thing," said Bob. "I have it!" exclaimed Ned. He began pulling up the rope from where it dangled down into the abandoned shaft. "What are you going to do?" asked Jerry. "I'll show you," replied Ned, adjusting the rope around his chest, under his arms. "Now if you two will lower me into the hole I'll fasten this cable on the professor and you can haul him up. Then you can yank me out, and it will be killing two birds with one stone." "More like hanging two people with one rope," laughed Bob. But Ned's plan was voted a good one. Jerry and Bob lowered him carefully down the shaft, until the slacking of the rope told that he was at the bottom. In a little while they heard a shout: "Haul away!" It was quite a pull for the two boys, for, though the professor was a small man, he was no lightweight. Hand over hand the cable was hauled until, at last, the shining bald head of the naturalist was observed emerging from the black hole of the abandoned mine. "Easy, easy, boys!" he cautioned, as soon as his chin was above the surface. "I've got two rare specimens with me, and I don't want them harmed." When Jerry and Bob had pulled Professor Snodgrass up as far as possible, by means of the rope, the naturalist rested his elbows on the edge of the shaft and wiggled the rest of the way out by his own efforts. In one hand was a big lizard, struggling to escape, and in the other was a large bat, flapping its uncanny wings. "Ah, I have you safe, my beauties!" exclaimed the collector. "You can't get away from me now!" He placed the reptile and bat in his green specimen-box, which was on the ground a short distance away, his face beaming with pride over his achievement, though in queer contrast to his disordered appearance, for he had fallen in the mud of the mine, his clothes were all dirt, his hat was gone and he looked as ruffled as a wet hen. "Much obliged to you, boys," he said, coming over to Bob and Jerry. "I might have stayed there forever if you hadn't come along. Seems as though I am always getting into trouble. Do you remember the day I fell over the cliff with Broswick and Nestor, and you pulled us up with the auto?" "I would say we did," replied Jerry. "But now we must pull Ned up." Once more the rope was lowered down the shaft and in a few minutes Ned was hauled up safely. "It's almost as deep as our mine shaft," he said, as he brushed the dirt from his clothes, "but I didn't see any gold there, for it's as dark as a pocket. How did you come to go down, professor?" "I suspected I might get some specimens in such a place," replied the naturalist, "so I just went down, and I had excellent luck, most excellent!" "It's a good thing you think so," put in Jerry. "Most people would call it bad to get caught at the bottom of a mine shaft." "Oh, it wasn't so bad," went on the professor, casting his eyes over the ground in search of any stray specimens of snakes or bugs. "I had my candle with me until I lost it, just after I caught the lizard and bat. I could have come up all right if the ladder hadn't broken. It was quite a hole, for a fact. It reminds me of another big hole I once heard about." "What hole is that?" asked Ned. "Oh, that's quite a story, all about mysteries, buried cities and all that." "Tell us about it," suggested Jerry. "To-night, maybe," answered the naturalist. "I want to get back to camp now and attend to my specimens." The boys and the professor, the latter carrying his box of curiosities, were soon in the auto and speeding back to the gold mine. That night, sitting around the camp-fire, which blazed cheerfully, the boys asked Professor Snodgrass to tell them the story he had hinted at when they hauled him from the mine shaft. "Let me listen, too," said Jim Nestor, filling his pipe and stretching out on the grass. Then, in the silence of the early night, broken only by the crackle of the flames and the distantly heard hoot of owls or howl of foxes, the naturalist told what he knew of a buried city of ancient Mexico. "It was some years ago," he began, "that a friend of mine, a young college professor, was traveling in Mexico. He visited all the big places and then, getting tired of seeing the things that travelers usually see, he struck out into the wilds, accompanied only by an old Mexican guide. "He traveled for nearly a week, getting farther and farther away from civilization, until one night he found himself on a big level plain, at the extreme end of which there was a curiously shaped mountain. "He proposed to his guide that they camp for the night and proceed to the mountain the next day. The guide assented, but he acted so queerly that my friend wondered what the matter was. He questioned his companion, but all he could get out of him was that the mountain was considered a sort of unlucky place, and no one went there who could avoid it. "This made my friend all the more anxious to see what might be there, and he announced his intention of making the journey in the morning. He did so, but he had to go alone, for, during the night, his guide deserted him." "And what did he find at the mountain?" asked Bob. "A gold mine?" "Not exactly," replied the professor. "Maybe it was a silver lode," suggested Nestor. "There's plenty of silver in Mexico." "It wasn't a silver mine, either," went on the professor. "All he found was a big hole in the side of the mountain. He went inside and walked for nearly a mile, his only light being a candle. Then he came to a wall of rock. He was about to turn back, when he noticed an opening in the wall. It was high up, but he built a platform of stones up and peered through the opening." "What did he see?" asked Jerry. "The remains of an ancient, buried city," replied Professor Snodgrass. "The mountain was nothing more than a big mound of earth, with an opening in the top, through which daylight entered. The shaft through the side led to the edge of the city. My friend gazed in on the remains of a place thousands of years old. The buildings were mostly in ruins, but they showed they had once been of great size and beauty. There were wide streets with what had been fountains in them. There was not a vestige of a living creature. It was as if some pestilence had fallen on the place and the people had all left." "Did he crawl through the hole in the wall and go into the deserted city?" asked Nestor, with keen interest. "He wanted to," answered the naturalist, "but he thought it would be risky, alone as he was. So he made a rough map of as much of the place as he could see, including his route in traveling to the mountain. Then he retraced his steps, intending to organize a searching party of scientists and examine the buried city." "Did he do it?" came from Bob, who was listening eagerly. "No. Unfortunately, he was taken ill with a fever as soon as he got back to civilization, and he died shortly afterward." "Too bad," murmured Jerry. "It would have been a great thing to have given to the world news of such a place in Mexico. It's all lost now." "Not all," said the professor, in a queer voice. "Why not? Didn't you say your friend died?" "Yes; but before he expired he told me the story and gave me the map." "Where is it?" asked Nestor, sitting up and dropping his pipe in his excitement. "There!" exclaimed the professor, extending a piece of paper, which he had brought forth from his possessions. Eagerly, they all bent forward to examine the map in the light of the camp-fire. The drawing was crude enough, and showed that the buried city lay to the east of the chain of Sierra Madre Mountains, and about five hundred miles to the north of the City of Mexico. "There's the place," said the professor, pointing with his finger to the buried city. "How I wish I could go there! It has always been my desire to follow the footsteps of my unfortunate friend. Perhaps I might discover the buried city. I could investigate it, make discoveries and write a book about it. That would be the height of my ambition. But I'm afraid I'll never be able to do it." For a few minutes there was silence about the camp-fire, each one thinking of the mysterious city that was not so very many miles from them. Suddenly Ned jumped to his feet and gave a yell. "Whoop!" he cried. "I have it! It will be the very thing!" CHAPTER III. NEWS OF NODDY NIXON. "What's the matter? Bit by a kissin' bug?" asked Nestor, as Ned was capering about. "Nope! I'm going to find that buried city," replied Ned. "He's loony!" exclaimed the miner. "He's been sleepin' in the moonlight. That's a bad thing to do, Ned." "I'm not crazy," spoke the boy. "I have a plan. If you don't want to listen to it, all right," and he started for the cabin. "What is it, tell us, will you?" came from the professor, who was in earnest about everything. "I just thought we might make a trip to Mexico in the automobile, and hunt for that lost city," said Ned. "We could easily make the trip. It would be fun, even if we didn't find the place, and the gold mine is now in good shape, so that we could leave, isn't it, Jim?" "Oh, I can run the mine, all right," spoke Nestor. "If you boys want to go traipsin' off to Mexico, why, go ahead, as far as I'm concerned. Better ask your folks first, though. I reckon you an' the professor could make the trip, easy enough, but I won't gamble on your finding the buried city, for I've heard such stories before, an' they don't very often come true." "Dearly as I would like to make the trip in the automobile, and sure as I feel that we could do it, I think we had better sleep on the plan," said Professor Snodgrass. "If you are of the same mind in the morning we will consider it further." "I'd like to go, first rate," came from Jerry. "Same here," put in Bob. That night each of the boys dreamed of walking about in some ancient towns, where the buildings were of gold and silver, set with diamonds, and where the tramp of soldiers' feet resounded on the paved courtyards of the palaces of the Montezumas. "Waal," began Nestor, who was up early, making the coffee, when the boys turned out of their bunks, "air ye goin' to start for Mexico to-day, or wait till to-morrow?" "Don't you think we could make the trip?" asked Jerry, seriously. "Oh, you can make it, all right, but you'll have troubles. In the first place, Mexico ain't the United States, an' there's a queer lot of people, mostly bad, down there. You'll have to be on the watch all the while, but if you're careful I guess you'll git along. But come on, now, help git breakfust." Through the meal, though the boys talked little, it was evident they were thinking of nothing but the trip to Mexico. "I'm going to write home now and find if I can go," said Ned. Jerry and Bob said they would do the same, and soon three letters were ready to be sent. After their usual round of duties at the mine, which consisted in making out reports, dealing out supplies, and checking up the loads of ore, the boys went to town in the auto to mail their letters. It was a pleasant day for the trip, and they made good time. "It will be just fine if we can go," said Bob. "Think of it, we may find the buried city and discover the stores of gold hidden by the inhabitants." "I guess all the gold the Mexicans ever had was gobbled up by the Spaniards," put in Jerry. "But we may find a store of curios, relics and other things worth more than gold," added Ned. "If we take the professor with us that's what he would care about more than money. I do hope we can go." "It's going to be harder to find than the lost gold mine was," said Jerry. "That map the professor has isn't much to go by." "Oh, it will be fun hunting for the place," went on Bob. "We may find the city before we know it." In due time the boys reached town and mailed their letters. There was some excitement in the village over a robbery that had occurred, and the sheriff was organizing a posse to go in search of a band of horse thieves. "Don't you want to go 'long?" asked the official of the boys, whom he knew from having aided them in the battle at the mine against Noddy Nixon and his friends some time before. "Come along in the choo-choo wagon. I'll swear you in as special deputies." "No, thanks, just the same," Jerry said. "We are pretty busy up at the diggings and can't spare the time." "Like to have you," went on the sheriff, genially. "You could make good time in the gasolene gig after those hoss thieves." But the boys declined. They had been through enough excitement in securing the gold mine to last them for a while. "We must stop at the store and get some bacon," said Ned. "Nestor told me as we were coming away. There's none at the camp." Bidding the sheriff good-by, and waiting until he had ridden off at the head of his forces, the boys turned their auto toward the general store, located on the main street of Rockyford. "Howdy, lads!" exclaimed the proprietor, as he came to the door to greet them. "What is it to-day, gasolene or cylinder oil?" "Bacon," replied Jerry. "Got some prime," the merchant said. "Best that ever come off a pig. How much do you want?" "Twenty pounds will do this time," answered Jerry. "We may not be here long, and we don't want to stock up too heavily." "You ain't thinkin' of goin' back East, are ye?" exclaimed the storekeeper. "More likely to go South," put in Ned. "We were thinking of Mexico." "You don't say so!" cried the vendor of bacon and other sundries. "Got another gold mine in sight down there?" "No; but----" and then Ned subsided, at a warning punch in the side from Jerry, who was not anxious to have the half-formed plans made public. "You was sayin'----" began the storekeeper, as if desirous of hearing more. "Oh, we may take a little vacation trip down into Mexico," said Jerry, in a careless tone. "We've been working pretty hard and we need a rest. But nothing has been decided yet." "Mexico must be quite a nice place," went on the merchant. "What makes you think so?" asked Bob. "I heard of another automobilin' party that went there not long ago." "Who was it?" spoke Jerry. "Some chap named Dixon or Pixon or Sixon, I forget exactly what it was." "Was it Nixon?" asked Jerry. "That's it! Noddy Nixon, I remember now. He had a chap with him named Perry or Ferry or Kerry or----" "Bill Berry, maybe," suggested Bob. "That was it! Berry. Queer what a poor memory I have for names. And there was another with him. Let's see, I have it; no, that wasn't it. Oh, yes, Hensett!" "You mean Dalsett," put in Ned. "That's it! Dalsett! And there was another named Jack Pender. There, I bet I've got that right." "You have," said Jerry. "You say they went to Mexico?" "You see, it was this way," the storekeeper went on. "It was about three weeks ago. They come up in a big automobile, like yours, an' bought a lot of stuff. I kind of hinted to find out where they was headed for, an' all the satisfaction I got was that that there Nixon feller says as how he guessed Mexico would be the best place for them, as the United States Government hadn't no control down there. Then one of the others says Mexico would suit him. So I guess they went. Now, is there anything else I can let you have?" "Thanks, this will be all," replied Jerry, paying for the bacon. The boys waited until they were some distance on the road before they spoke about the news the storekeeper had told them. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Noddy and his gang had gone to Mexico," said Ned. "That's the safest place for them, after what they did." "I wish they weren't there, if we are to take a trip in that country," put in Bob. "It's a big place, I guess they won't bother us," came from Jerry. But he was soon to find that Mexico was not big enough to keep Noddy and his crowd from making much trouble and no little danger for him and his friends. They arrived at camp early in the afternoon and told Nestor the news they had heard. He did not attach much importance to it, as he was busy over an order for new mining machinery. There was plenty for the boys to do about camp, and soon they were so occupied that they almost forgot there was such a place as Mexico. CHAPTER IV. OVER THE RIO GRANDE. A week later, during which there had been busy days at the mining camp, the boys received answers to their letters. They came in the shape of telegrams, for the lads had asked their parents to wire instead of waiting to write. Each one received permission to make the trip into the land of the Montezumas. "Hurrah!" yelled Bob, making an ineffectual attempt to turn a somersault, and coming down all in a heap. "What's the matter?" asked Nestor, coming out of the cabin. "Wasp sting ye?" "We can go to Mexico!" cried Ned, waving the telegram. "Same thing," replied the miner. "Ye'll git bit by sand fleas, tarantulas, scorpions, centipedes, horse-flies an' rattlesnakes, down there. Better stay here." "Is it as bad as that?" asked Bob. "If it is I'll get the finest collection of bugs the college ever saw," put in Professor Snodgrass. "Well, it may not be quite as bad, but it's bad enough," qualified Nestor. "But don't let me discourage you. Go ahead, this is a free country." So it was arranged. The boys decided they would start in three days, taking the professor with them. "And we'll find that buried city if it's there," put in Ned. The next few days were busy ones. At Nestor's suggestion each one of the boys had a stout money-belt made, in which they could carry their cash strapped about their waists. They were going into a wild country, the miner told them, where the rights of people were sometimes disregarded. Then the auto was given a thorough overhauling, new tires were put on the rear wheels, and a good supply of ammunition was packed up. In addition, many supplies were loaded into the machine, and Professor Snodgrass got an enlarged box made for his specimens, as well as two new butterfly nets. The boys invested in stout shoes and leggins, for they felt they might have to make some explorations in a wild country. A good camp cooking outfit was taken along, and many articles that Nestor said would be of service during the trip. "Your best way to go," said the miner, "will be to scoot along back into New Mexico for a ways, then take over into Texas, and strike the Rio Grande below where the Conchas River flows into it. This will save you a lot of mountain climbing an' give you a better place to cross the Rio Grande. At a place about ten miles below the Conchas there is a fine flat-boat ferriage. You can take the machine over on that." The boys promised to follow this route. Final preparations were made, letters were written home, the auto was gone over for the tenth time by Jerry, and having received five hundred dollars each from Nestor, as their share in the mine receipts up to the time they left, they started off with a tooting of the auto horn. "That's more money than I ever had at one time before," said Bob, patting his money-belt as he settled himself comfortably down in the rear seat of the car, beside Professor Snodgrass. "Money is no good," said the naturalist. "No good?" "No; I'd rather catch a pink and blue striped sand flea, which is the rarest kind that exists, than have all the money in the world. If I can get one of them or even a purple muskrat, and find the buried city, that will be all I want on this earth." "I certainly hope we find the buried city," spoke up Ned, who was listening to the conversation, "but I wouldn't care much for a purple muskrat." "Well, every one to his taste," said the professor. "We may find both." The journey, which was to prove a long one, full of surprises and dangers, was now fairly begun. The auto hummed along the road, making fast time. That night the adventurers spent in a little town in New Mexico. Their arrival created no little excitement, as it was the first time an auto had been in that section. Such a crowd of miners and cowboys surrounded the machine that Jerry, who was steering, had to shut off the power in a hurry to avoid running one man down. "I thought maybe ye could jump th' critter over me jest like they do circus hosses," explained the one who had nearly been hit by the car. Jerry laughingly disclaimed any such powers of the machine. Two days later found them in Texas, and, recalling Nestor's directions about crossing the Rio Grande, they kept on down the banks of that mighty river until they passed the junction where the Conchas flows in. So far the trip had been without accident. The machine ran well and there was no trouble with the mechanism or the tires. Just at dusk, one night, they came to a small settlement on the Rio Grande. They rode through the town until they came to a sort of house-boat on the edge of the stream. A sign over the entrance bore the words: FERRY HERE. "This is the place we're looking for, I guess," said Jerry. He drove the machine up to the entrance and brought it to a stop. A dark-featured man, with a big scar down one side of his face, slouched to the door. "Well?" he growled. "We'd like to be ferried over to the other side," spoke Jerry. "Come to-morrow," snarled the man. "We don't work after five o'clock." "But we'd like very much to get over to-night," went on Jerry. "And if it's any extra trouble we'd be willing to pay for it." "That's the way with you rich chaps that rides around in them horseless wagons," went on the ferrymaster. "Ye think a man has got to be at yer beck an' call all the while. I'll take ye over, but it'll cost ye ten dollars." "We'll pay it," said Jerry, for he observed a crowd of rough men gathering, whose looks he did not like, and he thought he and his friends would be better off on the other side of the stream, on Mexican territory. "Must be in a bunch of hurry," growled the man. "Ain't tryin' to git away from th' law, be ye?" "Not that we know of," laughed Jerry. "Looks mighty suspicious," snarled the man. "But, come on. Run yer shebang down on the boat, an' go careful or you'll go through the bottom. The craft ain't built to carry locomotives." Jerry steered the car down a slight incline onto a big flat boat, where it was blocked by chunks of wood so that it could not roll forward or backward. By this time the ferrymaster and his crew had come down to the craft. They were all rather unpleasant-looking men, with bold, hard faces, and it was evident that each one of the five, who made up the force that rowed the boat across the stream, was heavily armed. They wore bowie-knives and carried two revolvers apiece. But the sight of armed men was no new one to the boys since their experience in the mining camp, and they had come to know that the chap who made the biggest display of an arsenal was usually the one who was the biggest coward, seldom having use for a gun or a knife. "All ready?" growled the ferryman. "All ready," called Jerry. He and the other boys, with the professor, had alighted from the auto and stood beside it on the flat boat. Pulling on the long sweeps, the men sent the boat out into the stream, which, at this point, was about a mile wide. Once beyond the shore the force of the current made itself felt, and it was no easy matter to keep the boat headed right. Every now and then the ferryman would cast anxious looks at the sky, and several times he urged the men to row faster. "Do you think it is going to storm, my dear friend?" asked the professor, in a kindly and gentle voice. "Think it, ye little bald-headed runt! I know it is!" exploded the man. "And if it ketches us out here there's goin' to be trouble." The sky was blacking up with heavy clouds, and the wind began to blow with considerable force. The boat seemed to make little headway, though the men strained at the long oars. "Row, ye lazy dogs!" exclaimed the pilot. "Do ye want to upset with this steam engine aboard? Row, if ye want to git ashore!" The men fairly bent the stout sweeps. The wind increased in violence, and quite high waves rocked the ferryboat. The sky was getting blacker. Jagged lightning came from the clouds, and the rumble of thunder could be heard. "Row, I tell ye! Row!" yelled the pilot, but the men could do no more than they were doing. The big boat tossed and rocked, and the automobile started to slide forward. "Fasten it with a rope!" cried Jerry, and aided by his companions they lashed the car fast. "Look out! We're in for it now!" shouted the ferryman. "Here comes the storm!" With a wild burst of sky artillery, the clouds opened amid a dazzling electrical display, and the rain came down in torrents. At the same time the wind increased to hurricane force, driving the boat before it like a cork on the waves. Three of the men lost their oars, and the craft, with no steerage way, was tossed from side to side. Then, as there came a stronger blast of the gale, the boat was driven straight ahead. "We're going to hit something!" yelled Jerry, peering through the mist of rain. "Hold fast, everybody!" The next instant there was a resounding crash, and the sound of breaking and splintering wood. [Illustration: THE NEXT INSTANT THERE WAS A RESOUNDING CRASH.] CHAPTER V. A THIEF IN THE NIGHT. The shock was so hard that every one on the ferryboat was knocked down, and the auto, breaking from the restraining ropes, ran forward and brought up against the shelving prow of the scow. "Here, where you fellers goin'?" demanded a voice from amid the scene of wreckage and confusion. "What do ye mean by tryin' t' smash me all to splinters?" At the same time this remonstrance was accompanied by several revolver shots. Then came a volley of language in choice Spanish, and the noise of several men chopping away at planks and boards. The wind continued to blow and the rain to fall, while the lightning and thunder were worse than before. But the ferryboat no longer tossed and pitched on the storm-lashed river. It remained stationary. "Now we're in for it," shouted the ferryman, as soon as he had scrambled to his feet. "A nice kettle of fish I'm in for takin' this automobile over on my boat!" "What has happened?" asked Jerry, trying to look through the mist of falling rain, and seeing nothing but a black object, as large as a house, looming up before him. "Matter!" exclaimed the pilot. "We've gone and smashed plumb into Don Alvarzo's house-boat and done no end of damage. Wait until he makes you fellers pay for it." "It wasn't our fault," began Jerry. "You were in charge of the ferryboat. We are only passengers. Besides, we couldn't stop the storm from coming up." "Tell that to Don Alvarzo," sneered the ferryman. "Maybe he'll believe you. But here he comes himself, and we can see what has happened." Several Mexicans bearing lanterns now approached. At their head was a tall, swarthy man, wearing a big cloak picturesquely draped over his shoulders, velvet trousers laced with silver, and a big sombrero. By the lantern light it could be seen that the ferryboat had jammed head-on against the side of a large house-boat moored on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande. So hard had the scow rammed the other craft that the two were held together by a mass of splintered wood, the front of the ferryboat breaking a hole in the side of the house-boat and sticking there. The automobile had nearly gone overboard. Don Alvarzo began to speak quickly in Spanish, pointing to the damage done. "I beg your pardon," said Jerry, taking off his cap and bowing in spite of the rain that was still coming down in torrents. "I beg your pardon, señor, but if you would be so kind as to speak in English we could understand it better." "Certainly, my dear young sir," replied Don Alvarzo, bowing in his turn, determined not to be outdone by an _Americano_. "I speak English also. But what is this? _Diablo!_ I am taking my meal on my house-boat. I smoke my cigarette, and am thankful that I am not out in the storm. Presto! There comes a crash like unto that the end of the world is nigh! I rise! I run! I fire my revolver, thinking it may be robbers! My _Americano_ manager he calls out! Now, if you please, what is it all about?" "The storm got the best of the ferryboat," said Jerry. "My friends and myself, including Professor Uriah Snodgrass, of whom you may have heard, for he is a great scientist----" "I salute the professor," interrupted Don Alvarzo, bowing to the naturalist. "Well, we are going to make a trip through Mexico," went on Jerry. "We engaged this man," pointing to the ferrymaster, "to take us over the river in his boat. Unfortunately we crashed into yours. It was not our fault." Angry cries from the Mexicans who stood in a half circle about Don Alvarzo on the deck of the house-boat showed that they understood this talk, but did not approve of it. "_Americanos_ pigs! Make pay!" called out one man. "We're not pigs, and if this accident is our fault we will pay at once," said Jerry, hotly. "There, there, señor," said the Don, motioning to his man to be quiet. "We will consider this. It appears that you are merely passengers on the ferryboat. The craft was in charge of Señor Jenkins, there, whom I very well know. He will pay me for the damage, I am sure." "You never made a bigger mistake in your life!" exclaimed Jenkins. "If there's any payin' to be done, these here automobile fellers will have to do it. I'm out of pocket now with chargin' 'em only ten dollars, for three of my oars are lost." "Very well, then, we will let the law take its course," said the Don. "Here!" he called to his men, "take the ferry captain into custody. We'll see who is to pay." "Rather than have trouble and delay we would be willing to settle for the damages," spoke up Jerry. "How much is it?" "I will have to refer you to Señor Jones, my manager," said the Mexican. "What's all the row about?" interrupted a voice, and a tall, lanky man came forward into the circle of lantern light. "People can't expect to smash boats an' not pay for 'em." "We are perfectly willing to pay," said Jerry. "Well, if there ain't my old friend Professor Snodgrass!" cried Jones, jumping down on the flat-boat and shaking hands with the naturalist. "Well, well, this is a sight for sore eyes. I ain't seen ye since I was janitor in your laboratory in Wellville College. How are ye?" The professor, surprised to meet an acquaintance under such strange circumstances, managed to say that he was in good health. "Well, well," went on Jones, "I'll soon settle this. Look here, Don Alvarzo," he went on, "these is friends of mine. If there's any damage----" "Oh, I assure you, not a penny, not a penny!" exclaimed the Mexican. "I regret that my boat was in their way. I beg a thousand pardons. Say not a word more, my dear professor and young friends, but come aboard and partake of such poor hospitality as Don Miguel Fernandez Alvarzo can offer. I am your most humble servant." The boys and the professor were glad enough of the turn events had taken. At a few quick orders from Jones and the Don, the Mexicans and the ferry captain's crew backed the scow away from the house-boat. A landing on shore was made, the automobile run off, and the ferryman having been paid his money, with something extra for the lost oars, pulled off into the rain and darkness, growling the while. "Now you must come in out of the rain," said Don Alvarzo, as soon as the auto had been covered with a tarpaulin, carried in case of bad weather. "We can dry and feed you, at all events." It was a pleasant change from the storm outside to the warm and well-lighted house-boat. The thunder and lightning had ceased, but the rain kept up and the wind howled unpleasantly. "I regret that your advent into this wonderful land of Mexico should be fraught with such inauspicious a beginning as this outburst of the elements," spoke Don Alvarzo, with a bow, as he ushered his guests into the dining-room. "Oh, well, we're used to bad weather," said Bob, cheerfully. In a little while the travelers had divested themselves of their wet garments and donned dry ones from their valises that had been brought in from the auto. Soon they sat down to a bountiful meal in which red peppers, garlic and frijoles, with eggs and chicken, formed a prominent part. Jones, the Don's manager, ate with them, and told how, in his younger days, he had worked at a college where Professor Snodgrass had been an instructor. Supper over, they all gathered about a comfortable fire and, in answer to questions from Don Alvarzo, the boys told something of their plans, not, however, revealing their real object. "I presume you are searching for silver mines," said the Don, with a laugh and a sly wink. "Believe me, all the silver and gold, too, is taken out of my unfortunate country. You had much better go to raising cattle. Now, I have several nice ranches I could sell you. What do you say? Shall we talk business?" But Jerry, assuming the rôle of spokesman, decided they had no inclination to embark in business just yet. They might consider it later, he said. The Don looked disappointed, but did not press the point. The evening was passed pleasantly enough, and about nine o'clock, as the travelers showed signs of fatigue, Jones suggested that beds might be agreeable. "I am sorry I cannot give you sleeping apartments together," remarked the Don. "I can put two of you boys in one room, give the professor another small room, and the third boy still another. It is the best arrangement I can make." "That will suit us," replied Jerry. "Ned and I will bunk together." "Very well; if you will follow my man he will escort you to your rooms," went on the Mexican. "Perhaps the professor will sit up and smoke." The naturalist said he never smoked, and, besides, he was so tired that bed was the best place for him. So he followed the boys, and soon the travelers were lighted to their several apartments. Ned and Jerry found themselves together, the professor had a room at one end of a long gangway and Bob an apartment at the other end. Good-nights were called, and the adventurers prepared to get whatever rest they might. As Ned and Jerry were getting undressed they heard a low knock on their door. "Who's there?" asked Jerry. "Hush! Not so loud!" came in cautious tones. "This is Jones. Keep your guns handy, that's all. I can't tell you any more," and then the boys heard him moving away. "Well, I must say that's calculated to induce sleep," remarked Ned. "Keep your guns handy! I wonder if we've fallen into a robber's den?" "I don't like the looks of things," commented Jerry. "The Don may be all right, and probably is, but he has a lot of ugly-looking Mexicans on his boat. I guess we'll watch out. I hope Jones will warn the others." There came a second knock on the door. "What is it?" called Jerry, in a whisper. "I've warned your friends," replied Jones. "Now watch out. I can't say any more." His footsteps died away down the gangway. Jerry and Ned looked at each other. "I guess we'll sit up the rest of the night," said Ned. They started their vigil. But they were very tired and soon, before either of them knew it, they were nodding. Several times they roused themselves, but nature at length gained the mastery and soon they were both stretched out asleep on the bed. About three o'clock in the morning there came a cautious trying of the door of the room where Ned and Jerry were sleeping. Soft footsteps sounded outside. If ever the boys needed to be awake it was now, for there was a thief in the night stealing in upon them. CHAPTER VI. INTO THE WILDERNESS. Jerry had a curious dream. He thought he was back in Cresville and was playing a game of ball. He had reached second base safely and was standing there when the player on the other side grabbed him by his belt and began to pull him away. "Here! Stop that! It's not in the game!" exclaimed Jerry, struggling to get away. So real was the effort that he awakened. He looked up, and there, standing over him in the darkness, was a dim form. "Silence!" hissed a voice. "One move and I'll kill you. Remain quiet and you shall not be harmed!" Jerry had sense enough to obey. He was wide awake now and knew that he was at the mercy of a Mexican robber. The man was struggling to undo the lad's money-belt about his waist, and it was this that had caused the boy's vivid dream. Jerry had been kicking his feet about rather freely, but now he stretched out and submitted to the mauling to which the robber was subjecting him. If only Ned would awake, Jerry thought, for Ned, he knew, had his revolver ready in his hand. With a yank the thief took off Jerry's belt containing the money. "Lie still or you die!" the fellow exclaimed. Then he moved over to where Ned reclined on the bed. Jerry could see more plainly now, for the storm had ceased, the moon had risen and a stray beam came in the side window of the house-boat. The robber stretched out his hand to Ned's waist. He was about to reach under the coat and unbuckle the money-belt, when Ned suddenly sat upright. In his hand he held his revolver, which he pointed full in the face of the marauder. "Drop that knife!" exclaimed Ned, for the Mexican held a sharp blade in his hand. "Bah!" the fellow exclaimed, but the steel fell with a clang to the floor. "Now lay the money-belt on the bed, if you don't want me to shoot!" said the boy, pushing the cold steel of the weapon against the Mexican's face. "Pardon, señor, it was all a joke! Don't shoot!" the fellow uttered, in a trembling voice, at the same time tossing the belt over to Jerry, who had drawn his own revolver from under the pillow where he had placed it. "Light the candle, Jerry," went on Ned, "while I keep him covered with the gun. We'll see what sort of a chap he is." Jerry rose to find matches. But the robber did not wait for this. With a bound he leaped to the window. One jump took him through, and a second later a splash in the river outside told how he had escaped. Ned ran to the casement and fired two shots, not with any intention of hitting the man, but to arouse his friends. In an instant there was confused shouting, lights gleamed in several rooms, and Don Alvarzo came hurrying in. "What's the matter? What is it all about? Is any one killed?" he cried. "Nothing much has happened," said Ned, as coolly as possible under the circumstances. "A burglar got in the room and got out again." "A burglar? A thief? Impossible! In my house-boat? Where did he go? Did he get anything?" "He got Jerry's money-belt," said Ned, "but----" "A money-belt! Santa Maria! Was there much in it?" and Ned thought he saw a gleam come into the Don's eyes. "Oh, he didn't get it to keep!" went on Jerry. "We both fell asleep, and the fellow robbed Jerry first. I was awakened by feeling Jerry accidentally kick me. I saw the robber take his belt, but when he came for mine I was ready for him. I made him give Jerry's back----" "Made him give it back!" exclaimed Don Alvarzo, and Ned fancied he detected disappointment in his host's face. "You are a brave lad. Where did the fiend go?" "Out of the window," answered Ned. "I fired at him to give him a scare." "I am disgraced that such a thing should happen in my house!" exclaimed the Don, and this time it was Jerry who noticed Jones, the American manager, winking one eye as he stood behind his employer. "I am disgraced," went on the Mexican. "But never mind, I shall inform the authorities and they will hang every robber they catch to please me." "I'm robbed! I'm robbed!" exclaimed Professor Snodgrass, bursting into the room. He was attired in blue pajamas, and his bald head was shining in the candle light. "What did they get from you?" asked the Don, his face once more showing interest. "The rascals took three fine specimens of sand fleas from me!" exclaimed the naturalist. "The loss is irreparable!" "_Diablo!_" exclaimed the Don, under his breath. "Three sand fleas! Ah, these crazy _Americanos_!" "I fancy you can get more, Professor," said Jones, with a laugh. "Well, there seems to be no great damage done. I reckon we can all go back to bed now." The servants, who had been aroused by the commotion, went back to their rooms. In a little while the Don, with many and profuse apologies, withdrew, and the professor and Bob returned to their apartments. Jones was the last to go. "I told you to be on the watch," he whispered, as he prepared to leave. "I overheard some of the rascals making up a game to relieve you of some of your cash. I wouldn't say the Don was in on it, but the sooner you get out of this place the better. You can go to sleep now. There is no more danger. Lucky one of you happened to wake up in time or you'd have been cleaned out. Good-night." "Good-night," said Ned and Jerry, as they locked their door, which had been opened by false keys. They went to bed and slept soundly until daybreak, in spite of the excitement. Nor were they disturbed again. Don Alvarzo talked of nothing but the attempted robbery the next morning at breakfast. He declared he had sent one of his men post-haste to inform the authorities, who, he said, would dispatch a troop of soldiers to search for the miscreant. "I am covered with confusion that my guests should be so insulted," he said. But, somehow, his voice did not ring true. The boys and the professor, however, thanked him for his consideration and hospitality. "I think we must be traveling now," announced Jerry. "Will you not pass another night under my roof?" asked the Don. "I promise you that you will not be awakened by robbers again." "No, thank you," said Jerry. Afterward, he said the Don might carry out his promise too literally, and take means to prevent them from waking if thieves did enter their rooms. So, amid protestations that he was disappointed at the shortness of their stay, and begging them to come and see him again, the Don said farewell. "I think, perhaps, we ought to pay for the damage to your boat," said Jerry, not wishing to be under any obligations to the Mexican. "Do not insult me, I beg of you!" exclaimed the Don, and he really seemed so hurt that Jerry did not press it. Then, with a toot of the horn, the auto started off on the trip through Mexico. It was a beautiful day, and the boys were enchanted with the scenery. Behind them lay the broad Rio Grande, while off to the right were the foothills that increased in height and size until they became the mighty mountains. The foliage was deep green from the recent shower, and the sun shone, making the whole country appear a most delightful place. "It looked as if our entrance into Mexico was not going to be very pleasant," said Jerry, "especially during the storm and the smash-up with the house-boat. But to-day it couldn't be better." "That was a close call you and Ned had," put in Bob. "I wonder why they didn't tackle me?" "Because you are so good-natured-looking the robbers knew you never had any money," replied Jerry, with a laugh. "I wonder what Chunky would have done if a Mexican brigand had demanded his money-belt?" "He could have had it without me making a fuss," replied the stout youth. "Money is a good thing, but I think more of myself than half a dozen money-belts." "Ah, my poor fleas!" exclaimed the professor. "I wonder if the robber killed them." "I guess they hopped away," suggested Ned. "No, they would never leave me," went on the naturalist. "Well, I'm glad I haven't such an intimate acquaintance with them as that," commented Jerry, with a laugh. "Oh, they were tame. They never bit me once," the professor said, with pride in his voice. With Ned at the steering-wheel, the auto made good time. The road was a fair one, skirting the edge of a vast plain for several miles. About noon the path led into a dense forest, where there was barely room for the machine to pass the thick trees and vines that bordered the way on either side. "I hope we don't get caught in this wilderness," said Ned, making a skilful turn to avoid a fallen tree. "Supposing we stop now and get dinner," suggested Jerry. "It's past noon, and I'm hungry." The plan was voted a good one. The portable stove that burned gasolene was set going, coffee was made and some canned chicken was warmed in a frying pan. With some seasoning and frijoles Don Alvarzo had given them the boys made an excellent meal. After a rest beneath the trees the boys started off in their auto again. The road widened when they had gone a few miles, and improved so that traveling was easier. About dusk they came to a small village, in the centre of which was a comfortable-looking inn. "How will that do to stop at overnight?" asked Ned. "First rate," answered Jerry. The auto was steered into the yard, and the proprietor of the place came out, bowing and smiling. "Your friends have just preceded you, señors," he said. "Our friends?" asked Jerry, in surprise. "_Si, señor._ Don Nixon and Don Pender. They were here not above an hour ago. I think they must be your friends, because they were in the same sort of an engine as yourselves." "Noddy Nixon here!" exclaimed Jerry. CHAPTER VII. A FIERCE FIGHT. The boys glanced at each other in blank astonishment. As for Professor Snodgrass, he was too occupied with chasing a little yellow tree-toad to pay much attention to anything but the pursuit of specimens. "We seem bound to cross the trail of Noddy sooner or later," remarked Ned. "Well, if he's ahead of us he can't be behind, that's one consolation." "Will the honorable señors be pleased to enter my poor inn?" spoke the Mexican, bowing low. "I suppose we may as well stop here," said Jerry, in a low tone to his companions. "It looks like a decent place, and it will give Noddy a chance to get a good way ahead, which is what we want. But I don't see what he means by going on when it will soon be night." The auto was run under a shed, its appearance causing some fright among the servants and a few travelers, who began to mutter their prayers in Spanish. The boys, escorted by the Mexican, then entered the hostelry. It was a small but decent-looking place, as Jerry had said. The boys were shown to rooms where, washing off some of the grime of their journey, they felt better. "Supper is ready," announced the innkeeper, who spoke fairly good English. "Where is the professor?" asked Ned, as the boys descended to the dining-room. "The last I saw of him he was climbing up the tree after that toad," answered Bob. "But here he comes now." The naturalist came hurrying into the room, clasping something in his hand. "I've got it! I've got it!" he shouted. "A perfect beauty!" The professor opened his fingers slightly to peer at his prize, when the toad, taking advantage of the opportunity, hopped on the floor and was rapidly escaping. "Oh, oh, he's got away!" the professor exclaimed. "Help me catch him, everybody! He's worth a thousand dollars!" The naturalist got down on his hands and knees and began crawling after the hopping tree-toad, while the boys could not restrain their laughter. A crowd of servants gathered in the doorway to watch the antics of the strange _Americano_. "There! I have you again, my beauty!" cried the professor, pouncing on his specimen in a corner of the room. "You shall not escape again!" and with that he popped the toad into a small specimen box which he always wore strapped on his back. "Tell me," began the innkeeper, in a low tone, sidling up to Jerry, "is your elderly friend, the bald-headed señor, is he--ah--um--is he a little, what you _Americanos_ call--er--wheels?" and he moved his finger with a circular motion in front of his forehead. "Not in the least," replied the boy. "He is only collecting specimens for his college." The Mexican shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands in an apologetic sort of way, but it was easy to see that he believed Professor Snodgrass insane, an idea that was shared by all the servants in the inn, for not one of them, during the adventurers' brief stay in the hotel, would approach him without muttering a prayer. "I wonder what we'll have to eat?" asked Ned, as with the others he prepared to sit down. The innkeeper clapped his hands, which signal served in lieu of a bell for the servants. In a little while a meal of fish, eggs, chocolate and chicken, with the ever-present frijoles and tortillas, was served. It tasted good to the hungry lads, though as Jerry remarked he would have preferred it just as much if there hadn't been so much red pepper and garlic in everything. "Water! Water! Quick!" cried Bob, after taking a generous mouthful of frijoles, which contained an extra amount of red pepper. "My mouth is on fire!" He swallowed a tumblerful of liquid before he had eased the smart caused by the fiery condiment. Thereafter he was careful to taste each dish with a little nibble before he indulged too freely. In spite of these drawbacks, the boys enjoyed their experience, and were interested in the novelty of everything they saw. "I wonder how we are to sleep?" said Jerry, after the meal was over. "I've heard that Mexican beds were none of the best." "You shall sleep the sleep of the just, señors," broke in the Mexican hotel keeper, coming up just as Jerry spoke. "My inn is full, every room is occupied, but you shall sleep _en el sereno_." "Well, as long as it's on a good bed in a room where the mosquitoes can't get in I shan't mind that," spoke Bob. "I don't know as I care much for scenery, but if it goes with the bed, why, all right." "You'll sleep in no room to-night," said Professor Snodgrass, who for the moment was not busy hunting specimens. "By '_en el sereno_' our friend means that you must sleep out of doors, under the stars. It is often done in this country. They put the beds out in the courtyard or garden and throw a mosquito net over them." "That's good enough," said Bob. "It won't be the first time we've slept in the open. Bring on the '_en el sereno_,'" and he laughed, the innkeeper joining in. The beds for the travelers were soon made up. They consisted of light cots of wood, with a few blankets on them. Placed out in the courtyard, under the trees, with the sky for a roof, the sleeping-places were indeed in the open. But the boys and Professor Snodgrass had no fault to find. They had partaken of a good meal, they were tired with their day's journey, and about nine o'clock voted to turn in. "We'll keep our revolvers handy this time," said Bob, "though I guess we won't need 'em." "Can't be too sure," was Ned's opinion, as he took off his shoes and placed his weapon under his pillow. It was not long before snores told that the travelers were sound asleep. For several hours the inn bustled with life, for the Mexicans did not seem to care much about rest. At length the place became quiet, and at midnight there was not a sound to be heard, save the noises of the forest, which was no great distance away, and the vibrations caused by the breathing of the slumberers. It was about two o'clock in the morning when Bob was suddenly awakened by feeling a hand passed lightly over his face. "Here!" he cried. "Get out of that!" "Silence!" hissed a voice in his ear. But Bob was too frightened to keep quiet. He gave a wild yell and tried to struggle to his feet. Some one thrust him back on the cot, and rough hands tried to rip off his money-belt. The boy fought fiercely, and struck out with both fists. "Wake up, Jerry and Ned!" he yelled. "We're being robbed. Shoot 'em!" The courtyard became a scene of wild commotion. It was dark, for the moon was covered with clouds, but as Jerry and Ned sat up, alarmed by Bob's voice, they could detect dim forms moving about among the trees. "The Mexicans are robbing us!" shouted Ned. He drew his revolver and fired in the air for fear of hitting one of his comrades. By the light of the weapon's flash he saw a man close to him. Bob aimed the pistol in the fellow's face and pulled the trigger. There was a report, followed by a loud yell. At the same time a thousand stars seemed to dance before Ned's eyes, and he fell back, knocked unconscious by a hard blow. Jerry had sprung to his feet, to be met by a blow in the face from a brawny fist. He quickly recovered himself, however, and grappled with his assailant. He found he was but an infant in the hands of a strong man. The boy tried to reach for his revolver, but just as his hand touched the butt of the weapon he received a stinging blow on the head and he toppled over backward, his senses leaving him. In the meanwhile Bob was still struggling with the robber who had attacked him. Fleshy as he was, Bob had considerable strength, and he wrestled with the fellow. They both fell to the ground and rolled over. In their struggles they got underneath one of the beds. "Let me go!" yelled Bob. At that instant he felt the ear of his enemy come against his mouth. The boy promptly seized the member in his teeth and bit it hard enough to make the fellow howl for mercy. Bob suddenly found himself released, and the robber, with a parting blow that made the boy's head sing, rolled away from under the bed and took to his heels. "Help! help! help!" cried Professor Snodgrass, as Bob tried to sit upright, for it was under the bed of the naturalist that the boy had rolled. In straightening up he had tipped the scientist, who, up to this point, had been sleeping soundly on the cot. "What is it? What has happened? Is it a fire? Has an earthquake occurred? Is the river rising? Has a tidal wave come in? Santa Maria! But what is all the noise about?" cried the landlord, rushing into the courtyard, bearing an ancient lantern. "What has happened, señors? Was your rest disturbed?" "Was our rest disturbed?" inquired Bob, in as sarcastic a tone as possible under the circumstances. "Well, I would say yes! A band of robbers attacked us." "A band of robbers! Santa Maria! Impossible! There are no robbers in Mexico!" and the innkeeper began to chatter volubly in Spanish. CHAPTER VIII. THE OLD MEXICAN. "Well, if they weren't robbers they were a first-class imitation," responded Bob. "There's Jerry and Ned knocked out, at any rate, and they nearly did for me. They would have, only I bit the chap's ear. I guess I'll know him again; he has my mark on him." "Bit his ear! The _Americano_ is brave! But we must see to the poor unfortunate señors! Robbers! Impossible!" By this time the whole inn was aroused and the courtyard was filled with servants and guests. Water was brought and with it Jerry and Ned were revived. "What happened?" began Jerry. "Oh, I remember now! Did they get our money?" "I guess they got yours and Ned's," said Bob, in sorrowful tones, as he noted his chums' disordered clothing and saw that the money-belts were gone. "They didn't get mine, though, so we're not in such bad luck, after all. How do you feel?" "As if a road-roller had gone over me," replied Jerry. "Same here," put in Ned, holding his head in his hands. "He must have given me a pretty good whack. Who was it robbed us?" "Are you sure you were robbed, señors?" asked the hotel keeper. "Perhaps you may have been dreaming." "Does that look as if it was only a nightmare?" asked Ned, showing a big lump on his head. "Or this?" added Jerry, showing his clothing cut with a knife where the robber had slashed it in order to take out the money-belt. "No, it was not a dream," murmured the innkeeper. "There must have been robbers here. I wonder who they were?" "They didn't leave their cards, so it's hard to say," remarked Jerry. "I don't suppose the burglars down here are in the habit of sending word in advance of their visit, or of telling the police where to find them after they commit a crime." "Never! Never!" exclaimed the Mexican host. "But speaking of the police, I must tell them about this some time to-morrow." "Any time will do," put in Ned. "We're in no hurry, you know." "I am glad of that," said the hotel keeper, in all seriousness. "Most _Americanos_ are in such a rush, and I have to go to market to-morrow. The next day will do very well. I thank you, señors. Now I bid you good-night, and pleasant dreams." "Well, he certainly does take things easy," said Jerry, when the innkeeper and his servants, with many polite bows, had withdrawn. "He don't seem to care much whether we were nearly killed or not. I guess this must be a regular occurrence down here." "I always heard the Mexican brigands were terrible fellows," said Professor Snodgrass. "Now I am sure of it. I am glad they did not get any of my specimens, however. All my treasures are safe." "But Ned and I have lost five hundred dollars each," put in Jerry. "You can get more from the gold mine," went on the professor. "Yes; but it may spoil our trip," said Ned. "I have my five hundred dollars," said Bob. "And I have nearly one thousand in bills," spoke the professor, in a whisper. "We will have enough. The robbers would never suspect me of carrying money. Listen; it is in the box with the big lizard and the bat, and no one will ever look there for it," and he chuckled in silent glee. "Then I guess we can go on," said Jerry. "But I wonder who it was robbed us?" "I suppose it was the Mexican brigands that hang about every hotel," said Ned. "I'm not so sure of that," went on Jerry. "You know Noddy Nixon and his crowd are not far off. It may have been they." "That's so; I never thought of them," said Ned. "Did you recognize any one?" "The fellow who grappled with me had a mask on," said Jerry. "But I thought I recognized that fellow Dalsett. However, I couldn't be sure." "I didn't get a chance to see my man," Ned added. "The fellow who came for me had a voice like Bill Berry's," put in Bob. "If I could see his ear I could soon tell." "It will be a good while before you see his ear," continued Jerry. "I wonder if it was Nixon's crowd, or only ordinary robbers? If we are to be attacked by Noddy and his gang all the way through Mexico the trip will not be very pleasant." "Well, there's only one thing certain, and that is, the money-belts are gone," put in Ned, gazing ruefully at his waist around which he had strapped his cash. "The next question is, who took them?" "Which same question is likely to remain unanswered for some time," interrupted Professor Snodgrass. "Now, don't worry, boys. We are still able to continue on our search for the buried city. This will teach us a lesson not to go to sleep again unless some one is on guard. The money loss is nothing compared to the possibility that one of us might have been killed, or some of my specimens stolen. Now we had better all go to bed again." "Shall we stand guard for the remainder of the night?" asked Bob. "I think it will not be necessary," spoke the professor. "The robbers are not likely to return." So, extinguishing the lantern which the innkeeper had left, the travelers once more sought their cots, on which they had a somewhat fitful rest until morning. At breakfast the innkeeper urged the travelers to spend a few days at his hotel, saying he had sent for a Government officer to come and make an investigation of the robbery. But the boys and the professor, thanking their host for his invitation, called for their bill, settled it, and were soon puffing away through the forest once more. For several hours they journeyed on beneath giant palms which lined either side of the road. The scenery was one unending vista of green, in which mingled brilliant-hued flowers. Wild parrots and other birds flitted through the trees and small animals rustled through the underbrush as the automobile dashed by. Jerry was at the steering wheel and was sending the car along at a good clip, when, as he suddenly rounded a curve he shut off the power and applied the brakes. Not a moment too soon was he, for he stopped the machine only a few feet from an aged Mexican, who was traveling along the road, aiding his faltering steps with a large, wooden staff. The Mexican glanced at the auto which, with throbbing breath, as the engine still continued to vibrate, seemed to fill him with terror. Suddenly he dropped to his knees and began to pray. "Be not afraid," Professor Snodgrass called to him, speaking in the Spanish language. "We are but poor travelers like yourself. We will not harm you." "Whence do you come in your chariot of fire?" asked the old man. "Ye are demons and no true men!" "We will not hurt you," said the naturalist, again. "See, we bring you gifts," and he held out to the Mexican a package of tobacco and a small hand-mirror. The old man's eyes brightened at the sight of them. He rose to his feet and took them, though his hands trembled. In a moment he had rolled a cigarette of the tobacco, and, puffing out great clouds of smoke, complacently gazed at his image in the looking-glass. "Truly ye are men and not demons," he said. "The tobacco is very good. But whence come ye, and whither do ye go?" "We are travelers from a far land," answered the professor. "Whither we go we scarcely know. We are searching for the unknown." The aged Mexican started. Then he gazed fixedly at the professor. "It may be that I can tell whither ye journey," he said. "For your kindness to me I am minded to look into the future for you. Shall I?" "No one can look into the future," answered the naturalist. "No one knows what is going to happen." For the professor was no believer in anything but what nature revealed to him. "Unbelievers! Unbelievers!" muttered the old man, blowing out a great cloud of smoke. "But ye shall see. I will read what is to happen for you." He sat down at the side of the road. In the dust he drew a circle. This he divided into twelve parts, and in one he placed a small quantity of powder, which he took from his sash. The powder he lighted with a match. There was a patch of fire, and a cloud of yellow smoke. For an instant the old man was hidden from view. Then his voice was heard. "Ye seek the unknown, hidden and buried city of ancient Mexico!" he said, in startling tones. "And ye shall find it. Yea, find it sooner than ye think, and in a strange manner. Look behind ye!" Involuntarily the boys and the professor turned. "Nothing there," grunted Ned, as he looked to where the old man had been seated. To his astonishment, as well as the surprise of the others, the aged Mexican had disappeared. CHAPTER IX. A VIEW OF THE ENEMY. "Where is he?" cried Bob. "He must have gone down through a hole in the earth," said Ned. "I didn't have my eyes off him three seconds. He didn't go down the road or we would have seen him, and he couldn't have run into the bushes on either side without making a great racket. He's a queer one." "Just like the East Indian jugglers I've read about," put in Jerry. "I think probably he was something on that order," agreed Professor Snodgrass. "Strange how he should have known about the buried city, and we have spoken to no one about it since we came to Mexico." "Let's look and see if we can find a trace of him," suggested Bob. The boys alighted from the car. They made a careful search around the spot where the old man had sat. There was the circle he had drawn in the dust, and the mark where the powder had burned, but not another trace of the Mexican could they find. They looked behind trees and rocks, but all they found was big toads and lizards that hopped and crawled away as they approached. The professor annexed several of the reptiles for specimens. "How do you explain it all?" asked Jerry of the naturalist, when they had taken their seats in the automobile again. "Have those men any supernatural powers?" "I do not believe they have," replied the professor. "They do some things that are hard to explain, but they are sharp enough to do their tricks under their own conditions, and they disappear before those who can see them have gotten over their momentary surprise." "The disappearing was the funny part of it," went on Jerry. "I can understand how he made the smoke. A pinch of gunpowder would produce that. But how did he dissolve himself into thin air?" "He didn't," replied the naturalist. "I'll tell you how that was done. It is a favorite trick in India. When he suddenly called to us to look behind us he took advantage of our momentary glance away to hide himself." "But where?" "Behind that big rock," and the naturalist pointed to a large one near where the Mexican had been sitting. "But we looked behind that," said Ned. "Yes, several minutes after the disappearance," went on the professor, with a laugh. "This was how he did it: He wore a long, gray cloak, which, perhaps, you didn't notice. It was exactly the color of the stone and was partly draped over it. It was there all the while he was doing his trick. I saw it, but thought nothing of it at the time. Now, when he had finished the hocus-pocus, and when our heads were turned, he just rolled himself up into a ball and got under the cloak by the stone. Of course, it looked as if he had dropped down through the earth." "But how about him getting away so completely that our search didn't reveal him?" asked Jerry. "I think he waited a while and then, when he heard us getting out of the automobile he took advantage of the confusion to crawl, still under his cloak, into the bushes, perhaps by a path he alone knew. There really is no mystery to it." "How about him telling us we were searching for the buried city?" asked Bob. "Wasn't that mind-reading?" "I think he knew that part of it," said the professor, "though it seemed strange to me at first. You must remember that the object of our trip was pretty freely talked of back in the gold camp. Some one may have come here from there before we started, and, in some manner, this old Mexican may have heard of us. He may even have been waiting for us. No; it looks queer when it happens, but reasoned out, it is natural enough. However, I am glad to know we are on the right road and will find what we are searching for, though the old man may be mistaken." "Shall we go forward again?" asked Jerry, resuming his place at the steering wheel. "Forward it is!" cried Ned. "Ho, for the buried city!" Once more the auto puffed along the forest road. It was warm with the heat of the tropics, and the boys were soon glad to take off their coats and collars. Even with the breeze created by the movement of the machine, it was oppressive. "I say, when are we going to eat?" asked Bob. "I know it's long past noon." "Wrong for once, Chunky," answered Ned, looking at his watch. "It's only eleven o'clock." "Well, here's a good place to stop and eat, anyhow," went on the stout lad, to whom eating never came amiss. "All right, we'll camp," put in Jerry, bringing the machine to a stop. It was rather pleasant in the shade of the forest in spite of the heat, and the boys enjoyed it very much. The gasolene stove was lighted and Ned made some chocolate, for, since their advent into Mexico the travelers had come to like this beverage, which almost every one down in that country drinks. With this and some frijoles and cold chicken brought from the inn, they made a good meal. "I'm going to hunt for some specimens," announced the professor. "You boys can rest here for an hour or so." With his green collecting box and his butterfly net the naturalist disappeared along a path that led through the forest. "I suppose he'll come back with a blue-nosed baboon or a flat-headed gila monster," said Ned. "He does find the queerest things." It was almost an hour later, when the boys were wondering what had become of the naturalist, that they heard faint shouts in the direction he had taken. "Hurry, boys!" the professor's voice called. "Hurry! Help! help! I'm caught!" "He's in trouble again!" exclaimed Ned. "We must go to his rescue!" "Have you got your revolver?" asked Jerry, as Ned was about to rush away. "No; it's in the auto." "Better get it. I'll take a rifle along. Bob, you bring the rope. No telling what has happened, and we may need all three." With rifle, revolver and rope the three boys rushed into the forest to the rescue of their friend. They could hear his shouts more plainly now. "Hurry or he'll kill me!" cried the professor. Running at top speed the boys emerged into a sort of clearing. There they saw a sight that filled them with terror. Professor Snodgrass was standing underneath a tree, from one of the lower branches of which a big snake had dropped its sinuous folds about him. The reptile was slowly winding its coils about the unfortunate man, tightening and tightening them. Its ugly head was within a few feet of the professor's face, and the man was striking at the snake with the butterfly net. "We're coming! We'll save you!" shouted Jerry. The boy started to run close to the naturalist, intending to get near enough to fire at the snake's head without danger of hitting the professor. "Look out!" yelled Bob, pointing to the ground in front of the tree. "There's another of the reptiles!" As he spoke a second snake reared its head from the grass, right in the path Jerry would have taken. Bob had warned him just in time. Jerry dropped to one knee. He took quick but careful aim at the snake on the ground and fired. The reptile thrashed about in a death struggle, for the bullet had crashed through its head. "Now for the other one!" cried Jerry. He ran in close to the reptile that was slowly crushing the professor to death. The unfortunate naturalist could no longer cry for help, so weak was he. Jerry placed the muzzle of the rifle close to the snake's head, and pulled the trigger. The ugly folds relaxed, the long, sinuous body straightened out and the professor would have fallen had not Jerry, dropping his gun, caught him. The other boys came to his aid, and they carried the naturalist to one side and placed him on the grass. Bringing water from a nearby spring, Bob soon restored the professor to his senses. "I'm all right," said the collector in a few minutes. "The breath was about squeezed out of me, though." "You had a narrow escape," said Ned. "Thanks to you boys, it ended fortunately," said the naturalist. "You see, I was trying to capture a new kind of tree-toad, and I didn't see the snake until it had me in its folds. I'll be more careful next time." In a little while the professor was able to walk. Jerry recovered his gun and the whole party made their way back to the auto. The camp utensils were soon packed up and the journey was resumed. "I wonder what sort of an inn we'll stop at to-night?" said Bob. "I hope they don't have any robbers." "We won't run any chances," spoke Ned. "We'll post a guard." For several hours the auto chugged along. As it came to the top of a hill the boys saw below them quite a good-sized village. "There's where we'll spend the night," remarked Jerry. "Hello! What's that?" and he pointed to some object round a turn of the road, just ahead of them. "It looks like an automobile," said the professor. "It is!" cried Ned. "And Noddy Nixon is in it!" CHAPTER X. SOME TRICKS IN MAGIC. "You don't mean it!" exclaimed the professor. "Noddy Nixon, the young man who made all the trouble for us! I thought we had seen the last of him." "I hoped we had," said Jerry. "But you can't always get what you want in this world." "No, indeed! There is a purple grasshopper I've been hunting for for nearly five years, and I never found it!" spoke the naturalist. "I wonder if Noddy saw us?" asked Ned. "It doesn't make much difference," was Bob's opinion. "He'll run across us sooner or later. If he stops in the same village we do he's sure to hear about us." "Then we may as well put up overnight in this town," said Jerry, sending the machine ahead again. Though the boys kept a close watch, they saw no more of Noddy, for his automobile disappeared around a turn of the road. When the red touring car came up to the village, such a crowd of curious Mexicans surrounded the auto that the occupants had difficulty in descending. "I guess Noddy couldn't have come here, or these people wouldn't be so curious about our car," said Bob. "Oh, you can depend on it, he's somewhere in the neighborhood," was Ned's opinion. The keeper of the tavern, running out, bowed low to the prospective guests. "Enter, señors!" he exclaimed. "You are welcome a thousand times. The whole place is yours." "Will you guarantee that there are no robbers?" asked Jerry. "Robbers, señors? Not one of the rascals within a thousand miles!" "And will my bugs, snakes and specimens be safe?" asked the professor. "Bugs and snakes! Santa Maria! What do you want of such reptiles? Of course they will be safe. The most wretched thief, of which there are none here, would not so much as lay a finger on them." "Then we will stay," said the naturalist. "Out of the way, dogs, cattle, swine, pigs and beasts!" cried the innkeeper, brushing the crowd aside. "Let the noble señors enter!" At these words, spoken in fierce tones, though mine host was smiling the while, the throng parted, and the boys, accompanied by the professor, made their way to the inn. It was not long before supper was served. There were the frijoles and tortillas, without which no Mexican meal of ordinary quality is complete, but the adventurers had not yet become used to this food. Then, too, there was delicious chocolate, such as can be had nowhere but in Mexico. While the meal was in progress the travelers noticed that there was considerable excitement about the inn. Crowds of people seemed to be going and coming, all of them talking loudly, and most of them laughing. "What is it all about?" asked Jerry. "To-day is a fête day," replied the innkeeper. "No one has worked, and to-night there is an entertainment in the village square. Every one will attend. It will be a grand sight." "What sort of entertainment?" "I know only what I heard, that a most wonderful magician will do feats. Ah, some of those performers are very imps of darkness!" and the man muttered a prayer beneath his breath. "That sounds interesting. Let's go," suggested Bob. "I haven't any objection," said Jerry. "Will you go, Professor?" "I will go anywhere where there is a chance I may add to the stock of scientific knowledge," replied the naturalist. "Lead on, I'll follow." The meal over, the boys and professor had only to follow the crowd in order to reach the public square. A centre space had been roped off, and in the middle of this a small tent was erected. On the payment of a small sum to some officials, who seemed to be acting as ushers, the travelers managed to get places in the front row. There they stood, surrounded by swarthy Mexican men, women and boys, waiting for the performance to begin. Suddenly from within the tent sounded some weird music: the shrill scraping of fiddle and the beat of tom-toms. Then a voice was heard chanting. A few seconds later a young man, dressed completely in white, stepped from the tent and sat down, cross-legged, on the ground. A score of flaring torches about him gave light, for it was now night. He spread a cloth on the ground, sprinkled a few drops of water on it, muttered some words, whisked away the covering, and there was a tiny dwarfed tree, its branches bearing fruit. "The old Indian mango trick!" exclaimed the professor. "I have seen it done better, many times." The next trick was more elaborate. The youth in white clapped his hands and a boy came running from the tent. With him he brought a basket. The youth began to scold the boy, beating him with a stick. To escape the blows, the boy leaped into the basket. In a trice the youth clapped the cover on. Then drawing a sword at his side, the youth plunged it into the wicker-work several times. From the basket horrible cries came, growing fainter and fainter at each thrust of the weapon. With a cry of satisfaction the youth finally held his sword aloft. The boys could see that it ran red, as if with blood. "Has he stabbed him?" asked Bob, in frightened tones. "Watch," said the professor, with a smile. The youth opened the basket. It was empty. The boy had disappeared. The youth gave a cry of astonishment, and gazed up into the starlit sky. Naturally, every one in the crowd gazed upward, likewise. All at once there was a cry from behind the youth, and the boy who had been in the basket, laughing and capering about as if being thrust through with a sword was the biggest joke in the world, moved among the assemblage, collecting coins in his cap. "Another old Indian trick," said the professor. "He simply curled up close to the outer rim of the basket and the sword went through the middle, where his body formed a circle." "But the blood!" exclaimed Bob. "The boy had a sponge wet with red liquid, and when the sword blade came through the basket he wiped the crimson stuff on it," explained the professor. The tricks seemed to please the crowd very much, for few of them saw how they were done. The Mexicans cried for more. The youth and boy retired to the tent. Their place was taken by an old man, wrapped in a cloak. He produced a long rope, which he proceeded to knot about his body, tying himself closely. Then he signed for two of the spectators to take hold, one at either end of the cord, which extended from under his cloak. Two men did as he desired. Then the old man began a sort of chant. He waved his hands in the air. With a quick motion he threw something at one of the torches. A cloud of smoke arose. There was a wild cry from the two men who held the rope. When the vapor cleared away the magician was nowhere to be seen, though his cloak lay on the ground and the men still held the ends of the rope that had bound him. An instant later there came a laugh from a tree off to the left. Every one turned to look, and the old man jumped down from among the branches. "He tied fake knots," said the professor. "While he was waving his hands he managed to undo them. Then he threw some powder in the torch flame, and while the smoke blinded every one he slipped out of his bonds and cloak, went through the crowd like a snake, and climbed a tree. The tricks are nothing to what I have seen in Egypt and India." "Perhaps there is nothing wonderful but in India or Egypt," spoke a voice at the professor's elbow. He turned with a start, to see the old magician standing near him. The naturalist had not spoken aloud, yet it seemed that the Mexican had heard him. "There are stranger things in this land than in Egypt," went on the trickster. "Buried cities are stranger. Buried cities, where there is much gold to be had and great riches." "What do you know about buried cities?" asked the professor. "Ask him who sat in the road, who drew the circle in the dust. Ask him whom ye vainly sought," replied the Mexican, with a laugh. The professor started. "It can't be! Yes, it is. It's the same Mexican we met before, and to whom I gave the tobacco," said the naturalist. "_Si, señor_," was the answer, as the old man bowed low. "And be assured that though you mock at my poor magic, yet I can look into the future for you. I tell you," and he leaned over and whispered, "you shall soon find what you seek, the mysterious city. You are on the right road. Keep on. When ye reach a place where the path turns to the left, at the sign where ye shall see the laughing serpent, take that path. See, the stars tell that you will meet with good fortune." With a dramatic gesture the old man pointed aloft. Involuntarily the professor and the boys looked up. Then, remembering the trick that had been played on them before, they looked for the Mexican. But he had disappeared. CHAPTER XI. NODDY NIXON'S PLOT. "His old trick again," murmured the professor. "I should have been on my guard. However, it doesn't matter. But come on, boys. If we stand out here our plans will soon be known to every one." The travelers went back to their hotel, but the crowds of people remained at the square, for there were other antics of the entertainers to follow. "I wonder if we'll have to sleep '_en el sereno_' to-night?" said Bob. "If we do, I'm going to stay awake." "Yes, indeed; if they treat Chunky the way they did Jerry and myself, we'll be stranded," put in Ned. "Have you got it all right, Chunky?" What "it" was, Ned did not say; but Bob understood, and, feeling where his money-belt encircled his waist, nodded to indicate that it was still in place. The travelers found there was plenty of room in the hotel. They were given a large apartment with four beds in it, and told they could sleep there together. They found that the room had but one door to it, and all the windows were too high up to admit of easy entrance. So, building a barricade of chairs in front of the portal, the adventurers decided it would not be necessary to stand guard. If any one came into the apartment he would have to make noise enough to awaken the soundest sleeper. Thus protected, the travelers went to bed. Nor were their slumbers disturbed by the advent of any robbers. However, if they could have seen what was taking place in a small hut on the outskirts of the town, about midnight, they might not have slept as peacefully. Within a small adobe house, well concealed in a grove of trees, five figures were grouped around a table on which burned a candle stuck in a bottle. "I'll make trouble for Jerry Hopkins and his friends yet," spoke a youth, pounding the table with his fist. "That's what you're always saying, Noddy Nixon," put in a man standing over in the shadow. "Well, I mean it this time, Tom Dalsett. We'd have put them out of business long ago if I'd had my way." "Well, what are you going to do this time?" asked a lad, about Noddy's age, whom, had the Motor Boys seen him, they would have at once known for Jack Pender, though he had become quite stout and bronzed by his travels. "I've got a plan," went on Noddy. "I didn't come over to Mexico for nothing." "What do you s'pose they come for?" asked Bill Berry, who was busy cleaning his revolver. "To locate a silver mine, of course," replied Noddy. "Ain't that so, Vasco?" and Nixon turned to a slick-looking Mexican, who was rolling a cigarette. The fellow was a halfbreed, having some American blood in his veins. "_Si, señor_," was the reply. "Trust Vasco Bilette for finding out things. I heard them talking about a mine." "Of course; I told you so," said Noddy. The truth of it was that Bilette had heard nothing of the sort, but thought it best to agree with Noddy. "I hope we have better luck getting in on this mine than we did on their gold mine," said Pender. "Well, rather!" put in Dalsett. "Leave it to me," went on Noddy. "I have a plan. And now do you fellows want to stay here all night or travel in the auto?" "Stay here," murmured Bilette. "It is warm and comfortable. One can smoke here." Then, as if that settled it, he rolled himself up in his blanket, and, with a last puff on his cigarette, he went to sleep on the floor. In a little while the others followed his example. Bilette slept better than any one, for he seemed to be used to the hordes of fleas that infested the hut. As for Noddy, he awakened several times because of the uncomfortableness of his bed. Finally he got up and went out to sit up the rest of the night on the cushioned seats of the automobile. So far, the Nixon crowd had done nothing but ride on a sort of pleasure trip through Mexico. Noddy had managed to get some cash from home, and, with what Dalsett obtained by gambling, they managed to live. Shortly after crossing the Rio Grande River, Noddy had fallen in with a slick Mexican, Vasco Bilette by name, and had added him to his party. Bilette knew the country well, and was of considerable assistance. He seemed to have no particular occupation. Some evenings, when they would be near a large town, he would disappear. He always turned up in the morning with plenty of cash. How he got it he never said. But once he returned with a knife wound in the hand, and again, limping slightly from a bullet in the leg. From which it might be inferred that Vasco used other than gentle and legitimate means of making a livelihood. But Noddy's crowd was not one that asked embarrassing questions. With no particular object in view, Noddy had driven his car hither and thither. However, accidentally hearing that Jerry and his friends had come over into Mexico, Noddy determined to remain in their vicinity, learn their plans, and, if possible, thwart them to his own advantage. Fortunately, the boys and the professor, soundly sleeping at their inn, could not look into the future and see the dangers they were to run, all because of Noddy and his gang. If they could have, they might have turned back. Bright and early the next morning Professor Snodgrass awoke. He looked out of the window, saw that the sun was shining, and rejoiced that the day was to be pleasant. Then he happened to spy a new kind of a fly buzzing around the room. "Ah, I must have you!" exclaimed the naturalist, unlimbering his insect net. "Easy now, easy!" On tiptoes he began encircling the room after the fly. The buzzer seemed in no mood to be caught, and the professor made several ineffectual attempts to ensnare it. Finally the insect lighted on Bob's nose, as the boy still slumbered. "Now I have you!" the professor cried. He forgot that Bob might have some feelings, and thinking only of the rare fly, he brought the net down smartly on Bob's countenance. "Help! Help! Robbers! Thieves!" shouted the boy. "Keep still! Don't move! I have it now!" yelled the professor, gathering up his net with the fly in it. "Ah, there you are, my little beauty!" Ned and Jerry tumbled out of their beds, Ned with his revolver ready in his hand. "Oh, I thought it was some one after my money-belt," said Bob, when his eyes were fully opened and he saw the professor. "Sorry to disturb you," said the naturalist. "But it's in the interest of science, my dear young friend, and science is no respecter of persons." "Nor of my nose, either," observed Bob, rubbing his proboscis with a rueful countenance. There came a loud pounding at the door. "Who's there?" asked Jerry. "'Tis I, the landlord," was the answer. "What is it? Have the brigands come? Is the place on fire? Why did the señor yell, as if some one had stuck a knife into him?" "It was only me," called Bob. "The professor caught a new kind of fly on my nose." "A fly! On your nose! _Diablo!_ Those _Americanos_! They are crazy!" the innkeeper muttered as he went away. "Well, we're up; I suppose we may as well stay up," said Ned, stretching and yawning. "My, but I did sleep good!" They all agreed that the night's sleep had been a restful one. They dressed, had breakfast, and, in spite of the entreaties of the landlord to stay a few days, they were soon on the road in the automobile. "I'm glad to know we are on the right path," said the professor, after several miles had been covered. "I only hope that old Mexican was not joking with us." "What was that he said about turning to the left?" asked Ned. "We are to turn when we come to the place where the laughing monkey is," said Bob. "Serpent was what he said," observed Jerry. "The laughing serpent. I wonder what that can be. I never saw a snake laugh." "It might be a figure of speech, or he may have meant there is a stone image carved in that design set up to mark a road," spoke the professor. "However, we shall see." Dinner was eaten in a little glade beside a small brook, where some fish were caught. Then, while the boys stretched out on the grass, the professor, who was never idle, took a small rifle and said he would go into the forest and see if he could not get a few specimens. "Look out for snakes!" called Ned. "I will," replied the naturalist, remembering his former experience. About an hour later, when Jerry was just beginning to think it was time to start off, the stillness of the forest was broken by a terrible and blood-curdling yell. "A tiger!" cried Bob. "There are no tigers here," said Jerry. "But it's some wild beast!" The yell was repeated. Then came a crashing of the underbrush, followed by a wild call for help. "That's the professor!" cried Jerry, seizing his rifle. CHAPTER XII. NODDY SCHEMES WITH MEXICANS. The boys crashed through the bushes and under the low branches of trees in the direction of the professor's voice. They could hear him more plainly now. "Help! Help! Come quick!" the naturalist cried. The sight that met the boys' eyes when they came out into a little clearing of the forest was at once calculated to amuse and alarm them. They saw the professor clinging to the tail of a mountain lion, the beast being suspended over a low tree-limb, with the naturalist hanging on one side of the branch and the animal on the other, the brute in the air and the professor on the ground. [Illustration: THEY SAW THE PROFESSOR CLINGING TO THE TAIL OF A MOUNTAIN LION.] The infuriated beast was struggling and wiggling to get free from the grip the professor had of its tail. It snarled and growled, now and then giving voice to a fierce roar, and endeavoring to swing far enough back to bite or claw the naturalist. As for Professor Snodgrass, he was clinging to the tail with both hands for dear life, and trying to keep as far as possible away from the dangerous teeth and claws of the lion. "Let go!" yelled Jerry. "I dare not!" shouted the professor. "If I do the brute will fall to the ground and eat me up. I can't let go, and I can't hold on much longer. Hurry up, boys, and do something!" "How did you get that way?" asked Bob. "I'll--tell--you--later!" panted the poor professor, as he was swung clear from the ground by a particularly energetic movement of the beast. "Hurry! Hurry! The tail is slipping through my fingers!" In fact, this seemed to be the case, and the beast was now nearer the ground, while the length of tail the naturalist grasped was lessened. The big cat-like creature suddenly began swinging to and fro, like a pendulum. At each swing it came closer and closer to the professor. All the while it was spitting and snarling in a rage. Suddenly the professor gave a yell louder than any he had uttered. "Ouch! He bit me that time!" he cried. "Hurry, boys!" The lads saw that the situation now had more of seriousness than humor in it. Jerry crept up close and, with cocked rifle, waited for a chance to fire at the beast without hitting the professor. At that instant the lion made a strong, backward swing, and its claws caught in the professor's trousers. The beast tried to sink its teeth in the naturalist's legs, but with a quick movement the professor himself jumped back, and, with his own momentum and that of the lion to aid him, he swung in a complete circle around the limb of the tree, the lion going with him, so their positions were exactly reversed. "Steady now! I have him!" called Jerry. The change in the positions of man and beast had given the boy the very opportunity he wanted. The animal was now nearest to him. Quickly raising the rifle, Jerry sent a bullet into the brute's head, following it up with two others. The lion, with a last wild struggle to free itself, dangled limply from the tree-limb, from which it was still suspended by the professor's hold on its tail. Seeing that his enemy was dead, and could do him no harm, the naturalist let go his grip and the big cat fell in a heap on the ground. "Once more you boys have saved my life," said the collector, as he mopped his brow, for his exertions in trying to keep free from the beast had not been easy. "Are you bit much?" asked Ned. "Nothing more than scratches," was the reply. "How in the world did you ever get in such a scrape?" asked Jerry. "I'll tell you how it was," answered the professor. "You see, I was busy collecting bugs and small reptiles, going from tree to tree. When I came to this one I saw what I thought was a small, yellow snake. I believed I had a fine prize. "I approached without making a sound, and when I was near enough I made a grab for what I imagined was the snake. Instead, it turned out to be the tail of the mountain lion, which dangled from the limb, on which the beast was crouched. All at once there was a terrible commotion." "I would say there was!" interrupted Ned. "We heard it over where we were." "Yes, of course," resumed the professor. "Well, as soon as I got the tail in my hands I found I had made a mistake. It was then too late to let go, so the only thing to do was to hold on. It was rather a peculiar position to be in." "It certainly was," said Jerry, with a laugh. "Yes, of course. Well, seeing that the only thing to do was to keep my grip, I kept it and yelled for help. I guess the lion was as badly scared as I was first, when it felt me grab its tail. After it found I wasn't going to let go it got mad, I guess." "It acted so, at any rate," put in Bob. "Yes, of course," went on the professor. "Well, anyhow, I knew if I did let go I would be clawed to pieces, so there I hung, like the man on the tail of the mad bull, not daring to let go. Then you came, and you know the rest." "Are you sure you're not hurt?" asked Ned. "Sure," was the reply. "I was too lively for the lion. I'm sorry the tail didn't turn out to be a snake, though, for if it had been I'm sure it would have been a rare specimen." Leaving the dead body of the animal where it had fallen, the travelers went back to their auto. The camp utensils were packed away, and soon, with Ned at the steering wheel, the machine was running off the miles that separated the adventurers from the hidden city they hoped to find. They traveled until nearly nightfall, and came to no village or settlement. It began to look as if they would have to camp in the open, when, just as darkness was approaching, they came to a small adobe hut in the midst of a sugar-cane plantation. "Maybe we can stop here overnight," said Jerry. An aged Mexican and his wife came to the door of the cabin to see the strange fire-wagon pass. Speaking to them in Spanish, the professor asked if he and his companions could get beds for the night. At first the man seemed to hesitate, but the rattling of a few coins in Bob's pockets soon changed his mind, and he bade the travelers enter. The woman quickly got a fairly good meal, and then, after sitting about for an hour or so and talking over the events of the day, the travelers sought their beds. They found themselves in one apartment, containing two small, cane couches, neither one hardly big enough for a single occupant. "However, it's better than sleeping out of doors, where the mosquitoes can carry you away," said Ned. Contrary to their expectations, the travelers slept good, the only trouble being the fleas, which were particularly numerous. But by this time they had become somewhat used to this Mexican pest. While the professor and the boys were taking a well-earned rest, quite a different scene was being enacted by Noddy Nixon and his companions. Following a half-formed plan he had in mind, Noddy had hung on the trail of the Motor Boys. He had followed them from the inn where they last stopped, and now he was camped out, with his followers, about five miles from the adobe hut. But Jerry and his friends did not know this. "Isn't it pretty near time you told us what you are going to do, Noddy?" asked Jack Pender, as he piled some wood on the camp-fire. "I'll tell you," spoke Noddy. "We're going to follow them until they locate their mine, and then we're going to stake a claim right near theirs. They're not going to get all the gold or silver in this country the way they did in Arizona." "Are you sure it's a mine they're after?" asked Bilette, puffing at his cigarette. "Of course," replied Noddy. "What else could it be? Didn't you hear that's what they came for?" "I don't know," went on the slick Mexican. "I only asked for information. If it's a mine they're after we'll need a bigger force than we have to run things." "Where can we get help?" asked Noddy. "I'll show you," replied Vasco. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly. An instant later half a dozen Mexicans stepped from the shadow of the trees and stood in a line, in the glare of the fire. "Well, you didn't lose any time over it," observed Noddy. "Where did they come from, and who are they?" and the bully looked a little uneasy. "They came from the greenwood," replied Vasco Bilette, "for the forest is their home. And they are friends of mine, so now both your questions are answered." "If they're friends of yours I s'pose it's all right," went on Noddy. "Well, rather!" drawled Vasco, lighting another cigarette from the stump of his last one. "Will they help us?" went on Noddy. Bilette addressed something in Spanish to his friends who had so mysteriously appeared. "_Si, señor_," they exclaimed as one man, bowing to Noddy. "Queer you happened to have 'em on hand," said Noddy, accepting the answer to his question, for he had learned a little Spanish, and knew that "si" meant yes. "I anticipated we might need them," said Bilette. "So I told them to be on hand and in waiting to-night. They are very prompt." "Then we'll join forces with them and show Jerry Hopkins and his crowd that he can't have everything his own way," growled Noddy. "Come on, we'll follow them now and see what they are doing," and Noddy seemed ready to start off. "Not to-night; it's time to turn in," objected Bilette. "We'll begin early in the morning." He spoke once more to the six men, who disappeared into the forest as quietly as they had come. Then Bilette, wrapping himself up in his cloak, went to sleep. The others followed his example, and soon the camp was quiet. Noddy now had his plans in working order, and he thought, with satisfaction, of the revenge he would have. CHAPTER XIII. ON THE TRAIL. "Come, come, boys! Are you going to sleep all day?" exclaimed Professor Snodgrass, the next morning. His cheery voice awoke the others, and they sat up on the hard cots. "Where are we? Oh, yes, I remember now!" said Bob. "I thought I was back at the gold mine." "I dreamed I was back in Cresville," added Jerry. "I wonder how all the folks are. We must write some letters home." After breakfast, which the Mexican and his wife served in an appetizing style, the travelers decided to delay their start an hour or two, and spend the time writing. Professor Snodgrass said he had no one to correspond with, so he wandered off with his net and specimen box, but the boys got out paper, pens and ink, and were soon busy scratching away. In about two hours the professor returned, having collected a number of specimens and escaped getting into any difficulties or dangers for once. "We'd better start," he called. "I'm anxious to get to that underground city. If that turns out half as well as I expect, our fortunes are made." "Will it be better than the gold mine?" asked Bob, with a grin. "The gold mine!" exclaimed the naturalist. "Why, I had rather reach this buried city than have half a dozen gold mines!" He was very enthusiastic and seemed anxious to get on with the journey. The automobile was made ready, and, bidding their hosts good-by, the travelers were again under way. As they progressed the road became rougher and more difficult of passage. In places it was so narrow that the automobile could barely be taken past the thick growth of foliage on either side. The forest fairly teemed with animal life, while the flitting of brilliantly colored birds through the trees made the woods look as if a rainbow had burst and fallen from the sky. Parrots and macaws, gay in their vari-tinted plumage, called shrilly as the puffing auto invaded their domains. It was necessary to run the car slowly. The professor fretted at the lack of speed, but nothing could be done about it, and, as Jerry said, it was better to be slow and sure. So they went on for several miles. About noon the travelers came to the edge of a broad river, which cut in two the road they had been following. "Here's a problem," said Jerry, bringing the car to a stop. "How are we going to get over that? No bridge and no ferry in sight." "Perhaps it isn't as deep as it looks," suggested the professor. "Tell you what!" exclaimed Ned. "We'll all go in for a swim and then we can tell whether it's too deep to run the auto across." His plan was voted a good one, and soon the boys and Professor Snodgrass were splashing about in the water. Their bath was a refreshing one. Incidentally, Ned found out that he could wade across, the stream in one place coming only to his knees, while the bottom was of firm sand. While the travelers were splashing about in the cool water, they might not have felt so unconcerned had they been able to look through the thick screen of foliage on the bank of the stream, and see what was taking place there. Several dark-complexioned men, in company with Vasco Bilette, had dismounted from their horses and were watching the bathers. "Well, I'm glad they decided to stop," remarked Vasco. "Our horses are tired from following their trail. They will probably camp for the night on the other bank, for they would be foolish to go farther when they can find good water and fodder." "You forget they do not have a horse to consider," spoke one of the Mexicans. "Their machine does not eat." "No more it does," said Bilette. "But they cannot go much farther. If necessary, we can cross the river and get at them." "Is that Noddy boy and his puff-puff carriage to join us?" asked one of the crowd of Mexicans. "That is the plan," replied Vasco. "He thought we could follow the trail on horses better than he could in the automobile, because that makes a noise, and those we are pursuing might hear it. So Noddy has kept about five miles behind. As for us, you know that we have been only a mile in the rear, thanks to the slowness with which they had to run their machine. "Ah, the _Americanos_ have finished their bath. Here they come back," went on Vasco, as the boys and the professor began wading toward the shore, near which they had left their auto. Suddenly the professor set up a great splashing and made a grab under the water. "I've got it! I've got it!" he yelled, holding something aloft. "Got what?" asked Jerry. "A rare specimen of the green-clawed crab," was the answer, and the naturalist held up to view a wiggling crawfish. "It bit my big toe, but I grabbed it before it got away. This was indeed a profitable bath for me. That specimen is worth one hundred dollars." "If there are crabs in there I don't see why there aren't fish," spoke Ned. "I'm going to try, anyhow." Quickly dressing, he got out a line and hook, cut a pole and, with a grasshopper for bait, threw in. In three minutes he had landed a fine big fish, and several others followed in succession. "I guess we'll have one good meal, anyhow," observed Ned. "Shall we stay on this side and eat, or cross the river?" asked the professor. "Might as well stay here," was Jerry's opinion. So the portable stove was made ready and soon the appetizing smell of frying fish filled the air. The travelers made a good meal, and Vasco Bilette and his gang, hiding among the trees, smoked their cigarettes and wished they had a portion. "But never mind, when we have the _Americanos_ at our mercy we will be the ones who eat, and they will starve," was how Vasco consoled himself. Dinner over, the travelers took their places in the auto, and, with Jerry at the wheel, the passage of the river was begun. Following the course Ned had tried, the machine was taken safely over the stream, and run up the opposite bank. No sooner had it got on solid ground, however, than, with a loud noise, one of the rear tires burst. "Here's trouble!" exclaimed Ned, as Jerry brought the car to a sudden stop. "Might have been worse," commented Bob. "It might have blown out while we were in the water, and that would have been no joke." "Right you are, Chunky," said Jerry. "Well, I suppose we may as well camp here for a spell; at least until the repairs are made." He set to work to put in a new tube, Ned and Bob assisting him, while the professor wandered off after any stray specimens that might exist. He found several insects that he said were rare ones. The fixing of the tire proved a harder job than Jerry had anticipated. It was several hours before it was repaired to suit him, and by then the sun was getting low. "What do you say that we camp here for the night?" proposed Ned. "We can't get on much farther anyhow, and this is a nice place. It's more open than in the forest." This was voted a good plan, so a fire was made and a camp staked out. From their side of the river Vasco and his companions viewed these preparations with satisfaction. "They cannot escape us now," said the leader of the Mexicans. "We can easily cross the river after dark and get close to them. I wish Noddy would hurry up." At that instant there was the sound of wheels in the road, to the left of which Vasco and his men were concealed. In a little while Noddy, with Dalsett, Berry and Pender, rode up in the machine. "Where are they?" asked Noddy, eagerly. Vasco pointed through the screen of bushes to the other side of the bank, where the professor and boys were encamped. "Good!" exclaimed Nixon. "We'll pay them a visit to-night." All unconscious of the nearness of their foes, the Cresville boys, having had a good supper, sat talking about the camp-fire. The professor was engaged in sorting over the specimens he had gathered during the day. At this same time Noddy and Dalsett, with Vasco and the six Mexicans the latter had provided, were preparing to cross the river, under cover of the darkness. They did not undress, but waded in as they were, the gleaming camp-fire on the other side serving as a beacon to guide them. "Softly!" cautioned Vasco, as the nine crawled up on the opposite bank, and began creeping toward the campers. CHAPTER XIV. THE ANGRY MEXICANS. The professor and the boys were thinking of getting out their blankets and turning in for the night. They sat in a circle about the camp-fire, talking over the events of the day. Meanwhile, creeping nearer and nearer, Noddy, Vasco and their gang were encircling the camp of Jerry and his friends. They came so close that they could hear the conversation between the professor and the boys. Now, if the Mexicans whom Vasco had engaged to assist him had not understood something of the English language, or if chance had so arranged matters that they had not come near enough to overhear the talk of Jerry and his comrades, this story might have had a different ending. As it was, fate so willed matters that Noddy and his gang got close to the camp in time to hear the professor remark: "Well, boys, it will not be many more days, I hope, before we reach the buried city we are searching for. And when we do I will be the proudest man in the world. Think of discovering a buried town of ancient Mexico! Why, half the college professors would give their heads to be in my place." "But we haven't found the city yet," said Ned. "No; but I am sure we are on the right road," went on the professor. "I am sure of it, not only because of what the old Mexican magician told us, but from the map my friend left me. See, here it is," and he drew out the paper with the rude drawing on. The boys drew close to look the map over once more. "There seem to be two roads, one branching off to the right," remarked Jerry, pointing to the map. "And it looks as if there was some sort of an image at the parting of the ways." "There is!" exclaimed the professor. "I never noticed it before, but there is the laughing serpent, as sure as you're a foot high!" "We'll reach the buried city all right," spoke Bob. "I only hope we don't come upon it too unexpectedly." "Well, the Mexican prophesied we would find it sooner than we thought," observed Ned. "But he may not have meant all he said. Anyhow, I'm sleepy and I'm going to turn in." The others followed his example of wrapping themselves up in their blankets, and soon their deep breathing told they were on the road to slumberland. Meanwhile, the Mexicans who had listened to the above conversation were much disturbed. Though they did not understand all that had been said, they caught enough to indicate to them that the boys and the professor were not on a search for gold or silver mines, the only things in which the Mexicans were interested. There were angry but low-voiced mutterings among the Mexicans. Soon they became angry, talked among themselves and grew quite excited. They talked rapidly to Vasco, in Spanish. "What does all this mean, Noddy?" asked Bilette. "Have you fooled us?" "No, no, it's all right!" exclaimed Nixon. "Their talk of a buried city is only a bluff to throw us off the track." "Hardly, when they don't know we are following them," said Vasco. "I'm afraid that's not true, Noddy. Better own up and say you guessed at the whole thing." "I didn't guess!" exclaimed Noddy. "Too much talk! Not enough do!" exclaimed one of the Mexicans, striding forward and pushing Noddy to one side. Noddy resented this, and drew back his hand as if to strike the Mexican. The latter, quick as a flash, drew an ugly-looking knife. "Put that up!" exclaimed Vasco, noting, in the darkness, his companion's act. "We don't want to begin fighting among ourselves." He stepped between Noddy and the Mexican, and pushed them away from each other. The Mexican muttered angrily, and his companions could be heard growling over the outcome of the affair. They could appreciate a gold or silver mine. A buried city was nothing to them, and they saw no use in pursuing the trail further. They were angry at Noddy for having brought them thus far on a foolish errand. "Now keep quiet," advised Bilette. "The first thing you know you'll have them all aroused and then there'll be trouble." "_Diablo!_" exclaimed one of the Mexicans, beneath his breath. "Are we fools or children? We leave the city and we travel for days through the wilderness. We are told we are to get great riches. Santa Maria! Is this money? Is this gold or silver? The crazy _Americanos_ talk of nothing but lost cities. What care I for lost cities? What care any of us for lost cities? I hate lost cities!" "And I! And I!" exclaimed his companions, in whispers. "And this fellow, Noddy Nixon, is to blame for it all!" went on the angry Mexican. "He gets us all to come out here. We follow the crazy _Americano_ who does nothing but grab bugs and toads. He is man to be afraid of! Yet we follow him, and all for what? To find he is looking for some old ruins. I will not stand it!" "Clear out of here!" commanded Bilette. "If we stand here quarreling much longer they'll wake up." Under the guidance of their leader, the Mexicans made their way back to the river bank. On the opposite shore they had left their horses and Noddy's automobile. "What made you think they were after a mine, Noddy?" asked Bilette, when the party was well beyond earshot of the campers. "You must have made a mistake." "Supposing I did," whispered Noddy, in low tones to Vasco, "what good will it do to tell every one? I may have failed on this plan, but I have another, even better." "Better not try it until you find if it will work," advised Bilette. "My men are in no mood to be fooled a second time." Disappointed and dejected, the Mexicans recrossed the river and made their camp on the opposite shore from Professor Snodgrass and the boys. The Mexicans were still in a surly mood, and Vasco had to keep close watch lest some one of them should harm Noddy. Wet and cold, for if the days were hot the nights were chilly, the Nixon gang reached their camp. One of the men lighted a fire and cooked some frijoles and tortillas. The meal, simple as it was, made every one feel better. Nixon and Pender, as soon as they had finished eating, drew off to one side, leaving the Mexicans to talk among themselves. "It looks as if we'd have trouble," said Noddy. "It's all your fault," observed Pender. "I'm not saying it isn't," put in Noddy. "But what's the use of crying over spilled milk? The question is: What are we going to do about it now?" Pender was silent a few minutes. Then a thought seemed to come to him suddenly. "I have it!" he exclaimed. "What?" asked Noddy. Jack leaned over and whispered something in his friend's ear. Noddy hesitated a moment, and then gave a start. "The very thing!" he exclaimed. "I wonder I didn't think of it before." He hurried to where Vasco was sitting, near the camp-fire, smoking a cigarette. To him he whispered what Pender had suggested. "It's a risky thing to do," said the Mexican. "If it fails, we'll have to leave the country. If it succeeds we'll be in danger of heavy punishment from the authorities. However, I'm ready to risk it if you are. Shall I tell the men?" "Of course," replied Noddy. "I want to make it up to them for being mistaken about the mine." Thereupon Vasco called his friends to him, and, motioning for silence, said: "Our friend Noddy," he explained, "has just told me something." "About a gold mine?" asked one of the men, bitterly. "It may prove to be a gold mine," said Vasco. "But it concerns one of those across the river," and he nodded toward the other campers. "Did you notice one of the boys"--Bilette went on--"the fat one; the stout youth; the one they call Bob and sometimes Chunky?" "_Si! Si!_" exclaimed the Mexicans. "Well, his father is a rich banker." "What of it?" asked one of the men. "His money is not in Mexico." "But it can be brought to Mexico!" cried Vasco. "How?" "By kidnapping the boy and holding him for a large ransom. Will you do it?" "We will!" yelled the men. "This will provide us with gold. We'll kidnap the fat boy!" CHAPTER XV. CAUGHT BY AN ALLIGATOR. "Easy! Easy!" cried Vasco Bilette. "Do you want them to hear you across the river?" Under his caution the men subsided. "We must follow them and watch our chance," spoke Noddy. "We'll demand a heavy ransom." "_Si! Si!_" agreed the Mexicans. "That's how we get square, Jack," whispered Noddy to his chum. "You bet, Noddy; and get money, too!" said Pender. "We'll all have to have a share," put in Dalsett. "I'm not here for my health." "Me either," remarked Bill Berry. "I need cash as much as any one." "We'll share the ransom money," said Vasco. "Now turn in, every one of you." Soon the camp became quiet, the only sounds heard being the movements of animals in the forest, or, now and then, the splash of a fish in the river. The sun was scarcely above the horizon the next morning ere Vasco Bilette was astir. He took a position where he could watch the other camp, and saw the professor and the boys get their breakfast and start off. "We'll give them about an hour's start," said Vasco to Noddy. "Then the men on horses will follow and you can come, about a mile behind, in the auto. At the first opportunity we'll capture this Bob Baker." Meanwhile, Jerry and his companions were going along at a moderate pace. The weather was fine though hot, and the road fairly good. For perhaps twenty miles they puffed along, and then they came to another river. "I hope this isn't any deeper than the other," said Jerry. "I'll swim across," volunteered Ned. His offer was accepted, and, stripping off his outer garments, he plunged into the water. Luckily, he found the stream was about as shallow as the first one the auto had forded. He reached the opposite bank and called over. "Come on! Fetch my clothes with you; I'm not going to swim back." Jerry started the machine down into the water. It went along all right until about half way across. Then there came a sudden swirl beneath the surface, a jar to the machine, and then the auto came to a stop. "What's the matter?" cried Jerry. "Have we struck a snag?" "Looks more like a snag had struck us," replied Bob, leaning over the rear seat and looking down into the water. "Something has hold of one of the back wheels." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Jerry. "Do you suppose a fish would try to swallow an automobile, as the whale did Jonah?" "Well, you can see for yourself," maintained Bob. "There's some kind of a fish, or beast, or bird, down under the water, making quite a fuss. It's so muddy I can't make out what it is." Jerry climbed over into the tonneau. Sure enough, there was some disturbance going on. Every now and then the water would swirl and eddy, and the automobile would tremble as if trying to move against some powerful force. Jerry had thrown out the gears as soon as he felt an obstruction. Professor Snodgrass was closely observing the water. "What do you think it is?" asked Jerry. "It might be that it is an eddy of the water about a sink-hole, or it may be, as Bob suggests, a big fish," replied the naturalist. "I never knew there were fish in these waters big enough to stop an auto, though." "It may be a whole school of fishes," said Bob. Just then there came a more violent agitation of the water, and the auto began to move backward slightly. "Whatever it is, it seems bound to get us," Jerry remarked. "Wait until I see if I can't beat the fish or whatever it is." He turned on more power and threw in the first speed gear. The auto shivered and trembled, and then moved ahead slightly. But the big fish, or whatever it was, with powerful strokes of its tail began a backward pull that neutralized the action of the automobile. "I see what it is!" cried the professor. "What?" asked Jerry. "A big alligator! It has one wheel in its mouth and is trying to drag us back. Hand me a rifle!" Jerry passed over a gun. The professor, who was a good shot, leaned down over the back of the tonneau. He could just make out the ugly head of the 'gator beneath the surface. In quick succession he sent three bullets from the magazine rifle into its brain. There was a last dying struggle of the beast, the waters swirled in a whirlpool under the lashing of the powerful tail, and then the little waves became red with blood and the alligator ceased struggling. Once more Jerry threw the gear into place, and this time the machine went forward and reached the opposite bank. "I thought you were never coming," observed Ned, who was shivering in his wet undergarments. "What did you stop for? To catch fish?" "We stopped because we had to," replied Jerry, and he told Ned about the alligator. "I thought you were shooting bullfrogs," observed the swimmer as he got out some dry clothing. "Say, if we told the folks at home that a Mexican alligator tried to chew up an automobile, I wonder what they'd say?" "The beast must have been very hungry, or else have taken us for an enemy," remarked the professor. "I wish I could have saved him for a specimen. But I suppose it would have been a bother to carry around." "I think it would," agreed Jerry. "But now we are safe, I must see if Mr. Alligator damaged the machine any." He looked at the wheels where the saurian had taken hold, but beyond the marks of the teeth of the beast on the spokes and rim, no harm had been done. "Are we ready to go on now?" asked the professor, when Ned had finished dressing. "I'd like to take a dip in the river," said Bob. "It's hot and dusty on the road, and we may not get another chance." "I think I'll go in, too," observed Jerry. "We are in no hurry. Will you come along, professor?" "No; I'll watch you," said the naturalist. He sat down on the bank while Jerry and Chunky prepared for a dip. They splashed around in the water near shore and had a good bath. Bob was swimming a little farther out than was Jerry. "Better stay near shore," cautioned the professor. "No telling when some alligators may be along." At that instant Bob gave a cry. He struggled in the water and gave a spring into the air. "Something has stung me!" he cried. Then he sank back, limp and unconscious, beneath the waves. "Hurry!" cried the professor. "Get him out, Jerry, or he'll be drowned!" But Jerry had hurried to the rescue even before the professor called. Reaching down under the water he picked up his companion's body, and, placing it over his shoulder, waded to shore with it. Bob was as limp as a rag. "Is he killed?" asked Ned. "I hope not," replied the professor. "Still, he had a narrow escape." "Did something bite him?" asked Jerry. The professor pointed to a small red mark on Bob's leg. "He received an electric shock," said the naturalist. "An electric shock?" echoed Ned. "Yes; from the electric battery fish, or stinging ray, as they are sometimes called. They can give a severe shock, causing death under some circumstances, it is said. But I guess it was a young one that stung Bob. They are a fish," the professor went on to explain, "fitted by nature with a perfect electric battery. I wish I had caught one for a specimen." "I didn't think of it at the time this one stung me or I would have caught it for you," said Bob, suddenly opening his eyes. "Oh, you're better, are you?" asked Jerry. "I'm all right," replied Bob. "It was quite a jar at first." "I agree with you," put in the professor. "However, you got over it better than I expected you would. I think we had better get out of the neighborhood of this river. It seems unlucky." In a little while Bob was sufficiently recovered to dress. Then, having delayed only to fill the water tank of the auto from the stream, the travelers resumed their journey. They chugged along until nightfall, and having reached no settlement, they camped in the open, and made an early start the next day. It was about noon when, having made a sudden turn of the road, they came to a place where there was a parting of the ways. "I wonder which we shall take?" asked Ned. "Look! Look!" cried Bob, suddenly, pointing to something ahead. CHAPTER XVI. THE LAUGHING SERPENT. "What is it?" asked Jerry, bringing the machine up with a sudden jerk. "See! There is the laughing serpent!" exclaimed Bob. "The laughing serpent?" inquired Ned. "What do you mean?" "Don't you remember what the old Mexican said?" went on Bob. "Here is the parting of the ways, and here is the image of the laughing serpent." "Sure enough!" agreed the professor. "It's an image cut out of stone, in the shape of a snake laughing. Wonderful! Wonderful!" Right at the fork of the road and about fifteen feet from the automobile was the strange design. It was rudely cut out of stone, a serpent twining about a tree-trunk. There was nothing remarkable in the image itself except for the quaint, laughing expression the sculptor had managed to carve on the mouth of the reptile. "I wonder how it came here?" asked Jerry, getting out of the car and going close for a better look. "Probably a relic of the Aztec race," replied the professor. "They were artists in their way. This must be the image the old Mexican mentioned. If it is I suppose we may as well follow his advice and take the road to the left." "The road to the buried city," put in Jerry. "We must be close to it now." "Isn't that something sticking in the mouth of the image?" asked Bob. "It looks like a paper," said Ned. "I'll climb up and see what it is." He scrambled up the stone tree-trunk, about which the image of the laughing serpent was twined. Reaching up, he took from the mouth of the reptile a folded paper. "What does it say?" called Jerry. "It's written in some queer language; Spanish, I guess," replied Ned. "I can't read it." "Bring it here," said Professor Snodgrass. "Perhaps I can make it out." The naturalist puzzled over the writing a few minutes. Then he exclaimed: "It's from our old friend, the Mexican magician. He tells us to turn to the left, which is the same advice he has given us before, and he adds that we must beware of some sudden happening." "I wonder what he means by that?" asked Jerry. "Probably nothing," answered the professor. "But if something does happen, and he meets us after it, he'll be sure to say he warned us. It's a way those pretended wonder-workers have." "How do you suppose the note was placed there?" inquired Bob. "We left the Mexican many miles behind." "They are wonderful runners," answered the naturalist. "The magician may not have placed it here himself, but he may have given it to a friend. Perhaps there was a relay of runners, such as used to exist among the ancient Mexicans to carry royal messages. The old Mexican, who, somehow or other, discovered our object in this country, probably wanted to impress us with his abilities in the mystifying line." The travelers spent a few minutes examining the queer, carved serpent. There were no other evidences of the existence of man at hand, and, except for the two roads, there was nothing to be seen but an almost unbroken forest. It was a wild part of Mexico. "Well, what are we going to do?" asked Jerry. "Go on or stay here?" "Go on, by all means," said the professor. "Why, we may be only a little way from the buried city! Just think of it! There will be wealth untold for us!" "One thing puzzles me though," observed Bob. "What is it, Chunky?" asked Ned. "How are we going to know this buried city when we come to it?" "How?" came from Jerry. "Why, I suppose there'll be a railroad station, with the name of the city on it. Or there may be trolley cars, so we can ask the conductors if we are at the underground town. Don't you worry about knowing the place when you get to it." "But if it's underground, how are we going to find it?" persisted Bob. "It isn't like a mine, for people who know the signs can tell where gold or silver is hidden under the ground. But a city is different." "I confess that question has been a puzzle to me," admitted Professor Snodgrass. "The only thing to do is to keep on along this road until we come to the place, or see some evidence that a buried city is in the vicinity." "Forward, then!" cried Jerry, cranking up the auto. They all got into the car and, proceeding at a slow speed, for the path was uncertain, started down the road leading to the left. But all this while Noddy Nixon and Vasco Bilette, at the head of their two bands, had not been idle. Noddy kept his auto going, and Vasco and his Mexicans trotted along on horseback, drawing nearer and nearer to the travelers ahead of them. It was about noon when the boys and the professor had started away from the image of the laughing serpent, and it was three hours later that Vasco and his men came up to it. "Hello!" exclaimed the Mexican, staring at the carved stone. "I never saw you before, but you're not remarkable for beauty. I wonder what you're here for?" He had never been in this part of Mexico before, and it was like a new country to him. "I wonder which way those chaps took?" asked Vasco, dismounting from his horse. "It won't do for us to take the wrong trail." "See!" exclaimed one of the Mexicans, pointing to where the tracks of the auto wheels could be seen, imprinted in the dust of the way leading to the left. "See! That way they go!" "Sure enough they did, Petro!" remarked Vasco. "You have sharp eyes. Well, we'll just wait here until Noddy comes up and sees how things are. I shouldn't wonder but what it would be time to close in on 'em to-night. I'm getting tired of waiting. I want some money." "So are we all tired!" exclaimed one of the gang, speaking in Spanish, which was the language Vasco always used save in talking to his English acquaintances. "We want gold, and if the fat boy is to be carried off and held for a ransom, the sooner the better." "Have patience," advised Vasco. "We'll have him quick enough. Wait until Noddy comes." Then he began to roll a cigarette, his example being followed by all the others. In about an hour Noddy, Pender, Dalsett and Berry came up in the auto. A consultation was held, and it was decided to have the horsemen follow the party in front more closely. "We'll do the kidnapping to-night," said Noddy. "We'll wait until they go into camp, because that's what they'll have to do, for there are no inns down here. We'll be hiding in the bushes and at the proper time we'll grab Bob Baker and run." "Good!" exclaimed Vasco. "My men were beginning to get impatient." The plotters made a fire and prepared dinner. Then the Mexicans got out their revolvers and began cleaning them. Several also sharpened their knives. "Look here," began Noddy, as he saw these preparations, "there's to be no killing, you know, Vasco." "Killing! Bless you, of course not," was the reply, but Vasco winked one eye at Dalsett. "My men are only seeing that their weapons do not get rusty. Now, captain, we're ready to start as soon as you give the word." "Then you may as well begin now," was Noddy's reply. "They have a pretty good start of us, but we'll travel after dark, if need be, to catch up with them. As soon as they camp out for the night, Vasco, surround them so they can't escape. Then I'll come up in my car, and we'll take Bob away in it." The horsemen started off, Noddy following in a little while. The trail made by the auto of the boys and the professor was easily followed. Noddy's car had barely turned around a bend in the road before something strange happened. The laughing serpent seemed to tremble and shake. It appeared alive, and about to fall to the ground. Then a portion of the base and tree-trunk slid to one side and from the interior, which was hollow, there stepped out an old Mexican--the same who had played the part of the magician and who had given prophetic warning to the travelers. "Ha! My trick worked!" he exclaimed. "It was a hard journey to travel all that distance and get here ahead of them. Only the fleetness of my horse and the fact that I knew all the roads that were short cuts, enabled me to do it. Now for the final act in the game!" He placed his fingers to his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. In an instant a milk-white horse came from the bushes, where it had been concealed. "Here, my beauty!" called the Mexican. He leaped on the animal's back and dashed off like the wind, down the road leading to the right. CHAPTER XVII. AN INTERRUPTED KIDNAPPING. As the auto containing the naturalist and the boys progressed, the road became more and more difficult to travel. Part of the way was overgrown with brush, and several times the travelers had to stop, get out and cut big vines that grew across the path. "I guess there hasn't been much going on along this highway," observed Jerry. "And I don't believe it will ever be much in favor with autoists," said Ned. "There's too much sand." There was a great deal of the fine dirt and in some places it was so soft and yielding that the wheels of the car sank down half way to the hubs, making it impossible to proceed except at a snail's pace. Then, again, would come firm stretches, where the going was easier. In this manner several miles were traversed. The forest on either side of the road became more dense and wilder. Thousands of parrots and other birds flew about among the trees, and troops of monkeys followed the progress of the automobile, chattering as if in rage at the invasion of their stamping ground. Suddenly the screams and chattering of the monkeys ceased. The birds also stopped their racket, and the silence was weird after the riot of noise. Then there came such a series of shrill shrieks from a band of monkeys that it was evident something out of the ordinary had happened. The next instant a long, lithe, yellow animal shot across the road in front of the auto. The big beast had a monkey in its mouth. "A jaguar!" exclaimed the professor. "Quick, boys! Get the rifle!" Ned handed the weapon to the professor, who fired three times, quickly, but the jaguar leaped on, unharmed. "Well, we're getting into the region of big game," remarked the naturalist, "and we'll have to be on the lookout now or some of the beasts will be trying that trick on us." "The monkeys must have seen him; that's why they kept so still that time," remarked Bob. "But it didn't do that particular one any good," said the professor. "He must have been caught napping. Well, Mr. Jaguar will have a good supper to-night." "That reminds me," spoke Bob. "When are we going to eat?" "That's right, speak of eating and you'll be sure to hear from Chunky," said Jerry. "But I suppose we'll have to camp pretty soon. It's five o'clock and there don't seem to be any hotels in the vicinity," and he glanced at the dense forest on every side and grinned. "We'll camp at the next clearing," said the professor. "Better get to a place where there's a little space on every side of you when there are wild animals about." A mile further on the travelers came to a place where the trees were less thick. There was an open space on either side of the road. The auto was placed under the shelter of a wide-spreading palm and then the adventurers busied themselves getting supper. The professor took a gun and went a little way into the woods. He shot a small deer, and in a little while some choice venison steaks were broiling over the camp stove. "This is something like eating," remarked Ned. "I was getting tired of those frijoles, eggs and tortillas," and he accepted a second helping of venison. The rubber and woolen blankets were taken from the auto, and the travelers prepared to spend the night in the forest. "I guess we'll mount guard," said the professor. "The forest is full of jaguars. I saw three while I was hunting the deer." "Let me stay up," begged Jerry. "I'm not sleepy, and I'd like to get a shot at one of the beasts." Ned also wanted to remain up, but the professor said he could take the second watch; and, content with this, Ned turned in with the others. As the night wore on the forests resounded more and more with the noises made by wild beasts. The howls of the foxes mingled with the more terrifying yells of the jaguars, and of the latter beasts the woods seemed to be full. Jerry, with the loaded magazine rifle, was on the alert. He kept up a bright fire, for he knew that unless made desperate by hunger no wild thing would approach a flame. There were queer rustlings and cracklings of the underbrush on every side of the sentinel. Now and then through the leaves he caught glimpses of reddish-green eyes reflecting back the shine of the blaze. Following the plans they had made, Vasco Bilette and his Mexicans, together with Noddy and the crowd in the automobile, had trailed the boys and the professor to the camp. With great caution, Vasco had led his men to within a short distance of the fire Jerry had kindled, and Noddy's auto was in readiness for the kidnapping. So, though Jerry did not know it, there were the eyes of dangerous men on his movements as well as the eyes of dangerous beasts. Like dark shadows, the Mexicans slowly encircled the camp. They were so close they could distinguish the sleeping forms. "Which is Bob?" whispered Vasco to Noddy. "That one right at the foot of the big palm tree," replied Noddy Nixon, pointing out the banker's son. "Is everything ready?" the leader of the Mexicans asked. "All ready!" replied Noddy. Vasco was about to steal forward, hoping to be able to grab up Bob and make off with him before the camp was aroused. In case of resistance, he had given his men orders to shoot. But at that instant a big jaguar, driven wild with hunger, and braving all danger, had crept to within a few feet of Jerry. The animal smelled the meat of the recently killed deer, the carcass of which hung in a tree. The fierce beast determined to get a meal at all hazards. It crouched on the limb of a tree, just above Jerry's head, ready for a spring at the body of the deer. Jerry happened to glance up. He saw the long, lithe body, tense for a leap, the reddish-green eyes glaring at him. Jerry was not a coward, but the sight of the brute, so dangerous and so close to him, scared him greatly for a second or two. Then, recovering his nerve, he raised the rifle, took quick aim and fired three shots in rapid succession. With a snarl and roar the jaguar toppled to the ground, tearing up the earth and leaves in a death struggle. "What's the matter?" called out the professor. "Are you hurt, Jerry?" cried Ned. Bob, too, roused up, and the whole camp was soon astir, every one grabbing a gun or revolver. Jerry fired two more shots into the jaguar, and the struggles ceased. "I got him just in time," he remarked. The others crowded around the brute. "Halt!" exclaimed Bilette, under his breath, as, ready with his men to rush on the camp, he saw that his plan was spoiled. "If it had not been for that jaguar I would have had the captive. Come, we must get out of this!" CHAPTER XVIII. THE UNDERGROUND CITY. Vasco Bilette's warning was received with ill humor by his men. They were angry because the kidnapping had not succeeded, and because the jaguar had alarmed the camp and put every one on guard. "Come, let us give them battle now and take the boy!" suggested one. "Do you want to be killed?" asked Vasco, angrily. "They are all armed now, and would shoot at the least suspicious sound. I, for one, don't care to have a bullet in me. Come, let us get out of this." The Mexicans saw the force of Vasco's arguments. They did not care about being shot at like wild beasts, and they knew that the boys and the professor were ready for anything now. "We will try to-morrow night," said Bilette, as, with Noddy and his men, he silently withdrew to where the horses and auto had been left. "Perhaps we'll have better luck then." The men growled, but had to accept the situation. As for our friends, they were too excited to sleep any more that night, and so they sat around the camp-fire and talked until morning. Breakfast over, camp was broken, and once more the auto started on the trip toward the hidden city. Professor Snodgrass got out the map made by his dead friend and studied it carefully. "I believe we are on the right road," the naturalist said. "Here is a highway marked on the drawing that seems to correspond with the one we are on. And there is a place marked where two roads diverge. Only there is nothing said about the laughing serpent, though there is something here that might be taken for it," and he pointed to the map. Every one was becoming quite anxious, and the boys, as well as the professor, kept close watch on each foot of the way to see if there were any indications that they were close to the underground town. They stopped for dinner near a little brook, in which Bob caught several fish that made a welcome addition to the bill of fare. "Now, if you boys don't object, I think I'll take a little stroll into the woods and see what I can find in the way of specimens," remarked the naturalist, as he finished the last of his fish and frijoles. "Better take a gun along," called Ned. "A jaguar may get you." "I'm not going very far," replied the professor. "All I want is my net and box," and with these only he started off. It was about an hour later when Jerry observed: "Doesn't it seem as if the monkeys were making more noise than usual?" The boys listened for a few seconds. It was evident that something had disturbed these nimble inhabitants of the forest, for they were yelling and chattering at a great rate. "Maybe another jaguar is after them," suggested Bob. "No; it doesn't sound like that," said Jerry. "They seem to be yelling more in rage than in fear." "Maybe they're having a fight," put in Ned. Just then there came a crashing, as if several trees were being crashed down by a tornado. There was a crackling of the underbrush and a rustling in the leaves. Then, above this noise and the yells of the monkeys, sounded a single cry: "Help, boys!" "The professor's in trouble again!" cried Jerry. "I wonder what it is this time?" Grabbing up a rifle, which example Bob and Ned imitated, Jerry ran in the direction of the voice. The noise made by the monkeys increased, and there were sounds as if a bombardment of the forest was under way. "Where are you?" called Jerry. "We are coming!" "Under this big rock!" called the professor, and the boys, looking in the direction his voice came from, saw the naturalist hiding under a big ledge of stone that jutted out of the side of a hill in a sort of a clearing. "Can't you come out?" called Ned. "I tried to several times, but I was nearly killed," replied the professor. "The monkeys are after me. Look at the ground." The boys looked and saw, strewn in front of the shallow cave in which the professor had ensconced himself, a number of round, dark objects. As they looked there came a shower of others through the air. Several of them hit on the rock, broke, and a shower of white scattered all about. "What in the world are they?" asked Bob. He ran toward the professor. No sooner had he emerged out of the dense forest into the clearing than a regular hail of the round objects fell all about him. One struck him on the shoulder and the boy was glad enough to retreat. "What's it all about?" asked Ned. "The monkeys are bombarding the professor with cocoanuts," said Bob, gasping for breath after his run. "Cocoanuts?" "That's what they are. Here come some more." He had scarcely spoken before the air was again dark with the brown nuts, which were much larger than those seen in market, being contained in their original husk. At the same time there was a chorus of angry cries from the monkeys. It was evident now why the professor dared not leave his rock shelter. The minute he did so he would run the risk of being struck down and probably killed by a volley of the nuts. Nor could the boys go to his rescue, for the moment they crossed the clearing they would be targets for the infuriated animals. "What's to be done?" asked Ned. "Supposing we shoot some of the monkeys," suggested Bob. "I don't think that would be a good idea," said Jerry. "In the first place if we kill any of the animals it will make the others all the angrier. And then we would have to keep shooting for several days to make much of an inroad on the beasts. There must be five thousand of them." Indeed, the forest was full of the long-tailed and nimble-fingered monkeys, all perched in cocoanut or other trees, ready to resent the slightest movement on the part of their human enemies. "I know a good trick," spoke Bob. "What is it, Chunky?" asked Jerry. "Take a big looking-glass and put it on a tree. The monkeys will be attracted by the shine of it; they will all go down to see what it is and when they see a strange monkey in the glass they will fight. That will make enough fuss so that the professor can escape." "That might be a good trick if we had the big mirror, which we haven't," spoke Jerry. "You'll have to think of something else, Chunky." But there was no need of this, for at that instant the cries of the monkeys ceased. The silence was almost oppressive in its suddenness and by contrast with the previous riot of noise. Then came unmistakable screams of fear from the simians. "Now what has happened, I wonder?" said Ned. "It's a jaguar!" cried Bob. He pointed to a tree, on a limb of which one of the animals the monkeys dreaded so much was stretched out. The beast was stalking one of the chattering animals, but his presence had been discovered by the whole tribe. So much in awe did the monkeys hold this scourge of the Mexican forests that his presence accomplished what the boys could never hope to. The apes trooped off with a rush, chattering in fright. With a howl of rage the jaguar took after them. "You can come out now, Professor," called Ned. "The monkeys are gone." In fear and trembling the naturalist came from his sheltering rock. He seemed in momentary fear lest he might be greeted with a shower of the nuts, but none fell. With rapid strides he crossed the clearing and joined the boys. "How did it all happen?" asked Jerry, as soon as the professor had recovered his breath. "It was all my fault," explained the naturalist. "I was collecting some butterfly specimens, when I happened to see some monkeys in the cocoanut trees. I had read that if any one threw something at the beasts they would retaliate by throwing down cocoanuts. I wanted to test it, so I threw a few stones at the monkeys. They returned my fire with interest, so I was forced to run under the rock for shelter. "There were only a few monkeys at first, but more came until there were thousands. They kept throwing cocoanuts until the ground was covered. It's lucky you came when I called." "It's luckier the jaguar came along when he did," said Jerry. "Let's get back to the auto before I get into any more trouble," suggested the professor. "I do seem to have the worst luck of getting into scrapes." Half an hour later the travelers were on their way. It was getting well along into afternoon and they were beginning to think of where they would spend the night. They were getting deeper and deeper into the forest, and the way became more and more difficult to travel. But they would not turn back, for they felt they were on the right path. At length they came to a place where creepers and vines were so closely grown across the path that nothing short of hatchets could make a way. The boys got out the small axes kept for such emergencies, and, after an hour's work, made a passage. They started forward once more, and were going along at a pretty good clip, the road having improved in spots. "I wonder when we'll get to that underground city?" said Ned, for perhaps the tenth time that day. He had no sooner spoken than the earth trembled under the auto. The machine seemed to stand still. Then, with a sickening motion it plunged forward and downward. A big hole had opened in the road and let the car and its occupants through the surface of the earth. The machine slid forward, revealing, near the top of a shaft, a brief glimpse of several ruined buildings. "It is the underground city!" exclaimed the professor. Then there came intense darkness. CHAPTER XIX. IN AN ANCIENT TEMPLE. The auto seemed to be bumping along downhill, for at the first evidence of danger Jerry had shut off the power and applied the brake. But the descent was too steep to have the bands hold. Down and down the adventurers went, through some underground passage, it was evident. "Are we all here?" called Jerry, his voice sounding strange and muffled in the chamber to which they had come. "I'm here and all right, but I don't exactly know what has happened," replied the professor. "The same with me," put in Ned, and Bob echoed his words. Just then the automobile came to a stop, having reached a level and run along it for a short distance. "Well, we seem to have arrived," went on Jerry. "I wonder how much good it is going to do us?" "Supposing we light the search-lamp and see what sort of a place we are in," suggested Professor Snodgrass. "It's so dark in here we might just as well be inside one of the pyramids of Egypt." The acetylene gas lamp on the front of the auto was lighted, and in its brilliant rays the travelers saw that they were in a large underground passage. It was about twenty feet high, twice as broad and seemed to be hewn out of solid rock. "This is what makes it so dark," observed the professor. "I knew it must be something like this, for it was still daylight when we tumbled into the hole and we haven't been five minutes down here. Run the auto forward, Jerry." The car puffed slowly along surely as strange a place as ever an automobile was in. The boys looked eagerly ahead. They saw nothing but the rocky sides and roof of the passage. "This doesn't look much like an underground city," objected Ned. "I think it's an abandoned railway tunnel." At that instant Jerry shut off the power and applied the brakes with a jerk. "What's the matter?" asked the professor. "There's some sort of a wall or obstruction ahead," was the answer, and Jerry pointed to where, in the glare of the lamp, could be seen a wall that closed up the passageway completely. "I guess this is the end," remarked Ned, ruefully. The naturalist got out of the car and ran forward. He seemed to be examining the obstruction carefully. He struck it two or three blows. "Hurrah!" he cried. "Come on, boys, this is only a big wooden door! We can open it!" In an instant the three lads had joined him. They found that the passage was closed by a big portal of planks, bolted together and swinging on immense hinges. There was also a huge lock or fastening. "Can we open the door?" inquired Bob. "It looks as if it was meant to stay shut." "We'll soon see," answered Jerry. He ran back to the automobile and got a kit of tools. Then, while Ned held up one of the small oil lamps that was taken off the dashboard of the car, Jerry tackled the lock. It was a massive affair, but time had so rusted it that very little trouble was found in taking it apart so that the door was free. "Everybody push, now!" called Jerry. "Those hinges are pretty rusty." They shoved with all their strength, but the door, though it gave slightly, showing that no more locks held it, would not open. It had probably not been used for centuries. "Looks as if we'd have to stay here," said the professor. "Not a bit of it," spoke Jerry. "Wait a minute." He ran back to the auto, and soon the others heard him cranking it up. "Look out! Stand to one side!" he called. The auto came forward slowly. Jerry steered the front part of it carefully against the massive door. Once he was close to the portal he turned on full power. There was a cracking and splintering of wood, and a squeaking as the rusty hinges gave. Then, with the auto pushing against it, the massive door swung to one side. The machine had accomplished what the strength of the boys and the professor could not. Slowly but surely the portal opened. Wider and wider it swung, until there burst on the astonished gaze of the travelers a flood of light. The sun was shining overhead, though fast declining in the west, but in the bright glare of the slanting beams there was revealed the underground city. There it stood in all its ancient splendor, most of it, however, but mere ruins of what had been fine buildings. There were rows and rows of houses, stone palaces and what had been beautiful temples. Nearly all of the structures showed traces of elaborate carvings. But ruin was on every side. The roofs of houses, temples and palaces had fallen in. Walls were crumbling and the streets were filled with debris. As the boys looked, some foxes scampered among the ruins, and shortly afterward a jaguar slunk along, crawling into a hole in a temple wall. "Grand! Beautiful! Solemn!" exclaimed the professor, in raptures over the discovery. "It is more than I dared to hope for. Think of it, boys! We have at last discovered the buried city of ancient Mexico. How the people back in civilization will open their eyes when they hear this news! My name and yours as well will be covered with glory. Oh, it is marvelous!" "I guess it will be some time before the people back in Cresville hear of this," observed Jerry. "There doesn't seem to be any way of sending a letter from here. I don't see any telegraph station, and there's not a messenger boy in sight." "That's funny," said Ned. "You'd think a buried city, a dead one, so to speak, would be just the place where a district messenger would like to come to rest." "It's a lonesome place here," remarked Bob. "I hope we'll find some one to talk to." "That's just the beauty of the place," said the professor. "What good would an ancient, ruined, buried city be if people were living in it? I hope there isn't a soul here but ourselves." "I guess you'll get your desire, all right," remarked Jerry. The first surprise and wonder over, the travelers advanced a little way into the city and looked about them. They saw that the place, which was several miles square, was down in a hollow, formed of high hills. For this reason the location of the city had remained so long a secret. They had come upon it through one of the underground passages leading into the town, and these, as they afterward learned, were the only means of entering the place. There were four of these passages or tunnels, one entering from each side of the city, north, south, east and west. But time and change had closed up the outer ends of the tunnels after the city had become deserted, and it remained for Professor Snodgrass and his party to tumble in on one. It was as if a city had been built inside an immense bowl and on the bottom of it. The sides of the bowl would represent the hills and mountains that girt the ancient town. Then, if four holes were made in the sides of the vessel, close to the bottom, they would be like the four entrances to the old city. "Supposing we take a ride through the town before dark," suggested Jerry. "We may meet some one." He started the machine, but after going a short distance it was found that it was impracticable to use the machine to any advantage. The streets were filled with debris and big stones from the ruined houses and fallen hills, and it needed constant twisting and turning to make the journey. "Let's get out and walk," proposed Ned. "Then there's a good place to leave the machine," said Bob, pointing to a ruined temple on the left. "We can run it right inside, through the big doors. It's a regular garage." The suggestion was voted a good one, and Jerry steered the auto into the temple. The place had been magnificent in its day. Even now the walls were covered with beautiful paintings, or the remains of them, and the whole interior and exterior of the place was a mass of fine stone carving. The roof had fallen away in several places, but there were spots where enough remained to give shelter. The machine was run into a covered corner and then the travelers went outside. The professor uttered cries of delight at every step, as he discovered some new specimen or relic. They seemed to exist on every side. "Look out where you're stepping!" called the naturalist, suddenly, as Jerry was about to set his foot down. "What's the matter--a snake?" asked the boy, jumping back. "No. But you nearly stepped on and ruined a petrified bug worth thousands of dollars!" "Great Scott! I'll be careful after this," promised Jerry, as the professor picked up the specimen of a beetle and put it in his box. CHAPTER XX. MYSTERIOUS HAPPENINGS. The travelers strolled for some time longer, the professor finding what he called rare relics at every turn. "This is like another gold mine," he said. "There are treasures untold here. I have no doubt we will find a store of diamonds and other precious stones before we are through." "I'd like to find a ham sandwich right now," observed Bob. "It wouldn't be Chunky if he wasn't hungry," laughed Ned. "But I admit I feel somewhat the same way myself." "Then we had better go back to the temple and get supper," advised Jerry. So back they went, but their progress was slow, because the professor would insist on examining every bit of ruins he came to in order to see if there were not specimens to be gathered or relics to be picked up. His green box was full to overflowing and all his pockets bulged, but he was the happiest of naturalists. It was dark when they reached the ancient place of worship where the auto had been left, and at Jerry's suggestion Bob lighted the search-lamp and the other two lights on the machine. This made a brilliant circle of illumination in one place, but threw the rest of the temple into a dense blackness. "I wouldn't want to be here all alone," remarked Bob, looking about and shuddering a bit. "Why, Chunky? Afraid of ghosts?" asked Ned. "What was that?" exclaimed Bob, suddenly, starting at a noise. "A bat," replied the naturalist. "The place is full of them. I must get some for specimens." "I don't know but what I prefer ghosts to bats," said Bob. "I hope none of them suck our blood while we're asleep." "No danger; I guess none of these are of the vampire variety," remarked the professor. "But now let's get supper." In spite of the strangeness of the surroundings, the travelers managed to make a good meal. The gasolene stove was set up and some canned chicken prepared, with tortillas and frijoles. "We'll have to replenish our larder soon," remarked Jerry, looking into the provision chest. "There's only a little stuff left." "We'll have to go hunting some day," said the professor. "We can't starve in this country. Game is too plentiful." "I wonder if the people who built this place didn't put some bedrooms in it," said Bob, as, sitting on the floor of the temple, he began to nod from sleepiness. "Perhaps they did," put in Ned. "Let's take a look." He unfastened one of the oil lamps from the auto and started off on an exploring trip. A little to the left of the corner where the auto stood he came to a door. Though it worked hard on the rusted hinges he managed to push it open. He flashed the light inside. "Hurrah! Here are some beds or couches or something of the kind!" he shouted. The others came hurrying up. The room seemed to be a sort of resting place for the priests of the ancient temple. Ranged about the side walls were wooden frames on which were stretched skins and hides of animals, in a manner somewhat as the modern cot is made. "I wonder if they are strong enough to hold us," said Jerry. "Let Chunky try, he's the heaviest," suggested Ned. Accordingly, Bob stretched out on the ancient bed. It creaked a little, but showed no signs of collapsing in spite of the many years it had been in the place. "This will be better than sleeping on a cold stone floor," remarked the professor. "Fetch in the blankets and we'll have a good night's rest." "Shall we post a guard?" asked Jerry. "I don't think it will be necessary," replied the naturalist. "I hardly believe there is any one in this old city but ourselves, and we can barricade the door to keep out any stray animals." So, in a little while, the travelers were all slumbering. But the professor was wrong in his surmise that they were the only inhabitants of the underground city. No sooner had a series of snores proclaimed that every one was sleeping than from a dark recess on the opposite side of the temple to that where the automobile stood there came a strange figure, clad in white. If Bob had seen it he surely would have said it was a ghost. "So you found my ancient city after all," whispered the figure. "You know now that the Mexican magician was telling the truth, and you realize that you found the place sooner than you expected, and in a strange manner. But there will be more strange things happen before you go from here, I promise you." "Are the _Americano_ dogs asleep?" sounded a whisper from the recess whence came the aged Mexican, who had so strangely prophesied to the professor. "Yes, San Lucia, they are asleep," replied the first figure, as another, attired as he was, joined him. "But speak softly, for they have sharp ears and wake easily." "Have they the gold with them?" asked San Lucia, who was also quite old. "That is what we want, Murado. Have they the gold?" "All _Americanos_ have gold," replied Murado. "That is why I lured them on. All my plans were made to get them here that we might take their gold." "And you succeeded wonderfully well, Murado. Tell me about it, for I have not had a chance to talk to you since you arrived in such breathless haste." "There is not much to tell," replied the other. "I heard of their arrival in a short time after they reached Mexico. Then, in a secret way, I heard what they were searching for. Chance made it possible for me to somewhat startle them by pretending to know more than I did. I met them on the road and told them of what they were in search and how to find it." "That was easy, since you knew so well yourself," interrupted San Lucia. "We have not been brigands for nothing, Murado. Well do I remember the day you and I came upon this buried city. And it has been our headquarters ever since." "As I said, it was easy to mystify them," went on Murado. "They traveled fast in their steam wagon, or whatever it is, but I knew several short cuts that enabled me to get ahead of them. I was hidden in the hollow stone image of the laughing serpent and saw, through the little eye-holes, how they came up and took the paper I had written and put between the lips of the reptile. Oh, it all worked out as I had planned, and now we have them here where we want them." "And we will kill them and get their gold!" whispered San Lucia, feeling of a knife he wore in his belt. "But tell me, how did they happen to stumble on the right underground passage?" "They didn't happen to," replied Murado. "That was one point where I failed. But it is just as well. You see, I had so managed things that I knew they would take the road to the left of the image. When I saw them depart I called my horse and galloped off to the right. I wanted to take a short cut and get here ahead of them. "I succeeded. You were away; just when I needed your help, too. But I managed. I went out in the underground passage and waited for them. "That passage, you know, goes right under the road they were traveling on. Whoever built this ancient city must have wanted it to remain hidden, for the only way to get to it is by the tunnels. If, by chance, some one approached on the roads leading to the top of the mountains the ancients had a plan to get rid of them." "How?" asked San Lucia. "At several places in the upper roadway there were false places. That is, they were traps. A portion of the road would be dug away, making a shaft down to the tunnel. Then boards would be placed over the hole and a light covering of dirt sprinkled on the planks. Watchers were stationed below, and at the sound of an enemy on the boards above the sentinels would pull a lever. This would take away the supports of the false portion of the road, and it would crash down into the tunnel, carrying the enemy with it. "So I played the part of the watcher, and when I heard the _Americanos_ riding over the trap I pulled the lever and down they crashed. "There, as I said, I made my only mistake. I expected the _Americanos_ would be killed, but their steam cart is strong, and the fall did not hurt them. Besides, only one end of the trap gave way, and the other, holding fast, made an inclined road on which they descended into the tunnel. That is how they came here, and now we must to work if we are to get their gold." "And quickly, too," observed San Lucia, "for I learned that another party is following this; they, too, have a steam wagon, and we may trap them also." "I know the crowd of whom you speak," said Murado. "They are not far behind. One is a youth called Nixy Nodnot, or some barbarous thing like it. They will be surprised not to find their friends. But come, they sleep!" Then the two Mexican brigands began creeping toward the room where the professor and the boys were sleeping. CHAPTER XXI. NODDY HAS A TUMBLE. When Vasco and Noddy, foiled in their attempt to kidnap Bob, retreated through the forest, they went into camp with their crowd in no very pleasant frame of mind. The Mexicans whom Vasco had hired to assist him were angry at being foiled, and they talked of deserting. "Go on, if you want to," said Vasco, carelessly rolling a cigarette; "so much the more gold for us when the rich man ransoms his son." This was enough to excite the greed of the men, who talked no more of going away. The next day, after a consultation, Noddy and Vasco decided to continue on the trail of the boys and the professor. They pursued the same tactics they had previous to the interrupted kidnapping, and were careful not to get too close to those they were trailing. All was not harmonious among the members of the band with which Noddy had surrounded himself. The men had frequent quarrels, especially when they were playing cards, which they seemed to do when they were not smoking cigarettes. After dinner one day the Mexicans appeared to be much amused as they played their game. They laughed and shouted and seemed to be talking of the automobile, for Noddy had brought his machine up to the camp of the horsemen. "What are they talking about?" asked Noddy of Vasco. "They are making a wager that the one who loses the game must ride, all by himself, in the automobile," replied Bilette. "But I don't want them to do that," said Noddy. "They don't know how to run the car." "That's the trouble," went on Vasco. "No one wants to lose, for they're all afraid to operate the machine. But if one of them tries to do it, you'd better let him, if you don't want to get into trouble." With a shout of laughter the men arose from where they had been playing the game. They seemed to be railing at one chap, who looked at the auto as if he feared it might blow up and kill him. "You're in for it," remarked Vasco. "Whatever you do don't make a fuss." With a somewhat sheepish air a young Mexican, one of Vasco's crowd, came near the auto. He made a sign that he wanted to take Noddy's place. The latter frowned and spoke in English, only a word or two of which the native understood. "You shan't have this machine," spoke Noddy. "It's mine, and if you try to run it you'll break it." But the Mexican paid no heed. He came close up to Noddy, grabbed him by the collar and hauled him from the car. Noddy was the only one in it at that time, Berry, Dalsett and Pender having gone off a short distance. "Let go of me!" cried Noddy, trying to draw a small revolver he carried. The Mexican only grunted and retained his grip. "If you don't let me alone I'll fire!" exclaimed the youth. He had his revolver out, and the Mexican, seeing this, allowed his temper to cool a bit. But there was an angry look in his eyes that meant trouble for Noddy. "Now you fellows quit this gambling," commanded Vasco. "We'll have hard work ahead of us in a little while, and we don't want any foolishness. Leave Noddy alone. Don't you know if any one tries to run that machine that hasn't been introduced to it, the engine will blow up!" "_Diablo!_" exclaimed the Mexican who had lost at cards and who was about to attempt to operate the auto. "I will let it alone!" Quiet was restored, but the bad feeling was only smoothed over. It was liable to break out again at any time. The main object of the crowd was not lost sight of, however, and every hour they drew nearer the trail of those of whom they were in pursuit. As it grew dusk, on the day of the quarrel over the auto, Noddy and Vasco, with their followers, came to a small clearing. They decided to stop and have supper. "If I'm not mistaken, the other auto has been here within a short time," remarked Vasco, pointing to marks in the sandy road. "And there seem to be footprints leading over there through the underbrush." He followed the trail, and came to the place where, a short time before, Professor Snodgrass had battled with the cocoanut-throwing monkeys. "Looks as if some one was going to start in the wholesale business," went on the Mexican, glancing at the pile of nuts the simians had piled up. "Do you think we are close to them?" asked Noddy, for, since the experience of the afternoon, he was anxious to get the kidnapping over, and be rid of the Mexicans. "They have been here very recently," said Vasco. "How can you tell?" asked Noddy. "See where the oil has dripped from their machine," replied Bilette, pointing to a little puddle of the lubricant in the road. "It has not yet had time to soak away, showing that it must have been there but a short time, since in this sand it would not remain long on top." "Shall we go on after them or camp for the night?" asked Noddy, following a somewhat lengthy pause. "Keep on," replied Vasco. "No telling when we may get another chance. Get the boy when we can. We'll have to do a little night traveling, but what of it?" Noddy assented. He spent some time after supper in oiling up the auto and getting the lamps filled, for darkness was coming on. Then, all being in readiness, Noddy started off, the horsemen keeping close to him. For a few miles no one in the party spoke. The auto puffed slowly along, the horsemen managing to keep up to it. "How do we know we're on the right road?" asked Noddy at length. "We may have gone astray in the darkness." Tom Dalsett took a lantern and made a careful survey of the highway. He came back presently. "We're all right," he said. "There are auto tracks just ahead of us. We may come up to them any minute now." Once more Noddy's auto, which he had stopped to let Dalsett out, started up. The pace was swift and silent. But as they penetrated farther and farther into the depths of the forest there was no sign of the boys and the professor, who, by this time, were in the underground city. "I don't believe we'll find them," spoke Jack Pender. "Let's camp now and take up the trail in the morning, when you can see better." "No; we must keep on," said Vasco, firmly. "It is to-night or never. I can't hold my men together any longer than that." Off into the darkness puffed the auto. The men on horseback followed it, the whole party keeping close together, for several jaguars were seen near the path, having been driven from their usual haunts because of the scarcity of game. Every one was on the alert, watching for any signs of the travelers they were pursuing. Every now and then some one would get out and examine the road to see if the auto marks were still to be seen. They were there, and led straight on to the hidden city. It was some time past midnight and the machine was going over a good patch of road, when Jack Pender, who was seated beside Noddy, suddenly grabbed the steersman's arm. "What's that ahead in the road?" asked Jack. "I don't see anything," replied Noddy. "It's your imagination. What does it look like?" "Like a big black shadow, bigger and blacker than any around here. Can't you see it now? There it is! Stop the machine, quick!" Noddy, peering through the gloom, saw what seemed to be a patch of shadows. He gave the levers quick yanks, jammed down the brakes and tried to bring the machine to a stop. But he was too late. With a plunge the car sank through the earth and rushed along the inclined plane down which Jerry and his friends had coasted a few hours before. There were wild cries of fear, mingled with the shrill neighing of horses, for some of the riders and their steeds also went down the trap that had been laid. The auto remained upright and shot along the floor of the tunnel to which it had fallen, undergoing the same experience as had the machine of Jerry and his friends. Then, with a crash that resounded through the confines of the ancient city, Noddy and his machine and all who were in it brought up against the massive door closing the tunnel, which portal Jerry had swung shut after he and his friends had passed through. Following the crash there came an ominous silence. CHAPTER XXII. FACE TO FACE. "Hark! What was that?" whispered San Lucia to Murado. The two old brigands paused in their stealthy march upon their sleeping victims, as the sound of the crash Noddy's auto made came faintly to their ears. "How should I know?" asked Murado, but he seemed alarmed. "It sounded in the tunnel," went on San Lucia. "Some one is coming! Quick! Let us hide! Another night will do for our work." Thereupon the two old villains, alarmed by the terror of the noise caused by they knew not what, hesitated and then fled as silently as they had advanced. For the time the lives of the boys and the professor had been saved. San Lucia and Murado went to their hiding place in the old temple, the building being so large and rambling that it would have hidden a score of men with ease. It may be added here that they did not dare to touch many things in the ancient city, thinking them bewitched. All unmindful of the danger which had menaced them, our travelers slept on, nothing disturbing them, and they did not hear the noise made by Noddy's tumble, though they were not far from the mouth of the tunnel. "I say!" called Bob, sitting up and looking at his watch in a sunbeam that came through a broken window. "I say, are you fellows going to sleep all day? It's nearly eight o'clock, and I want some breakfast." "Oh, of course it's something to eat as soon as you open your eyes!" exclaimed Jerry. "I should think you would take something to bed with you, Chunky, and put it under your pillow so you could eat in the night whenever you felt hungry." "That's all right," snapped Bob, "but I notice we don't have to call you twice to come to your meals." "Is it morning?" called the professor from his cot. "Long ago," replied Bob, who was dressing. "I wonder if the folks that lived in this temple ever washed. I'd like to strike a bathroom about now." "Hark! I hear something!" exclaimed the professor. They all listened intently. "It's running water," said the naturalist, "and close by. Perhaps there's a wash-room in this temple." "I'm going to see what's behind this door," said Bob, pointing to a portal none of them had noticed in the darkness. He pushed it open and went inside. The next instant he uttered a joyful cry: "Come here, fellows! It's a plunge bath!" Then they heard him spring in and splash about. Jerry and Ned soon followed, and the professor came a little later. It was a regular swimming-tank, stone-lined and sunk into the floor. The water came in through a sort of stone trough. "These old chaps knew something about life, after all," observed Ned, as he climbed out and proceeded to dry himself. "They were probably a bit like the Romans," remarked the professor, "and fond of bathing. But something has given me an appetite, and I wouldn't object to breakfast." The others were of the same mind, and soon Ned had the gasolene stove set up and was preparing a meal. Bob attended to the brewing of the coffee instead of chocolate, and the aroma of the beverage filled the old temple with an appetizing odor. "What are we going to do to-day?" asked Jerry, when they had finished the meal and were sitting comfortably on some low stools that had been discovered in the room where they slept. "We must explore the city in all directions," said the professor. "There are many marvelous things here, and I have not begun to find them yet. It will take weeks and weeks." "Are we going to stay here all that while?" asked Bob, somewhat dubiously. "I'd like to," answered the naturalist. "But we can get a good load of specimens and relics, run up north and come back for more. This place is a regular treasure-trove." Clearing away the remains of the breakfast, and looking over the auto to see that it had suffered no damage in the recent experience, the boys and the professor left the temple and strolled out into the deserted city. They did not know that their every movement was watched by the glittering eyes of San Lucia and Murado, who were hidden in an upper part of the temple whence they could look down on their intended victims from a small, concealed gallery. By full daylight the ancient city was even more wonderful than it had appeared in the waning light of the previous afternoon. In the days of its glory it was evident it had been a beautiful place. The travelers entered some of the better-preserved houses. They found the rooms filled with fine furniture, of a rude but simple and pleasing character, some of the articles being well preserved. One house they visited seemed to have belonged to some rich man, for it was filled with things that once had been of great beauty. "There is something that should interest me!" exclaimed the professor, as he caught sight of a small cabinet on the wall. "That must contain curios." He found his supposition right, and fairly reveled in the objects that were treasures to him, but not worth much to any one else. There were ancient coins, rings and other articles of jewelry and hundreds of bugs, beetles and minerals. "Whoever lived here was a wise and learned man," observed the naturalist. "I shall take his whole collection back with me, since it is going to ruin here, and it belongs to no one." "There will be no room for any of us in the auto if you keep on collecting things," observed Jerry. But this seemed to make no difference to the professor. He went right on collecting as if he had a freight car at his disposal. The travelers continued on their way, exploring the different buildings here and there. "I'm tired," announced Bob, suddenly. "You fellows can go on, if you want to, but I'm going to sit down and take a rest." He found a comfortable place in the shade, where a stone ledge was built against the side of a ruined house, and sat down. Jerry and Ned followed his example, for they, too, were leg-weary. "I'll just take a look through this one place, and then we'll go back and have dinner," said the professor. He entered the structure, against which the boys were sitting. It was a small, one-storied affair, and did not look as if it would contain anything of value. The naturalist had not been inside five minutes before the boys heard him calling, in excited tones: "Come quick, boys!" They ran in, to behold Professor Snodgrass with his arm stuck in a hole in the wall. He seemed to be pulling at something. "What is it?" cried Jerry. "A gila monster," replied the professor. "I saw him and I got him." "It looks as if he had you," answered Ned. "He tried to get away, but I grabbed him by the tail as he was going in his hole," went on the naturalist. "Now he's got his claws dug down in the dirt and I can't pull him out. Come out of there, my beauty!" he cried, addressing his remarks to the hidden gila monster. "Come out, my pet!" Then, with a sudden yank the professor succeeded in drawing the animal from its burrow. It was a repulsive-looking creature of the lizard variety, and as the professor held it up by the tail it wiggled and tried to escape. "Now I have you, my little darling!" the naturalist cried, popping his prize into his collecting-box. "That would never take a prize at a beauty show," observed Ned. "I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole." "Well, this has been a most profitable day," went on the collector, as, with the boys, he turned toward their residence in the old temple. "I must come back this afternoon for the cabinet of curios." Without further incident, save that nearly every step of the homeward journey the professor stopped to pick up some relic, the travelers reached the temple. "Here goes for another bath!" cried Bob, running toward the room where the plunge was. "I'm nearly melted by the heat." "I'm with you!" said Jerry. Suddenly they heard the professor's voice calling them. "I wonder what in the world is the matter now?" said Jerry. He and Bob hurried outside where they had left the naturalist and Ned. They found the pair gazing down the street toward the tunnel entrance. And as they gazed they saw the big door swing slowly open, while from the passage came Noddy Nixon, Vasco Bilette and the others of their crowd. A low cry of surprise broke from Noddy as he stood face to face with the very persons he and Vasco were seeking. CHAPTER XXIII. BOB IS KIDNAPPED. For a minute or two the unexpected encounter so astonished all concerned that no one spoke. Noddy seemed ill at ease from meeting his former acquaintances, but Vasco Bilette smiled in an evil way. Chance had thrown in his path the very person he wanted. Tom Dalsett was the first to speak. "Well, we meet again," he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "How do you all do?" "I don't know that we're any the better for seeing you," remarked Professor Snodgrass, who was plain-spoken at times. "Oh, but I assure you it's a sight for sore eyes to get a glimpse of you once more," went on Tom. "Besides, this is a free city, you know, even if it is an old, underground one; and we have as much right here as you have." "True enough," broke in Jerry. "But you may as well know, first as last, that we're done fooling with you and your gang, Noddy Nixon. If you annoy us again there's going to be trouble!" Noddy did not reply. He seemed anxious to get away, but Dalsett and Vasco urged him to stay, and they had secured quite an influence over the youth. "We must have come in by the same passage you did," went on Dalsett. "You left it open behind you. We were wandering around in the dark tunnel until we discovered this door a little while ago. Lucky, wasn't it?" "For you chaps, yes," commented Ned. "Some of us were nearly killed in the tumble," went on Dalsett. "We got out of it rather well, on the whole." "You'd better come inside and have nothing more to say to him," said the professor to his friends. "This spoils all our plans." "Never mind; perhaps we can give them the slip among the ruins," said Jerry. He went back into the ancient temple, and the others followed him. Noddy continued to stare as if he thought the whole thing was a dream. As for Vasco and Dalsett, they were much pleased with the turn affairs had taken. But the Mexicans were excited. Several of them had been bruised by the fall into the tunnel, and they wanted to proceed at once and kidnap Bob, so they could get the ransom money. But Vasco would not permit this. He did not believe in using force when he could use stealth. Besides, he was a coward, and afraid of getting hurt, if it came to a fight. "Let them go," he said to his men, who murmured as they saw their prospective captive and his friends retreat into the temple. "Let them go. They can't get away from here without letting us know. We are better off than before. We can capture the fat boy whenever we want to now." With that, Vasco's followers had to be content. As Dalsett had said, Noddy and his cronies, after groping about in the dark tunnel for some time, had finally discovered the door by which the boys and the professor had entered the ancient city. They had pushed it open and come face to face with our friends. "Bah!" exclaimed one of the Mexicans. "It is always to-morrow and to-morrow in this business. Let us fight them! Let us get the captive and let us share the ransom." "We'll do the trick to-night, sure," promised Vasco. "To-night, positively, we will kidnap Bob." Meanwhile, all unconscious of the fate in store for him, Bob was making a substantial meal, for the travelers had begun to get dinner after withdrawing from the front of the temple. They talked of little save the appearance of Noddy and his followers. "How do you suppose he ever got here?" asked Bob. "Simply followed us," said Jerry. "We left a plain enough trail. Besides, automobiles are scarce in Mexico, and any one seeing ours pass by would easily remember it and tell whoever came along afterward, making inquiries." "What had we better do?" asked Ned. "Stay here or go away?" "There'll be more or less trouble if we stay," was Jerry's opinion. "Supposing we go away for a while and come back. If Noddy is after us we may give him the slip and return." "How are we going to get out of this place?" asked Bob. "We can't go back through the tunnel we came in, as they are now on guard there." "There must be more than one entrance to this city," spoke the professor. "I think I'll go and hunt for another. When we find it we can take the automobile with us and escape to-night. I wish to be the first person to announce this discovery to the world." "That's the idea!" exclaimed Ned. "I'll go along to help hunt for another passage, while Bob and Jerry can stay on guard." "In the meanwhile I'm going to have my swim," said Bob. He went into the tank-room, and immediately uttered a cry. "What's the matter?" called Jerry. "The water has all run out," replied Bob, "and there's a big hole here!" The others came in on the run. They saw that the swimming-pool was empty. Only a little water remained on the bottom in small puddles. They also saw that the pool was made with an incline of stone leading from the floor level down to the bottom. In the side opposite from where the incline was a big black hole showed itself. When the water was at the normal level this hole was invisible. Once the water had lowered it was plain to see. "What made the water go out?" asked Bob. "Probably a gate at the end of the tunnel leading from the tank was opened," replied the naturalist. "Or it may be an automatic arrangement, so that when the tank gets filled up to a certain height the water shuts itself off. So we'll defer our bath until the water rises. Perhaps the tides may have some effect on it. We can only wait and see." "That tunnel is big enough to drive our auto through," observed Bob. A sudden thought came to Jerry. He whispered to the professor. "Of course it could be done," replied the scientist after consideration, "but there is the danger of the water rising suddenly while we are in the tunnel. Jerry talks of escaping by means of this new shaft," went on the professor. "We could run the auto down the incline and so out. But we must investigate the place." The naturalist walked down the incline. Straight in front of them, as they neared it, yawned the black mouth of the passage. The professor would not let the boys come in until he had made an investigation. He walked quite a distance down the shaft and returned. He seemed in deep thought. "It will be safe to use the tunnel," he said. "It appears that the water was siphoned out. There is another tank or reservoir connected with this one. They both seem to be fed by springs. When the other tank, which is below the level and to one side, gets full of water, the fluid is siphoned out. As that tank is connected with the one we used, by a pipe, as soon as the water goes out of the first tank, that in the second follows to keep the first tank filled. And so it goes on, from day to day, repeating the operation once every twenty-four hours, I would judge. So we have plenty of time. The tunnel leads to one like that by which we entered the city. I have no doubt but that we can escape through it." If the professor and the boys could at this time have seen two evil faces peering down at them from a high balcony, they might not have felt so comfortable. San Lucia and Murado were on the lookout, and every move the travelers made was watched. It was decided to make the escape that night. Accordingly, after supper, the automobile was prepared for a long trip. Things were packed in it, and the professor took along his beloved specimens. "How are we going to get the car down the incline?" asked Bob. "I can take it down, all right," replied Jerry. At length all was in readiness. Jerry and Ned took the front seat, Bob cranked up the car, which was still inside the old temple, and then joined the professor on the rear seat. "All ready?" asked Jerry. "All ready," replied Bob. "Yes, and we are ready, too!" came in a whisper from the ruined doorway of the temple, where Vasco Bilette and his men were in hiding, watching the flight of the travelers. The Mexican had guessed some sort of an attempt to escape would be made, and was on hand to frustrate it. But the preparations made for taking the auto down into the empty water pool puzzled Vasco. So he was on the alert. "Here we go!" called Jerry, softly. The auto was vibrating, but almost noiselessly, for the explosions of the motor could scarcely be heard. Down the incline Jerry took the heavy car, without a mishap. Straight for the open mouth of the tunnel he steered it. It was as dark as pitch now, but the lamps on the car gave good illumination. "Come on, we have them now!" cried Vasco to his followers. "The boy is in the back seat!" The Mexicans ran down the incline. By this time the machine was well into the mouth of the shaft. Hearing footsteps behind him, resounding on the stone pavement, Jerry shut off the power for a moment. As he did so the car was surrounded by ugly-looking brigands, who had run up at a signal from Vasco. "Quick! Grab him!" cried Dalsett. "I have him!" replied Vasco. He reached up, and, though Bob was a heavy lad, the Mexican, with the help of Dalsett, pulled him over the rear seat. Bob fought, kicked and struggled. It was of no avail. Then a sack was quickly thrown over his head, and the men ran back out of the tunnel and up the incline, bearing Chunky with them. "Bob's been kidnapped!" shouted the professor. "Turn the auto around, Jerry, and chase after them!" CHAPTER XXIV. BOB TRIES TO FLEE. In an instant Jerry tried to turn the auto around. He found the passage too narrow. There was nothing to do but to back up the incline. This was a slow process in the darkness. "Fire at them!" cried Ned. "No. You might hit Bob!" said the professor. "We must chase after the brigands. This is what they have been following us for. I wonder what they want of Bob?" No one could guess. By this time Jerry had run the machine up the inclined plane and into the temple. Then he sent it out into the street. It was as dark as a pocket and not a trace of the kidnappers could be seen, nor could they be heard. The capture of Bob came as a terrible blow. "Let's take to the tunnel where we came in!" cried Ned. "Perhaps they are hiding there." "If they are, they are well armed, and their force is three times what ours is now," said the professor. "If we are to help Bob we will have to do it by strategy rather than by force. Come, we had better go back to the temple. We can make our plans from there." "Poor Chunky!" groaned Jerry. "I wonder what they are doing to him now?" "I guess it was his money-belt they wanted more than they did him," put in Ned. "You know he carried what was left of the five hundred dollars." "That's so!" exclaimed Jerry, with a rueful face. "Never mind the money; I have plenty," put in the naturalist. "And don't worry; we'll find Bob yet." Nothing could be done that night, so the professor and the two boys tried to get what sleep their troubled minds would allow. In the morning they made a hurried breakfast and then held a consultation. It was decided to explore the tunnel by which they had entered the city, and see if it still held the brigands and Noddy's crowd. Arming themselves, the professor, Ned and Jerry advanced carefully through the big wooden gate. They proceeded cautiously, but no one opposed them. The tunnel was deserted. They came to the hole where they had tumbled down. The inclined plane of planks was there, in the same position as when the cave-in, produced by Murado, had occurred. "They have probably gone back up here and are running across country," remarked Ned. "Hello!" he exclaimed. "What's that?" He picked up a small object that lay at the foot of the incline, in the glare of the sunlight that streamed in from above. "That's Bob's knife," said Jerry. "He had it yesterday. That shows he must have been here since. There is no doubt but that they have carried him away from here." The professor agreed that this was probably the case. There was nothing left to do, so they returned to the temple. "I hardly know what to do," said the naturalist. "We might take the automobile and ride off, not knowing where, in a vain endeavor to find Bob. Or we can stay here on the chance that he may escape and come back. If we went away he would not know where to find us. "Then, too, I am hopeful we may hear something from Noddy Nixon or some of those Mexicans he had with him. Those fellows are regular brigands, and may have captured Bob, thinking we will pay a ransom for his return. On the whole, I think we had better stay here for a few days." This seemed the best thing to do. With heavy hearts, Jerry and Ned wandered about the old temple, wishing their chum was back with them. The professor began to gather more specimens and made several trips to the old buildings where he got many curios of value. Meanwhile, poor Bob was having his own troubles. At the first rough attack of the kidnappers, when he was hauled over the back of the auto, he did not know what had happened. He supposed it was some accident, such as the tunnel caving in or the water suddenly rising. But when he found himself held by two men, and the bag thrown over his head, he realized that he was a captive, though he did not know why any one would want him. Holding him between them, Vasco and Dalsett ran back into the bath and up the incline, followed by Noddy and the Mexicans. Berry and Pender had been left in charge of the auto and horses, which were in the first tunnel. Bob, who had not attempted to struggle after his first involuntary kicking when he was hauled out, decided that his captors were having too easy a time of it. He was by no means a baby, and though he was fat he had considerable muscle. So he began to beat about with his fists, and to kick with his heavy shoes, in a manner that made it very uncomfortable for Vasco and Dalsett. "Quit that, you young cub, or I'll hurt you!" exclaimed Vasco. "Yes, an' I'll do the same!" growled Dalsett, and, recognizing the voice, Bob knew for the first time into whose hands he had fallen. He did not heed the command to stop struggling, and it was all the two men could do to hold him. Suddenly they laid him down. "Look here!" exclaimed Dalsett, sitting on Bob to keep him still, "if you want us to tie you up like a steer we're willin' to do it. An' we'll gag you into the bargain. If you quit wigglin' you'll be treated decent." "Then you take this bag off my head!" demanded Bob, with some spirit. "I will if you promise to walk an' not make us carry you," promised Dalsett. "I'll walk until I get a good chance to get away," replied Bob, determined to give no parole. "Mighty little chance you have of gittin' away," remarked Dalsett, as he removed the sack. It was as dark as a pocket, and Bob wondered where he was. Soon one of the men came with a lantern, and by the gleam the captive could see he was in the tunnel. "Come on!" ordered Vasco. Walking in the midst of his captors, Bob came to the foot of the incline. There he found Noddy, Pender and Bill Berry in the auto. The Mexicans had their horses in readiness for a flight. "They're going to take me away," thought Bob. "I wonder how I can give the boys and the professor a sign so they will know that?" His fingers came in contact with his knife and that gave him an idea. He dropped the implement on the ground, where it was found by his friends later. "Is everything ready?" asked Vasco. "I guess so," replied Noddy. "Shall I run the machine up the incline?" "Go ahead," said Dalsett. "We'll walk with our young friend here. I reckon the car will have trouble gittin' up the hill if too many gits in it." "Come on, you fellows!" ordered Vasco of his Mexicans. "We have the captive now, and you'll soon be dividing the ransom money." He spoke in Spanish, which Bob could not understand. The boy was at a loss why so many should be interested in him, but laid it all to a plot of Noddy's to get square. It was quite a pull for the auto, up the steep incline, but Noddy, by using the low gear, managed it. The horses and their riders had less trouble, and soon the whole party stood in the road near the tunnel that led to the underground city. Bob was placed on a small pony, and his hands were tied behind his back. Then, with a Mexican riding before and after him, and one on each side, the cavalcade started off. For several hours the journey was kept up. No one said much, and poor Bob puzzled his brains trying to think what it all meant. One thing he determined on: that he would try to escape at the first opportunity. It came sooner than he expected. He had been working at the bonds on his hands and found, to his joy, that the rope was coming loose. In their hurry, Vasco and Dalsett had not tied it very securely. In a little while Bob had freed his wrists, but he kept his hands behind his back, to let his captors think he was still bound. He waited until he came to a level stretch of land. Then, at a time when the Mexican in the rear had ridden off to one side to borrow a cigarette of a comrade, Bob slipped from the pony's back. He struck the ground rather hard, but here his fat served him in good stead, for he was not hurt much. Then he rolled quickly out of the way of the horses' feet. Jumping up, he ran at top speed off to the left. Instantly the cavalcade was in confusion. Vasco and Dalsett came riding back to see what the trouble was. They saw Bob bounding away. "After him!" shouted Vasco, drawing his revolver and firing in the air to scare Bob. "After him! He's worth ten thousand dollars!" The Mexicans spurred their horses after the fugitive, while Noddy, turning the auto around, lighted the search-lamp and sent the light through the blackness to pick out Bob so the others could find him in the darkness. On and on ran the boy, and after him thundered the horses of his pursuers, coming nearer and nearer. CHAPTER XXV. AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND. It was too uneven a chase to last long. Bob soon found that his enemies were gaining on him, and he resolved to play a trick. He came to a big rock and dropped down behind it, hiding in the shadow. For a time the Mexicans were baffled, but they spread about in a half circle and Bob could hear them gradually surrounding him. Still he hoped to escape detection. "Can't you find him?" he heard Noddy call. "He seems to have given us the slip," replied Vasco. "But we'll get him yet." Noddy sent the searchlight of the automobile all about the rock behind which Bob was hidden, but the deep shadow cast protected the boy. At length, however, one of the Mexicans approached the place. At the same instant Bob was seized with an uncontrollable desire to sneeze. His nose tickled and, though he held his breath and did everything he had ever read about calculated to prevent sneezes, the tickling increased. Finally he gave voice to a loud "Ka-choo!" "_Diablo!_" exclaimed the nearest Mexican. "What have we here?" He was at the rock in an instant and lost no time in grabbing Bob. The boy tried to struggle and escape again, but his captor held him in a firm grip. The Mexican set up a shout at the discovery of his prize, which speedily brought Vasco and his comrades to the scene. "So, you didn't care much for our company," observed Bilette. "But never mind, we think so much of you that we run after you wherever you go. Now we have you again!" and he laughed in an unpleasant manner. "I don't see what you want of me," remarked Bob, as he was led back and placed on his pony. "Ah, perhaps you are not aware that you are worth much money to us," said Vasco. "I'll give you all I have if you'll let me go," said Bob. "That is something we overlooked," said Dalsett. "Take his money, Vasco. He may have a few dollars." In another minute Bob's money-belt, with the best part of five hundred dollars, was in the possession of the Mexicans. He wished he had kept still. "This is doing very well," observed Vasco, as he counted over the bills with glistening eyes. "This is very well indeed, and most unexpected. But we want more than this." "It is all I have," answered Bob. "But your people, your father has more," went on the Mexican. "I think if you were to write him a letter, stating that you were about to be killed unless he sent ten thousand dollars, he would be glad to give us the small amount." "I'll never write such a letter!" exclaimed Bob. "You can kill me if you want to!" "You'll think differently in the morning," remarked Vasco. "Here, you fellows, tie him up so he can't get away again!" This time the ropes were knotted so tightly about the boy's arms and legs that he knew he could not work them loose. He was thrown over the back of the pony and the cavalcade started off again. All night long the march continued, the men on their horses and Noddy and his friends in the auto. Poor Bob felt sick at heart over his failure to escape and the knowledge, conveyed to him in Vasco's remarks, that he was being held for ransom. Just as day was beginning to break, the party reached a small Mexican village and preparations were made to spend some time there. Vasco and his men seemed to know the place well, for they were greeted by many of the inhabitants of the place who had arisen early. Noddy ran the automobile under a shed and then the whole crowd, taking Bob with them, went to a large house at the end of the principal street, where they evidently intended to make their headquarters. Bob was taken to a small room on the second floor, facing the courtyard, which is a feature of all Mexican homes. His bonds were released and he was thrust roughly inside. The apartment was bare enough. There were a table, a chair and a bed in the room. The only window was guarded by heavy iron bars, and the single door was fastened with a massive lock. "I guess I'll have trouble getting out of here," said Bob to himself. "It's a regular prison. I wonder if they're going to starve me?" He began to suffer for want of water, and his stomach cried for food. He had some thought of pounding on the walls and demanding to be fed, when the door opened and a girl quickly entered, setting on the table a tray of food. She was gone before Bob had a chance to get a good look at her, but he saw that she was young and pretty, attired as she was in gay Mexican colors. Though the meal was not very appetizing, it tasted to Bob as if it was the best dinner ever served. He felt better after eating it, and more hopeful. For several days he was held a captive in the room. One evening Vasco Bilette and Tom Dalsett paid him a visit. "We have brought a paper for you to sign," said Vasco. "I will sign nothing," replied Bob. "I think you will, my boy," spoke the Mexican. "Bring in the charcoal, Tom." Dalsett went out and returned with a small, portable clay stove in which burned some charcoal. Heating in the flames was an iron used for branding cattle. "You can take your choice of signing this or of seeing how you look with a hot iron on," said Vasco. "This paper is a letter to your father, telling him you have been captured by brigands, who will not let you go excepting they are paid ten thousand dollars." "I'll never sign!" replied Bob, firmly. "Then brand him!" cried Vasco. One of the Mexicans took the iron from the fire. It glowed with a white, cruel heat. At the sight of it Bob's courage melted away. At the same time a plan came into his head. "I'll sign!" he exclaimed. "I thought you would," observed Vasco. "Put your name here." He handed Bob a letter, written to Mr. Baker, whose name and address Noddy Nixon had supplied. In brief, it demanded that ten thousand dollars be sent to the brigands and left in a lonely spot mentioned, if Mr. Baker did not want to hear of the death of his son. Any attempt to capture the writers, the missive stated, would be met with the instant killing of the boy. "Sign there," said Vasco, indicating the place. Bob did so. At the same time he placed beneath his signature a scrawl and a row of figures. To the Mexicans figures meant nothing, and it is doubtful if they observed them. But to Mr. Baker they spelled out the message: "Send no money. I can get away." They were figures in a secret cypher bank code that Mr. Baker sometimes used, and which Bob had learned. "I guess that will fool them," thought the boy, as he saw his captors take away the letter. For the next few days nothing occurred. Bob was kept a close prisoner in his room, and the only person he saw was the girl who brought him food. He tried to talk to her, but she did not seem to understand English. The captive was beginning to despair. He feared he would never see his friends again, for he did not believe his father would send the money, and without it he was sure the desperate men would kill him. His confidence in his ability to escape lessened as the days went by. He tried to pick the lock on his door, and loosen a bar at the window, but without success. It was the fifth day of his captivity and the Mexican girl came to bring him his supper. To Bob's surprise, this time she did not hurry away. She set the tray of food down and looked at him anxiously. "You want go?" she asked, in a broken accent. "You mean escape? Get away from here? Leave?" asked Bob, taking sudden hope. "Um! Go 'way. Leave bad mans! Maximina help! You go?" "Of course," replied Bob. "But how are you going to manage it?" "Wait till dark. Me come. You go, we go. Leave bad mans. Me no like it here. Bad mans whip Maximina." By which Bob understood that the girl would come when it got dark and help him to escape, accompanying him because she herself had been ill treated by the Mexicans. "Be good boy! Me come. You glad!" she said, in a whisper. Just then the sound of voices was heard outside the room, in the corridor. "Hush! No tell!" cautioned the girl as she glided from the room. Bob began to eat his supper. His heart was in a flutter of hope. "Queer why that money don't come," he heard Vasco say, outside. "We'll have to do something pretty soon." It was getting dark now, and Bob waited anxiously. CHAPTER XXVI. THE ESCAPE OF MAXIMINA. Several hours passed. Bob was beginning to think Maximina had forgotten her promise, when he heard a soft footstep outside. Then came a gentle tapping at his door. It was unlocked from the outside, opened, and the Mexican girl stepped in. "Hush!" she whispered. "We go now. All bad mans gone to feast--holiday. We go. Put on cloak." She gave Bob a long, dark serape, and produced one for herself. Little time was lost. Led by Maximina, Bob passed out into the dark corridor, down the stairs and through the courtyard, out of the house, under the silent stars that twinkled in the sky. "This way!" whispered the girl. "We ride ponies. No one here, we take horses. Where you live?" Bob was at a loss what to do. He wondered how he could make Maximina, whose language he could not speak, and who could talk but imperfectly in his, understand about the underground city. Equally hard would it be to make her comprehend where he lived and how to start for the nearest large city in order to get help or communicate with his friends. He remembered that his captors had brought him almost directly north as they sped away from the buried city. So he thought the best thing to do would be to ride to the south, when he might see some landmark that would aid him in locating himself. "We'll go this way," he said, pointing in a direction opposite to that of the north star, which he saw blazing in the sky. "All right," exclaimed the Mexican girl. She leaped to the back of one of two ponies she had brought from the stable. Bob was not so expert, but managed to get into the saddle. So far they had met no one, nor had they heard the sound of any of the Mexicans. As Maximina had said, all of the men were away to a feast, one of the numerous ones celebrated in the country. Even Noddy and his friends had gone, so there was no one left to guard Bob but the girl. Away they rode, urging their ponies to a gallop. Bob was fearful that at every turn of the road he would meet with some of Vasco's men, but the highway appeared to be deserted. "Me glad to go. Bad mans steal Maximina years ago," said the girl, after half an hour's ride. "Me want to get back to own people." "I wish I could help you," said Bob, "but I'm about as badly off as you are. The Mexicans stole me, too." "We both same, like orphans," said Maximina. "Never min'. Maybe we find our folks." By degrees she brokenly told Bob her story, how she had been kidnapped by Vasco when she was a child, and how he had kept her because her father was too poor to pay the ransom demanded. She had gradually come to be regarded as a regular inmate of the Mexican camp, which, it seemed, was an organized headquarters for kidnappers and brigands generally. She had never thought of escaping before, she said, but when she saw Bob she felt sorry for him and resolved to free not only him, but herself. "We ride faster," she said, after several miles had been covered. "Gettin' late. Men come back from feast find us gone, they ride after." She urged her pony to a gallop and Bob's animal followed its leader. "If I only had a revolver or a gun I'd shoot some of them if they tried to take us back," Bob said to himself. "I hope we can get away." In a small village, about ten miles from the camp of the Mexicans, Vasco and his friends were having a great time. There were wild music and dancing, and plenty of food well seasoned with red pepper. The Mexicans were having what they called fun. Noddy, with Jack and Bill Berry, looked on, taking no part in the revels. They had come over in the automobile, while Vasco and his gang rode their horses. It was past midnight when the leader of the Mexicans decided that it was time to start for home. "Come on," he said. "Who knows but what our prisoner has escaped." "Not much danger of that," said Dalsett. "I told Maximina that if he got away we'd hold her responsible and give her a good lashing. She'll not let him get away." But neither Dalsett nor Vasco knew what they were talking about. The Mexicans were reluctant to leave the dance, but Vasco insisted. Soon the whole party was riding back to camp, Noddy being in advance in his auto. He was the first to reach the kidnappers' headquarters. Dalsett was with him. "I wonder how our captive is?" said the latter. He went up to the room where Bob had been locked up. To his surprise and anger, the apartment was empty. "Maximina!" he called. There was no answer. "They've gone!" he exclaimed. "Here, Noddy, ride back and meet Vasco. Tell him Bob has got away!" The automobile was sent flying down the road. Vasco Bilette and his party were met and the news quickly imparted. "We'll catch 'em!" cried the Mexican. "They have only a few hours' start, and only two slow ponies to ride on. Here, I'll go in the auto with Noddy. You fellows come after me!" Vasco took Jack Pender's place in the machine and soon the chase was on. Vasco rightly concluded that Bob and Maximina would head for the south, so he, too, took the road leading in that direction. Noddy speeded up the car, under Vasco's directions. Faster and faster it raced, the searchlight throwing out a glaring beam far in advance. Meanwhile, Bob and Maximina were making all speed possible. Every now and then the girl would halt her pony and listen intently. "They no come yet," she would say. "No can hear horses comin' after us. We get 'way maybe." Bob certainly hoped so. His experience as a captive was not such as to cause him to like the rôle, and he longed to be with his friends, who, he knew, must be greatly alarmed about him. It seemed to be getting darker as the two traveled on. "Be sunrise 'bout hour," said Maximina, and Bob remembered that he had read about it being darkest just before daybreak. "We mus' hide then," the girl went on. Suddenly a sound came to them from over the dark fields that bordered the road. At the same time there was a shaft of light. "There they come!" cried Bob. "They're after us in the automobile!" "Ride! Ride fast!" called Maximina, fiercely. "If they catch us they kill!" She lashed her pony with the short whip she carried, and struck Bob's animal several smart blows. The two beasts leaped forward. But horses, especially small, Mexican ponies, are not built to race against large touring automobiles. Bob noticed that the chug-chug of Noddy's machine came nearer and nearer. "Maybe we can hide from them in the darkness," said Bob. "It's our only chance. They'll soon be up to us." "No hide! Keep on ride!" exclaimed Maximina. "We git away!" But even as she spoke the searchlight picked them up and they were revealed in its blinding glare. A faint shout from their pursuers told that they had been seen. The ponies were tiring. Already Bob's was staggering along as the pace told on it. Maximina's was a little better off. "We have them!" Bob heard Vasco shout. "They are both together. Put a little more speed on, Noddy!" The chug-chugs of the auto told that the machine was being sent ahead at a faster clip. The searchlight glared more strongly on the fugitives. "Cave somewhere near here," said Maximina. "If we could find 'um we be safe. Ride more, Bob." "This pony can't go much farther," replied the boy. "His legs are shaking now." Crack! A flash of reddish fire cut the blackness, and a bullet sang unpleasantly close over Bob's head. "They only shoot to scare!" cried Maximina. "They no want to kill you. Too valuable. Want ransom; much money; ten thousand dollars." "All the same, it's no fun to be shot at," remarked Bob, urging his pony on. The automobile was now but a few hundred feet away. Noddy had to reduce his speed because the ground was getting rougher. "We'll have them in another minute!" cried Vasco. At that instant, Bob's pony, stepping in a hole, stumbled and fell, throwing the rider over its back. Bob struck the ground heavily and was stunned. "Me stay with you!" exclaimed Maximina, reining in her pony and coming back to where Bob was. "No, no! You ride on!" the boy said, faintly. "Maybe you can find my friends and send help. They are in the underground city!" "All right. Me go! Bring help!" the girl whispered, and, leaping on her pony's back, she rode off to one side, getting away from the glare of the searchlight and so escaping observation. Two minutes later the auto came up to where Bob was stretched out on the ground. Vasco leaped out before the machine had fairly stopped and made a grab for Bob. "The boy is dead!" he exclaimed. "Dead!" faltered Noddy. He was beginning to be alarmed over the part he had played. "Bring a light here!" commanded the Mexican. Noddy turned the search-lamp on Bob's prostrate form. At that the boy opened his eyes. He had fainted from pain caused by his fall. "Shamming, eh?" sneered Vasco, striking Bob a blow with a rope he carried. "Get up, now! No nonsense; you've made trouble enough!" Poor Bob was too discouraged and felt too bad to reply. The other Mexicans rode up. In a few minutes the captive was securely bound, lifted into the auto, and, as dawn broke, the start back to camp was made. "Don't you want Maximina?" asked Dalsett. "Let her go," replied Vasco. "She was only a bother around, and never liked to work. She can't do any harm." CHAPTER XXVII. A STRANGE MESSAGE. The days were full of anxiety for the professor, Jerry and Ned, who still remained in the ancient city after Bob had been kidnapped. Every night they went to bed, hoping some word would be received by morning, or that the missing one would return. Every morning they said to each other: "Well, something will happen to-morrow." But nothing happened, and, as day after day went by, they began to lose hope. "We may as well leave here," said Ned. "Not yet," Jerry replied. "I am sure we will have some word from Bob soon now." In the meanwhile, they made trips in all directions from the ancient city. But there was no trace of the Mexicans. The country was uninhabited for twenty miles in every direction from the buried place, and farther than that the travelers did not venture. "We must be here every night," said the professor. "Somehow, I feel that Bob will come back at night, or we will hear something from him after dark. So we do not want to be away then, for if he should come, or if he should send some word, we would not be here to receive it." For that reason little was done toward hunting for the kidnapped boy. The travelers did not go so far but that they could get back by nightfall. They explored the city thoroughly and the professor found many more rare and valuable relics. His specimen boxes were full to overflowing, but still he kept searching. The boys occupied themselves by getting the meals and attending to the camp, for the naturalist bothered himself about nothing but his specimens. They still continued to reside in the old temple, which they found a comfortable place. "I wonder what we'll do when our food gives out?" asked Ned one day when it was his turn to get the dinner. "Why, haven't we got plenty for several weeks yet?" inquired Jerry. "It don't look so to me," said Ned, glancing in the box where the canned stuff was kept. "That's queer," remarked Jerry. "There aren't any tomatoes left. Did you cook any since yesterday?" "You cooked yesterday," retorted Ned. "Were there any then?" "Six cans," said Jerry. "Now there are none left. I wonder if the professor took any?" "Any what?" asked the naturalist, coming into the temple just then. "Tomatoes," replied Jerry, explaining what he and Ned had been talking about. "No; I haven't touched a can," said the professor. "Then some one has, and it isn't us," was Ned's opinion. "I wonder if there is any one in this temple but ourselves?" "Now that you speak of it, I think there is," went on the naturalist. "The other night I was restless and could not sleep well. I was looking out of the door of our bedroom, into the main apartment, when I saw something white moving. At first I thought it was one of you boys, but I looked over on your cots and saw you both were sleeping. Then I thought it might be a white monkey, for I have heard there are such kinds, though I have never seen any. But when I looked a little closer I saw that it was a man wrapped in a long, white serape. "I didn't give any alarm, for I was afraid of waking you boys. But I watched and saw the man go to our box and take out some cans of provisions. I meant to speak about it the next morning, but I forgot it." "Who do you suppose it was?" asked Jerry. "Probably some poor wandering Mexican," replied the professor. "He may have happened along, fallen into the passage leading to this old city and been half starved until he found our camp." "We'll have to look out, though," said Ned. "We have hardly enough left for ourselves." "Then we must keep watch to-night," decided the professor. "It will not do for us to starve, though we will share what we have with any one who is in distress." And so, that night, they took turns in mounting guard. None of them saw anything out of the ordinary, though had they been able to witness a scene that took place in an obscure gallery of the temple they would have been surprised. San Lucia and Murado were still hiding in the place, waiting their chance to get something of value from the travelers. The capture of Bob had upset the plans of the two aged brigands, and they were a little cautious about proceeding. But for several nights they had made raids on the improvised pantry Ned had constructed. "Are we to go again to-night?" asked San Lucia, on the evening when Ned made the discovery that led to the posting of the guard. "It remains to be seen," replied Murado. "If we have no better luck than last night it is of little use." "No; tomatoes are a poor substitute for gold," agreed San Lucia. "I wonder if they have nothing but things to eat in those cans." "Some of them must contain gold," replied Murado. "They do it to fool us, but we will get the best of them yet. We will carry off every can they have until we get those containing the treasure." For the two Mexicans believed that the travelers had packed their gold in the tin cans, of which there was a number. And each night San Lucia and Murado had stolen a few, hoping that some of them contained gold. Each time, on opening the tins, they had been disappointed. "I will go first to-night," said San Lucia. "I feel that I will be successful. Once we get the gold we can leave this place." About midnight he crept as softly as a cat upon the travelers. But, to his surprise, he found Jerry on guard and armed. San Lucia sneaked back to the balcony and told Murado. "They are becoming suspicious," said the latter. "We will have to wait a while. Perhaps they may be sleeping to-morrow night." But the two aged brigands never got another chance to attempt to rob the boys and the professor. Why this was we shall soon see. The next morning, on account of the watch that was kept, nothing was found disturbed. "We fooled somebody that time," observed Ned. After breakfast the professor announced that he was going to visit the house where he had, on a previous call, captured the gila monster. "There was a cabinet there I overlooked," he said. "Do you boys want to come along?" "There is nothing else to do," said Jerry. "How I wish we would hear something from Bob! I think we ought to go out on a search for him. It doesn't seem that he will ever come here, after all this time." "I was thinking that myself," said the professor. "If we hear nothing by to-morrow we will leave this place." The boys accompanied the naturalist to the ruined house. It seemed strange to be walking through the streets of a place that had been inhabited thousands of years ago. The city was a silent one, a veritable city of the dead, and the houses and buildings seemed like tombstones that had toppled over from age. As Ned was walking about through the lower rooms of the house the professor had marked for exploration, he noticed a ring fastened to a square stone in the courtyard. "I wonder what this is for?" he said. "Looks as if it was meant to lift the stone up by," replied Jerry. "Give us a hand," said Ned, "and we'll see what's here." The two boys pulled and tugged, but could not budge the stone. The professor happened along and saw them. "I'll show you how to do it," he said. He took a long pole and thrust it through the ring. Then, using the pole as a lever, he easily raised the stone. "Now let's see what we have unearthed," he remarked. The stone had covered a small hole. In it was a little casket of lead, the lid of which was locked. "We'll have to break it open," said Jerry. "Get a stone," put in Ned. Jerry brought a large one. One or two heavy blows and the lid of the box flew off. There was a sudden sparkle of light and several white objects fell to the ground. "Diamonds!" cried the professor. "We have made a valuable discovery!" The box seemed full of jewels. There were stones of many colors, but most of all were the white, sparkling ones. "Maybe they're only glass," suggested Ned. "No; they are diamonds, rubies, turquoise and other precious stones," replied the professor. "This was probably the jewel case of some Aztec millionaire." They returned to their camp, carrying the jewels with them. As they entered the old building, Jerry, who was in the lead, started back. "There's some one at our auto!" he exclaimed. "Nonsense!" replied the professor. "The place is deserted." But he changed his mind a moment later. As he entered the room he saw a girlish figure clinging to the side of the car. She seemed to be almost dead, and had only strength enough left to mutter: "Bob; he want you! Vasco Bilette have him! Come quick!" Then she fell over in a faint. CHAPTER XXVIII. TO THE RESCUE. "Who is she?" asked Ned. "I don't know," replied the professor, calmly. He seemed to take the appearance of a strange girl in the underground city as a happening that might occur at any time. "Where did she come from?" asked Jerry. "I can't tell you that, either," went on the naturalist. "One thing I can say, though, and that is, this poor girl needs help. She must be hungry, and she has traveled a long distance. Her clothes show that." "What did she mean by speaking about Bob, saying Vasco Bilette had him, and for us to come quick?" asked Ned. "All that in good time," replied the professor. "The thing to do now is to bring her out of her faint, and get her something to eat. Ned, you make the coffee and Jerry will heat some chicken soup. Hurry now, boys." But the lads needed no urging. In a jiffy the camp-stove was going and hot coffee was soon ready. In the meanwhile the professor, by use of some simple remedies he always carried, brought the girl out of her faint. She opened her eyes and asked for a drink. The hot coffee, followed by a little of the warm soup, brought the color back to her face, and she was able to sit up. She stared at her strange surroundings and looked at the boys and the naturalist. "Me Maximina," she said, speaking slowly. "You Ned, Jerry and Mr. Snowgrass?" "Snodgrass, Snodgrass, my dear young lady," replied the professor, bowing low. "Professor Uriah Snodgrass, A. M., Ph.D., M. D., F. R. G. S., A. Q. K., all of which is at your service." "Bob need you," said the girl, simply. "He try to come, but he git ketch." "Yes, yes! Tell us about him. Where can we find him?" asked Jerry, eagerly. "Me no spik Inglis good," the girl replied. "You spik Spanish, señor?" "_Si_," answered the professor. Thereupon Maximina let forth a torrent of words that nearly overwhelmed the naturalist. Yet he managed to understand what she said. Maximina told how she had been at the Mexicans' camp when Bob was brought there, she having been a captive for many years. She determined to help him escape, and did so when the opportunity offered. She told how she knew, in a general way, where the buried city was, as Bob had told her something about it, and she had overheard Vasco and his men talking about the locality where they had fallen down the tunnel. "But Bob's horse fell and threw him off," she explained, in her native tongue. "I wanted to stay with him, but he told me to go on. Then Vasco came and got him, but I rode away, for I wanted to find you. I had hard work, and I lost my way several times. Three days ago my pony died and I walked the rest of the distance." "Poor girl! You must be almost tired to death," said the professor. "I was tired, but it is happiness to find you, señors, for I know you will go and help Señor Bob." "Of course we will, right away," said the naturalist. "She seems to have taken a sudden liking to our friend Bob," commented Ned. "She's a mighty pretty girl, too; don't you think so, Jerry?" "Be careful," laughed Jerry. "Don't go to having any love affairs with beautiful Mexican maidens. I have read that they are a very jealous and quick-tempered nation. Besides, you are too young." "I'm a year older than Bob," maintained Ned. "Now, boys, what had we better do?" asked the professor. "Maximina can guide us to the place where Bob is held captive. Shall we go and give battle to these brigands?" "Sure!" exclaimed Ned. "We have plenty of ammunition." "And they are about ten to our one," put in Jerry. "But we've got to do something," he added, seriously. "Then we'll start as soon as we can get in shape," decided the professor. "I have a better plan than making a direct attack on the camp of the Mexicans, however. We will go to the authorities and ask their aid. Maximina says there is a detachment of soldiers stationed about thirty miles from here and on the line we must take to go to the camp, from which they are distant about ten miles." "Bully!" cried Ned. "With a few soldiers to help us we'll give those brigands and Noddy Nixon such a licking that they'll never want another." The automobile was soon made ready. In it was packed all that remained of the provisions. The professor did up his precious specimens and curios, not forgetting the lead casket of jewels. The water tank was filled. Fortunately, there was still plenty of gasolene left. Jerry and Ned pumped up the tires, Maximina was invited to a seat in the rear, with the professor, and the travelers, taking a last look at the underground city, started off. They went through the tunnel, up the incline, the fall of which had precipitated them into the shaft, and soon were on the level road, speeding to the rescue of Bob. After Vasco had secured his captive, following Bob's and Maximina's flight, the brigand took measures to insure that the prisoner would not get away again. Bob was placed in a regular dungeon, and outside the door was stationed a man with a gun. The poor lad was in low spirits. He began to give up hope, and the only thing that cheered him was the thought that perhaps Maximina might have gotten away and would notify his friends or the authorities. But Bob knew it was a remote chance, for he did not believe the frail girl could stand the long journey alone. He tried to learn something about her; whether she had been recaptured or not; but to all questions his guard, and the old woman who brought him food, returned but one answer, and that was: "No spik Inglis, señor." Bob saw it was of no use to try to get out of the dungeon. It was built partially underground, the walls were of stone and the door a massive wooden one, while the single window was heavily barred. It was hot in the small cell, and Bob suffered very much. But he tried to keep up a brave heart. One day he heard voices outside of the dungeon window. He listened intently and found that Noddy and Vasco were talking. Vasco, of necessity, had to speak English in talking with Noddy, who understood only a little Spanish. "Have you got the money yet?" asked Noddy. "No; and I think we never will get it," replied Vasco, angrily. "I don't believe the boy is the son of a rich banker at all. It's another one of your wild dreams, just like the gold mine the crazy professor was going to locate." "Bob's father is rich," maintained Noddy. "It ain't my fault that he won't send the cash." "Well, it's your fault for getting me into this muss," went on Vasco, "and it'll be your fault if we don't get some money pretty soon. The men are mad and I won't be able to manage 'em in a few days. They blame it all on you, so you'd better look out!" "Do you suppose they--they will ki-kill me?" faltered Noddy. "I shouldn't be surprised," said Vasco, coldly. At that instant Bob heard some one come galloping up on a horse. It seemed to be a messenger, for he heard the steed come to a stop, while a man jumped down and began talking rapidly in Spanish. "What is it? Has Bob's father sent the money?" asked Noddy. "Money? No!" snapped the leader of the brigands. "But the soldiers are after us! We must get out of here!" Bob's heart thrilled with hope. Perhaps, after all, Maximina had been able to send help. He almost laughed in his happiness, thinking he would soon be free. But his hopes were dashed to the ground when, a few minutes later, his guard came into his cell, quickly bound his hands and feet, wrapped a long cloak about him, and, with the aid of another Mexican, carried him out of the cell. Bob realized, from the change of air, that he was being carried into the open. He could see nothing because of the cloak about his head, but he could hear much bustle and confusion. Men were running here and there, while Vasco was giving quick orders. Then the sound of the automobile being started was heard. Bob felt himself lifted into the car and, a few seconds later, he felt the vibration that told he was being carried away again, this time in Noddy's machine. As the messenger had told Vasco, the soldiers were on their way to the camp of the kidnappers. The boys and the professor had reached the garrison, and, telling their story, had induced the commander to send a detachment to capture the Mexicans. But the troops traveled slowly, and one of Vasco's friends, who happened to be hanging about the fort, hearing of the contemplated raid, mounted a swift horse and rode off to give the alarm. So when, a few hours after Vasco had fled with his men and his captive, the troops galloped up, led by Jerry, Ned, Maximina and the professor in the automobile, they found the camp deserted. "The birds have flown!" exclaimed the captain of the troopers. "We may as well go back!" "No!" cried Jerry. "We must take after them. Bob must be rescued!" "But how can we tell where they went?" asked the captain. "That woman can tell you!" exclaimed Maximina, pointing to an aged crone who was trying to escape observation in one of the huts. CHAPTER XXIX. THE FIGHT. "Bring her here!" commanded the captain. Several of his soldiers ran toward the old woman who set up a loud screaming. "Who is she?" asked the leader of the troops of Maximina. "An old servant of Vasco's," replied the girl. "She knows all his secrets and can tell where he has gone. He has several hiding places about here." Protesting and crying that she knew nothing and could tell nothing, the aged servant was brought to the captain. "Where is Vasco Bilette?" he asked. "I know not! I have not seen him these three days!" she exclaimed. "So," commented the captain, smiling. "We will see if we cannot refresh your memory. Pedro, fetch my rawhide whip!" At this the woman howled most dismally, and threw herself on the ground, clinging to the legs of the men who held her. "I cannot allow this," interposed Professor Snodgrass, to whom the conversation, carried on in Spanish, was intelligible. "Even at the cost of seeing Vasco Bilette escape I will not stand by and see a woman whipped." "But, señor, you do not understand the case," said the captain. "That is the only way I can get the truth out of her. I must give her a few blows to loosen her tongue. That is the only persuasion these cattle understand; blows and money." "Why not try the latter?" suggested the naturalist. "Who has money to throw away on such as she?" asked the commander, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I will pay her," went on the professor. "See," he went on, taking out some bank-notes. "Tell us where Vasco went and you shall have fifty dollars." The old woman glanced at the money, looked around on the soldiers and glared at the captain, who was switching a cruel whip. Then she said, sullenly: "I will tell you, señor, but not for money. It is because you had a kind thought for old Julia. Listen, Vasco has gone to the cave by the small mountain." "I know where that is!" exclaimed the captain. "Many a time have we had fights there with the brigands. It is about ten miles off." "Then let us hurry there!" cried Jerry. The professor handed the old woman the bills. She took them, hiding them quickly in her dress. "The whip would have been cheaper," said the captain, with a regretful sigh. "It is money thrown away." "I have more to throw after it, if you and your men rescue the kidnapped boy!" exclaimed the naturalist, for he understood something of the Mexican character. "Good!" cried the captain. "Come, men, hurry! We will wipe the brigands from the face of the earth!" Indeed, new enthusiasm seemed to be infused into the soldiers at the mention of money. Those who had dismounted, sprang quickly to the saddles, the bugler blew a lively air, and the troops started off at a smart trot. Old Julia was left behind in the camp of the kidnappers. The boys and the professor, with Maximina, in the automobile, followed the troopers. "I think there will be one big fight," said the girl, in English, speaking to the boys. "Vasco has many guns in the cave." "I hope it will be his last fight," said Ned. "I don't wish any one bad luck, but I would like to see Vasco Bilette and his gang put where they can do no more harm." "The soldiers don't seem to take this very seriously," remarked Jerry. "Hear them singing and laughing." "They probably want Vasco to know they are coming, so they will not take him by surprise," spoke the professor. "It's a trait of Mexican politeness, I suppose." The captain of the troop came riding back to the automobile, which had kept in the rear of the horsemen. "My compliments, señor," said the commander, bowing with a sweep of his helmet to the professor. "My best regards to you," replied the naturalist. "We will be up to the vicinity of the cave in about an hour," went on the captain. "Is it your desire to charge in the fire-wagon with my troopers, or do you prefer to stay in the rear and watch us dispose of this brigand?" "We're not the ones to stay in the rear when there's fighting to be done," said the professor. "You will find us in the fore, Señor Captain." "Very good; but what about the girl?" "I will stay with my friends," replied Maximina. "I am not afraid of Vasco Bilette." "You may stay with us," consented the naturalist, "but I must insist on you getting down on the bottom of the car when the fighting begins." "Fighting? There will be no fighting," said the captain. "Aren't you going to tackle the brigands and get Bob?" asked Jerry, in some surprise. "_Caramba!_ The dogs will run when they see my troops," spoke the captain, puffing out his chest. "They will not stand. That is why I said there would be no fighting." "I wouldn't be too sure," remarked the professor. "You shall see, señor," went on the commander. "But now I must go back to my men. My compliments, señor." "Mine to you," responded the professor, not to be outdone in politeness. The cavalcade moved forward for several miles. It was getting hot and horses and men began to suffer. It was a relief when a small stream was reached, where every one could get a refreshing drink. After a short rest the command to move forward was given. "What is that?" cried Jerry, suddenly, pointing ahead to where, on a broad, level stretch of country, several small, dark, moving objects could be seen. "I will tell you directly," said the professor, taking a pair of field-glasses from their case. He leveled the binoculars and gazed steadily through them. "It is Vasco and his party!" he cried. "I can see Noddy in his auto, and there are a number of horsemen. They have not yet reached the cave. Quick, Jerry, run the machine ahead and tell the captain!" Jerry increased the speed of the auto. It ran up beside the trooper captain, who turned about to see what was up. "There are the brigands!" exclaimed the professor, pointing ahead. "Hurry up and you can catch them before they get to the cave, where they may barricade themselves." "My compliments, señor; I thank you for the information," replied the captain, bowing low. "Will you not smoke a cigarette with me?" "I don't smoke!" snapped the professor. "Besides, we have no time for that now. We must fight!" "Exactly, just so," answered the easy-going Mexican. "Come, men!" he exclaimed. "The enemy is in front of you! At them, and show what stuff you are made of! Bugler, sound the charge!" Instantly the troops were full of excitement. Men began unslinging their carbines. They got out their ammunition and seemed eager for the fray. The bugler blew a merry blast. "Forward, my brave men! Cut down the brigands! Kill the kidnappers of boys!" shouted the captain, waving his sword. With a shout, the Mexican soldiers dashed forward to the fight. They might be slow, and given to too much delay and politeness, but when the time came they were full of action. They yelled as they dug spurs into their horses, and the more excited threw their hats into the air. Several discharged their carbines when there was no chance of hitting any of the enemy. They were wild at the thought of battle. By this time the brigands became aware of the pursuit. Vasco Bilette had, with a powerful field-glass, detected the advance of the horsemen some time back. But an accident to the auto had detained them, and they were three miles from the cave when he saw the soldiers dashing toward him. He and his men strained every nerve, but they soon saw they could not get to their stronghold ahead of their enemies. "We'll have to fight 'em," said Vasco. "I guess we can give 'em as good as they send. Noddy and Dalsett, you keep an eye on Bob, and if you get a chance, skip off with him. Go back to camp; they won't think of looking for you there." Ten minutes later the soldiers were within shooting distance. They opened fire on the Mexicans, who, not daunted by the numbers against them, returned the volleys. At first so great was the excitement that no damage was done. But after a few rounds two of the troopers were injured, and one of the Mexicans had to withdraw, seriously wounded. "We must never surrender!" cried Vasco. "Exterminate the brigands!" shouted the soldiers. They came to closer quarters. The soldiers began to use their carbines for clubs, not taking the time to reload. Then they drew their sabres and charged the Mexicans under Vasco, who had drawn his force up in a hollow square. Several on both sides were killed in this mêlée. The boys and the professor, who, under the captain's later orders, had kept to the rear, now came dashing up in the automobile. Maximina was lying down on the floor of the tonneau, out of harm's way. Jerry was keeping an eye on Noddy and his auto, and he noticed that the machine, which, as he could see plainly now, held Bob, kept well behind the brigands. "We must get Bob, no matter what happens," said Jerry to Ned. "Look sharp now. I'm going to try something." "What is it?" asked Ned. "Just you watch!" exclaimed Jerry. "Look out!" He ducked, to avoid a bullet that sang over his head. "What's the use of doing that?" asked Ned. "The bullet is past when you hear it sing." "Can't help it," replied Jerry. The fighting was now at its height. Though the force on both sides was small, the guns kept up a continuous fusillade, and it sounded as though a good-sized detachment was going into action. "No quarter! Not a man must escape!" cried the captain. "Charge!" yelled Vasco Bilette, trying to urge his men to make a rush and overwhelm the soldiers. "Charge and the day is won!" With a shout, his men prepared to obey his command. "Now is your chance!" whispered the brigand leader to Noddy. "Away with Bob!" Noddy headed the machine, containing the bound captive, off to one side. "There he goes!" Jerry shouted, catching sight of the movement. "We must take after him, Ned. Noddy has Bob with him." CHAPTER XXX. HOMEWARD BOUND. Steering to one side, to avoid running into the mass of men, soldiers and kidnappers that seemed to be mixed up in inextricable confusion, Jerry sent his machine after Noddy's, which was speeding away. "Shall I try a shot at the tires?" asked Ned, fingering his revolver. "No; you might hit Bob," replied Jerry. "I'll catch him." The battle was now divided. On one side the soldiers and the Mexicans were fighting. On the other was the race between the two autos; a contest of machinery. At first it seemed that Noddy would escape. But Jerry, throwing in the high-speed clutch, cut down the distance between his car and Noddy's. A few minutes after the chase started it became evident that Jerry would win. Vasco, seeing how matters were likely to go, had jumped into the car as Noddy started off. All this while poor Bob was bound, and the cloak was still about his head, so he could not tell what was going on. But he guessed it was some attempt to rescue him. Nearer and nearer came Jerry's auto. The front wheels overlapped the rear ones of Noddy's machine. "Stop, or I'll fire!" cried the professor, suddenly, leveling a revolver at Noddy's crowd. They paid no heed to him. With a quick motion, Vasco leaned over the edge of the seat and fired three times in rapid succession at the tires of Jerry's machine. He missed his aim, but Jerry saw the danger that threatened him. He increased his speed. In another minute he had come up alongside of Noddy's auto. "Get ready to grab Bob!" Jerry yelled to Ned and the professor. "Then hold on tight!" "I'll pay you for this!" exclaimed Vasco, fiercely. He leaned over the edge of the car and made a vicious lunge at Jerry with a long knife. Jerry swerved his machine the least bit and avoided the blow. The next instant the autos came together with a crash. The shock threw Vasco out, for he was already leaning more than half way over the side door, in an endeavor to strike at Jerry. The wheels of the heavy machine passed over his legs, making him a cripple for life. Seeing how matters were likely to turn out, Noddy shut off the power and brought his machine to a stop. Ned and the professor took advantage of this to reach over and grab Bob. "Now we haf rescue him!" exclaimed Maximina. "I knew we would haf found Bob!" and she laughed and cried by turns. It did not take long to loosen the captive's bonds. The suffocating shawl was taken from his head. Poor Bob was faint and white. "We'll soon fix him up!" cried the professor, cheerily. "Run to one side, Jerry." Leaving the discomfited Noddy and his chum, Jack Pender, Jerry steered off under a clump of trees, where, by the administrations of the professor, Bob was soon himself again. Meanwhile, the battle between the brigands and the troops was waging furiously. Several had fallen on both sides, but the better-trained soldiers knew more about warfare, and slowly but surely they pressed their enemies back. Then, when Vasco fell and was crushed by the auto, the men lost heart. They faltered, wavered and then turned and fled. Dalsett endeavored to rally them. He caught hold of some of the brigands and urged them to stand against the charge of the soldiers. One of the kidnappers resented Dalsett's interference. With a wild cry he plunged a knife into the former miner, and Dalsett fell, seriously wounded. "They fly! They fly! Take after them!" cried the captain of the troopers. "At them, my brave men! Hew them down! Wipe them off the face of the earth!" It was noticeable that as the tide turned in favor of the soldiers their leader became more bold. He rode hither and thither, waving his sword, but taking care not to get too far to the front. At length, with a last volley, the brigands fled. The troopers took after them, killing several and wounding some. They chased them until the kidnappers came to the foothills, and, as this was a wild country, the troopers did not care to follow. So some of the brigands escaped. But the band was broken up and for many years thereafter no trouble was experienced with them. Noddy had not started up his machine after Vasco had been knocked from it. The former bully seemed to be in a sort of daze, and he and Pender sat staring at the exciting scenes going on all about them. When Bob had been made comfortable on a bed of blankets spread under the trees, Jerry thought of their former enemy. "What had we better do about Noddy?" he asked of the professor. "There he sits in his machine. Shall we turn him over to the soldiers?" "I don't know but what it would be a good idea," said the naturalist. "Just have an eye to him for a few minutes, anyhow. The captain will be here in a little while, and he'll decide what to do. I suppose the law must take its course." Seeing that Bob was doing very well under the care of Maximina and the professor, Ned and Jerry ran their machine over to where Noddy was. "Don't give me up!" pleaded Nixon. "I didn't mean to do any harm. It was all Dalsett and Vasco. See, here is your money-belt, Jerry. I never touched a cent of it." "So it was you who took it, eh?" spoke Ned. "No--no--I didn't steal it. Dalsett made me take it that night," faltered Noddy. "But I never took any money out of it. I used my own. Please let me go!" "You are a prisoner of the captain, not one of ours," replied Jerry. "He'll have to settle your case." At that instant the captain, who, with his men, had ridden to where Vasco was stretched out on the ground, called to Jerry and Ned. They turned the machine toward him. The professor, too, came running over. The captain spoke some command to one of his men, who began a search of the clothing of the kidnapper leader. "Ha! There is something!" exclaimed the captain, as his man hauled two money-belts out of Vasco's pocket. "I wonder whom they belong to?" "One's mine!" cried Ned. "And the other is Bob's," said Jerry. "I wonder if there is any money left in them?" "Look," said the captain, passing them over. The boys and the professor, who had translated the captain's remarks as he had made them, looked over the articles. They found that about half the sum in each belt had been spent. "Well, half a loaf is better than no bread," remarked Jerry. "We ought to be thankful we're alive, to say nothing of getting part of our cash back." "You all seem to have plenty of money; you are not like the poor Mexicans," said the captain, with a sigh, looking at the professor, meaningly. "That reminds me: I promised to reward you and your men if we were successful," spoke the naturalist. He distributed a good-sized sum among the soldiers, who seemed very pleased to get it. Their salaries under the government were small, and not always paid regularly, so that any addition was welcome. "What's that?" asked the captain, suddenly, as he shoved his share of the distribution in his pocket. "It's Noddy and Pender in their auto," said Jerry. "They are going to escape." "Shall we fire at them?" asked the captain, eagerly. "What's the use?" asked Jerry. "Let them go. We would only have more bother if we tried to get them punished by law for their crimes. We have Bob back, we discovered the underground city, and what more do we want?" "Nothing, excepting to get back home," put in Ned. "I'll be glad to see Cresville again." So no attempt was made to capture Noddy and his chum, and they sped off across-country in their machine, running at top speed, as if they feared pursuit. Bill Berry, slightly wounded, went with them. "Is there anything more we can do for you?" asked the captain. "If there is not we will start back to the garrison, as it is growing late." The professor said he thought they could dispense with the services of the troops. So, amid a chorus of good-byes, the horsemen rode away. "Well, here we are, all together once more," observed the professor. "And with an addition to our party," put in Ned, pointing to Maximina. "That's so; we must get her back home next," the professor said. "First, give me something to eat and drink," begged Bob. "I'm almost starved." It was so near night that the travelers decided to make a camp. Supper was soon ready, and after it had been disposed of, the boys made a small tent out of blankets for Maximina. The next morning they started northward. Maximina had told them she had relatives in the City of Mexico, and they headed for that place. They reached it, without having any accidents, a week later, and left the girl who had befriended Bob with her friends. "I wonder if we'll have any more adventures?" said Ned, as, after a few days' rest, they started from the City of Mexico toward home. "Hard to say, but probably you boys will," said the professor. "Boys are always having adventures. As for me, I am satisfied with those we had on this trip. We had the most excellent success. My name will be famous when the story of the underground city is told in four large volumes which I intend to issue." "I would think it might," commented Ned. "Four books are enough to make any one famous." "Well, it will take some long letters to tell our folks of all that has happened to us," put in Bob. Telegrams had already been sent, so that nobody at home might worry further. "I'll be glad enough to get back to the States," said Jerry. "Mexico is not the best place in the world." "I suppose we'll have more adventures before long," was Ned's comment, and he was right. What those adventures were will be told in the next volume of this series, to be called "The Motor Boys Across the Plains; or, The Hermit of Lost Lake." Here we shall meet all of our young friends again, and also some of their enemies, and learn much concerning a most peculiar mystery. The weather remained fine, and as the auto had been thoroughly repaired in the City of Mexico before leaving, rapid progress was made in the journey northward. They kept, as far as possible, to the best and most frequented roads, having no desire to meet any more brigands. "Tell you what," said Bob, one day, "automobiling is great, isn't it?" "Immense!" answered Ned. "It's the best sport going," added Jerry. "I love this touring car of ours as I would love a brother." And then he put on a burst of speed that soon took them around a bend of the road and out of sight--and also out of my story. THE END. The Motor Boys Series (_Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of._) By Clarence Young Cloth. 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 60 cents postpaid. [Illustration: THE MOTOR BOYS] The Motor Boys or Chums Through Thick and Thin The Motor Boys Overland or A Long Trip for Fun and Fortune The Motor Boys in Mexico or The Secret of The Buried City The Motor Boys Across the Plains or The Hermit of Lost Lake [Illustration: THE MOTOR BOYS AFLOAT] The Motor Boys Afloat or The Stirring Cruise of the Dartaway The Motor Boys on the Atlantic or The Mystery of the Lighthouse The Motor Boys in Strange Waters or Lost in a Floating Forest The Motor Boys on the Pacific or The Young Derelict Hunters [Illustration: THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE CLOUDS] The Motor Boys in the Clouds or A Trip for Fame and Fortune The Motor Boys Over the Rockies or A Mystery of the Air The Motor Boys Over the Ocean or A Marvellous Rescue in Mid-Air The Motor Boys on the Wing or Seeking the Airship Treasure [Illustration: THE MOTOR BOYS AFTER A FORTUNE] The Motor Boys After a Fortune or The Hut on Snake Island The Motor Boys on the Border or Sixty Nuggets of Gold The Motor Boys Under the Sea or From Airship to Submarine (_new_) CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers NEW YORK The Speedwell Boys Series By Roy Rockwood Author of "The Dave Dashaway Series," "Great Marvel Series," etc. 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 40 cents, postpaid All boys who love to be on the go will welcome the Speedwell boys. They are clean cut and loyal to the core--youths well worth knowing. [Illustration] The Speedwell Boys on Motor Cycles or The Mystery of a Great Conflagration The lads were poor, but they did a rich man a great service and he presented them with their motor cycles. What a great fire led to is exceedingly well told. The Speedwell Boys and Their Racing Auto or A Run for the Golden Cup A tale of automobiling and of intense rivalry on the road. There was an endurance run and the boys entered the contest. On the run they rounded up some men who were wanted by the law. The Speedwell Boys and Their Power Launch or To the Rescue of the Castaways Here is a water story of unusual interest. There was a wreck and the lads, in their power launch, set out to the rescue. A vivid picture of a great storm adds to the interest of the tale. The Speedwell Boys in a Submarine or The Lost Treasure of Rocky Cove An old sailor knows of a treasure lost under water because of a cliff falling into the sea. The boys get a chance to go out in a submarine and they make a hunt for the treasure. Life under the water is well described. CUPPLES & LEON CO. Publishers NEW YORK Up-to-Date Baseball Stories Baseball Joe Series By Lester Chadwick Author of "The College Sports Series" Cloth 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 60 cts. postpaid. [Illustration] Ever since the success of Mr. Chadwick's "College Sports Series" we have been urged to get him to write a series dealing exclusively with baseball, a subject in which he is unexcelled by any living American author or coach. Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars or The Rivals of Riverside In this volume, the first of the series, Joe is introduced as an everyday country boy who loves to play baseball and is particularly anxious to make his mark as a pitcher. He finds it almost impossible to get on the local nine, but, after a struggle, he succeeds. A splendid picture of the great national game in the smaller towns of our country. Baseball Joe on the School Nine or Pitching for the Blue Banner Joe's great ambition was to go to boarding school and play on the school team. He got to boarding school but found it harder making the team there than it was getting on the nine at home. He fought his way along, and at last saw his chance and took it, and made good. Baseball Joe at Yale or Pitching for the College Championship From a preparatory school Baseball Joe goes to Yale University. He makes the freshman nine and in his second year becomes a varsity pitcher and pitches in several big games. Baseball Joe in the Central League or Making Good as a Professional Pitcher In this volume the scene of action is shifted from Yale College to a baseball league of our central states. Baseball Joe's work in the box for Old Eli had been noted by one of the managers and Joe gets an offer he cannot resist. The book shows how the hero "made good" in more ways than one, helping a down-and-out player back to the right path as well as doing his share to win some great victories on the diamond. CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers NEW YORK The Motor Girls Series By Margaret Penrose Author of the highly successful "Dorothy Dale Series" Cloth. 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 60 cts. postpaid. [Illustration] The Motor Girls or A Mystery of the Road When Cora Kimball got her touring car she did not imagine so many adventures were in store for her. A tale all wide awake girls will appreciate. The Motor Girls on a Tour or Keeping a Strange Promise A great many things happen in this volume, starting with the running over of a hamper of good things lying in the road. A precious heirloom is missing, and how it was traced up is told with absorbing interest. The Motor Girls at Lookout Beach or In Quest of the Runaways There was a great excitement when the Motor Girls decided to go to Lookout Beach for the summer. The Motor Girls Through New England or Held by the Gypsies A strong story and one which will make this series more popular than ever. The girls go on a motoring trip through New England. The Motor Girls on Cedar Lake or The Hermit of Fern Island How Cora and her chums went camping on the lake shore and how they took trips in their motor boat, are told in a way all girls will enjoy. The Motor Girls on the Coast or The Waif from the Sea The scene is shifted to the sea coast where the girls pay a visit. They have their motor boat with them and go out for many good times. The Motor Girls on Crystal Bay or The Secret of the Red Oar More jolly times, on the water and at a cute little bungalow on the beautiful shore of the bay. How Cora aided Frieda and solved the secret of Benny Shane's red oar, is told in a manner to interest all girls. CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers, NEW YORK The Dorothy Dale Series By Margaret Penrose Author of "The Motor Girls Series" Cloth. 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 60 cts. postpaid. Dorothy Dale: A Girl of To-Day Dorothy is the daughter of an old Civil War veteran who is running a weekly newspaper in a small Eastern town. When her father falls sick, the girl shows what she can do to support the family. [Illustration] Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School More prosperous times have come to the Dale family, and Major Dale resolves to send Dorothy to a boarding school to complete her education. Dorothy Dale's Great Secret A splendid story of one girl's devotion to another. Dorothy Dale and Her Chums A story of school life, and of strange adventures among the gypsies. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays Relates the details of a mystery that surrounded Tanglewood Park. Dorothy Dale's Camping Days Many things happen in this volume, from the time Dorothy and her chums are met coming down the hillside on a treacherous load of hay. Dorothy Dale's School Rivals Dorothy and her chum, Tavia, return to Glenwood School. A new student becomes Dorothy's rival and troubles at home add to her difficulties. Dorothy Dale in the City Dorothy is invited to New York City by her Aunt. This tale presents a clever picture of life in New York as it appears to one who has never before visited the Metropolis. Dorothy Dale's Promise Strange indeed was the promise and given under strange circumstances. Only a girl as strong of purpose as was Dorothy Dale would have undertaken the task she set for herself. An absorbing story filled with plenty of fun,--one that will make this series a greater success. CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers NEW YORK A New Line By the Author of the Ever-Popular "Motor Boys Series" The Racer Boys Series by CLARENCE YOUNG Author of "The Motor Boys Series," "Jack Ranger Series," etc. etc. Fine cloth binding. Illustrated. Price per vol. 60 cts. postpaid. [Illustration] The announcement of a new series of stories by Mr. Clarence Young is always hailed with delight by boys and girls throughout the country, and we predict an even greater success for these new books, than that now enjoyed by the "Motor Boys Series." The Racer Boys or The Mystery of the Wreck This, the first volume of the new series, tells who the Racer Boys were and how they chanced to be out on the ocean in a great storm. Adventures follow each other in rapid succession in a manner that only our author, Mr. Young, can describe. The Racer Boys At Boarding School or Striving for the Championship When the Racer Boys arrived at the school they found everything at a stand-still. The school was going down rapidly and the students lacked ambition and leadership. The Racers took hold with a will, and got their father to aid the head of the school financially, and then reorganized the football team. The Racer Boys To The Rescue or Stirring Days in a Winter Camp Here is a story filled with the spirit of good times in winter--skating, ice-boating and hunting. The Racer Boys On The Prairies or The Treasure of Golden Peak From their boarding school the Racer Boys accept an invitation to visit a ranch in the West. The Racer Boys on Guard or The Rebellion of Riverview Hall Once more the boys are back at boarding school, were they have many frolics, and enter more than one athletic contest. CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers NEW YORK _The Jack Ranger Series_ _By Clarence Young_ Author of the Motor Boys Series Cloth. 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid [Illustration] Jack Ranger's Schooldays _Or, The Rivals of Washington Hall_ You will love Jack Ranger--you simply can't help it. He is so bright and cheery, and so real and lifelike. A typical boarding school tale, without a dull line in it. Jack Ranger's School Victories _Or, Track, Gridiron and Diamond_ In this tale Jack gets back to Washington Hall and goes in for all sorts of school games. The rivalry is bitter at times, and enemies try to put Jack "in a hole" more than once. Jack Ranger's Western Trip _Or, From Boarding School to Ranch and Range_ This volume takes the hero and several of his chums to the great West. At the ranch and on the range adventures of the strenuous sort befall him. Jack Ranger's Ocean Cruise _Or, The Wreck of the Polly Ann_ Here is a tale of the bounding sea, with many stirring adventures. How the ship was wrecked, and Jack was cast away, is told in a style all boys and girls will find exceedingly interesting. Jack Ranger's Gun Club _Or, From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail_ Jack, with his chums, goes in quest of big game. The boys fall in with a mysterious body of men, and have a terrific slide down a mountain side. Jack Ranger's Treasure Box _Or, The Outing of the School Boy Yachtsmen_ This story opens at school, but the scene is quickly shifted to the ocean. The schoolboy yachtsmen visit Porto Rico and other places, and have a long series of adventures including some on a lonely island of the West Indies. A yachting story all lovers of the sea will wish to peruse. CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers. NEW YORK The Saddle Boys Series By Captain James Carson 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 40 cents, postpaid. All lads who love life in the open air and a good steed, will want to peruse these books. Captain Carson knows his subject thoroughly, and his stories are as pleasing as they are healthful and instructive. [Illustration] The Saddle Boys of the Rockies or Lost on Thunder Mountain Telling how the lads started out to solve the mystery of a great noise in the mountains--how they got lost--and of the things they discovered. The Saddle Boys in the Grand Canyon or The Hermit of the Cave A weird and wonderful story of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, told in a most absorbing manner. The Saddle Boys are to the front in a manner to please all young readers. The Saddle Boys on the Plains or After a Treasure of Gold In this story the scene is shifted to the great plains of the southwest and then to the Mexican border. There is a stirring struggle for gold, told as only Captain Carson can tell it. The Saddle Boys at Circle Ranch or In at the Grand Round-up Here we have lively times at the ranch, and likewise the particulars of a grand round-up of cattle and encounters with wild animals and also cattle thieves. A story that breathes the very air of the plains. CUPPLES & LEON CO. Publishers NEW YORK The Fred Fenton Athletic Series By Allen Chapman Author of "The Tom Fairfield Series," "The Boys of Pluck Series" and "The Darewell Chums Series." 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 40 cents, postpaid. A line of tales embracing school athletics. Fred is a true type of the American schoolboy of to-day. [Illustration] Fred Fenton the Pitcher or The Rivals of Riverport School When Fred came to Riverport none of the school lads knew him. But he speedily proved his worth in the baseball box. A true to life picture of school baseball. Fred Fenton in the Line or The Football Boys of Riverport School When Fall came the thoughts of the boys turned to football. Fred went in the line, and again proved his worth, making a run that helped to win a great game. Fred Fenton on the Crew or The Young Oarsmen of Riverport School In this volume the scene is shifted to the river, and Fred and his chums show how they can handle the oars. There are many other adventures, all dear to the hearts of wide-awake readers. Fred Fenton on the Track or The Athletes of Riverport School Track athletics form a subject of vast interest to many boys, and here is a tale telling of great running races, high jumping, and the like. Fred again proves himself a hero in the best sense of that term. CUPPLES & LEON CO. Publishers NEW YORK The Tom Fairfield Series By Allen Chapman Author of the "Fred Fenton Athletic Series," "The Boys of Pluck Series," and "The Darewell Chums Series." 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 40 cents, postpaid. Tom Fairfield is a typical American lad, full of life and energy, a boy who believes in doing things. To know Tom is to love him. [Illustration] Tom Fairfield's Schooldays or The Chums of Elmwood Hall Tells of how Tom started for school, of the mystery surrounding one of the Hall seniors, and of how the hero went to the rescue. The first book in a line that is bound to become decidedly popular. Tom Fairfield at Sea or The Wreck of the Silver Star Tom's parents had gone to Australia and then been cast away somewhere in the Pacific. Tom set out to find them and was himself cast away. A thrilling picture of the perils of the deep. Tom Fairfield in Camp or The Secret of the Old Mill The boys decided to go camping, and located near an old mill. A wild man resided there and he made it decidedly lively for Tom and his chums. The secret of the old mill adds to the interest of the volume. Tom Fairfield's Luck and Pluck or Working to Clear His Name While Tom was back at school some of his enemies tried to get him into trouble. Then something unusual occurred and Tom was suspected of a crime. How he set to work to clear his name is told in a manner to interest all young readers. CUPPLES & LEON CO. Publishers NEW YORK The Dave Dashaway Series By Roy Rockwood Author of the "Speedwell Boys Series" and the "Great Marvel Series." 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 40 cents, postpaid. Never was there a more clever young aviator than Dave Dashaway, and all up-to-date lads will surely wish to make his acquaintance. [Illustration] Dave Dashaway the Young Aviator or In the Clouds for Fame and Fortune This initial volume tells how the hero ran away from his miserly guardian, fell in with a successful airman, and became a young aviator of note. Dave Dashaway and His Hydroplane or Daring Adventures Over the Great Lakes Showing how Dave continued his career as a birdman and had many adventures over the Great Lakes, and he likewise foiled the plans of some Canadian smugglers. Dave Dashaway and His Giant Airship or A Marvellous Trip Across the Atlantic How the giant airship was constructed and how the daring young aviator and his friends made the hazard journey through the clouds from the new world to the old, is told in a way to hold the reader spellbound. Dave Dashaway Around the World or A Young Yankee Aviator Among Many Nations An absorbing tale of a great air flight around the world, of hairbreadth adventures in Alaska, Siberia and elsewhere. A true to life picture of what may be accomplished in the near future. CUPPLES & LEON CO. Publishers NEW YORK The Webster Series By Frank V. Webster [Illustration] Mr. Webster's style is very much like that of the boys' favorite author, the late lamented Horatio Alger Jr., but his tales are thoroughly up-to-date. The stories are as clean as they are clever, and will prove of absorbing interest to boys everywhere. Cloth. 12mo. Over 200 pages each. Illustrated. Stamped in various colors. Price per volume, 40 cents, postpaid. Only A Farm Boy or Dan Hardy's Rise in Life Tom The Telephone Boy or The Mystery of a Message The Boy From The Ranch or Roy Bradner's City Experiences The Young Treasure Hunter or Fred Stanley's Trip to Alaska Bob The Castaway or The Wreck of the Eagle The Newsboy Partners or Who Was Dick Box? Two Boy Gold Miners or Lost in the Mountains The Young Firemen of Lakeville or Herbert Dare's Pluck The Boy Pilot of the Lakes or Nat Morton's Perils The Boys of Bellwood School or Frank Jordan's Triumph Jack The Runaway or On the Road with a Circus Bob Chester's Grit or From Ranch to Riches Airship Andy or The Luck of a Brave Boy The High School Rivals or Fred Markham's Struggles Darry The Life Saver or The Heroes of the Coast Dick The Bank Boy or A Missing Fortune Ben Hardy's Flying Machine or Making a Record for Himself Harry Watson's High School Days or The Rivals of Rivertown Comrades of the Saddle or The Young Rough Riders of the Plains The Boys of the Wireless or a Stirring Rescue from the Deep CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers, NEW YORK * * * * * * * Transcriber's note: --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. --Inconsistencies in formatting and punctuation of individual advertisements were retained. 
4711	----	Tom Swift In The City Of Gold or Marvelous Adventures Underground by Victor Appleton AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE," ETC. ILLUSTRATED CONTENTS CHAPTER I WONDERFUL NEWS II AN UNSUSPECTED LISTENER III ANDY IS WHITEWASHED IV A PERILOUS FLIGHT V NEWS FROM AFRICA VI "BEWARE THE HEAD-HUNTERS!" VII TOM MAKES A PROMISE VIII ERADICATE WILL GO IX "THAT LOOKED LIKE ANDY!" X MYSTERIOUS PASSENGERS XI THE MIDNIGHT ALARM XII INTO THE UNKNOWN XIII FOLLOWED XIV A WEARY SEARCH XV THE GOLDEN IMAGE XVI THE MAP ON THE GOLD XVII THE RUINED TEMPLE XVIII FINDING THE TUNNEL XIX THE UNDERGROUND RIVER XX THE CITY OF GOLD XXI THE BIG IMAGE XXII TRAPPED XXIII "IS IT A RESCUE?" XXIV THE FIGHT XXV THE ESCAPE--CONCLUSION TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD CHAPTER I WONDERFUL NEWS "Letter for you, Tom Swift." "Ah, thanks, Mr. Wilson. This is the first mail I've had this week. You've been neglecting me," and the young inventor took the missive which the Shopton postman handed to him over the gate, against which Tom was leaning one fine, warm Spring day. "Well, I get around as often as I can, Tom. You're not home a great deal, you know. When you're not off in your sky racer seeing how much you can beat the birds, you're either hunting elephants in Africa, or diving down under the ocean, or out in a diamond mine, or some such out-of-the-way place as that. No wonder you don't get many letters. But that one looks as if it had come quite a distance." "So it does," agreed Tom, looking closely at the stamp and postmark. "What do you make out of it, Mr. Wilson?" and then, just as many other persons do when getting a strange letter, instead of opening it to see from whom it has come, Tom tried to guess by looking at the handwriting, and trying to decipher the faint postmark. "What does that say?" and the young inventor pointed to the black stamp. "Hum, looks like Jube--no, that first letter's a 'K' I guess," and Mr. Wilson turned it upside down, thinking that would help. "I made it out a 'G'," said Tom. "So it is. A 'G'--you're right. Gumbo--Twamba--that's what it is--Gumba Twamba. I can make it out now all right." "Well, where, for the love of my old geography, is Gumba Twamba?" asked the lad with a laugh. "You've got me, Tom. Must be in Sweden, or Holland, or some of those foreign countries. I don't often handle letters from there, so I can't say. Why don't you open your letter and find out who its from?" "That's what I ought to have done at first." Quickly Tom ripped open the much worn and frayed envelope, through the cracks of which some parts of the letter already could be seen, showing that it had traveled many thousand miles before it got to the village of Shopton, in New York State. "Well, I've got to be traveling on," remarked the postman, as Tom started to read the mysterious letter. "I'm late as it is. You can tell me the news when I pass again, Tom." But the young inventor did not reply. He was too much engaged in reading the missive, for, no sooner had he perused the first few lines than his eyes began to open wide in wonder, and his manner plainly indicated his surprise. He read the letter once, and then over again, and when he had finished it a second time, he made a dash for the house. "I say dad!" cried Tom. "This is great! Great news here! Where are you, dad? Say, Mrs. Baggert," he called as he saw the motherly housekeeper, "where's father? I've got great news for him? Where is he?" "Out in the shop, I think. I believe Mr. Damon is with him." "And blessing everything as usual, from his hat to his shoe laces, I'll wager," murmured Tom as he made his way to the shop where his father, also an inventor like himself, spent much of his time. "Well, well, I'm glad Mr. Damon is here, for he'll be interested in this." Tom fairly rushed into the building, much of the space of which, was taken up by machinery, queer tools and odd devices, many of them having to do with the manufacture of aeroplanes, for Tom had as many of them as some people have of automobiles. "I say, dad!" cried Tom, waving the letter above his head, "what do you think of this? Listen to--" "Easy there now, Tom! Easy, my boy, or you'll oblige me to do all my work over again," and an aged man, beside whom a younger one was standing, held up a hand of caution, while with the other hand he was adjusting some delicate piece of machinery. "What are you doing?" demanded the son. "Bless my scarf pin!" exclaimed the other man--Mr. Wakefield Damon--"Bless my rubbers, Tom Swift! What SHOULD your father be doing but inventing something new, as he always is. I guess he's working on his new gyroscope, though it is only a guess, for he hasn't said ten words to me since I came out to talk to him. But that's like all inventors, they--" "I beg your pardon, Mr. Damon," spoke Mr. Swift with a smile, "I'm sure--" "Say, can't you listen to me for five minutes?" pleaded Tom. "I've got some great news--simply great, and your gyroscope can wait, dad. Listen to this letter," and he prepared to read it. "Who's it from?" asked Mr. Damon. "Mr. Jacob Illingway, the African missionary whom you and I rescued, together with his wife, from the red pygmies!" cried Tom. "Think of that! Of all persons to get a letter from, and SUCH a letter! SUCH news in it. Why, it's simply great! You remember Mr. and Mrs. Illingway; don't you Mr. Damon? How we went to Africa after elephant's tusks, with Mr. Durban the hunter, and how we got the missionaries away from those little savages in my airship--don't you remember?" "I should say I did!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my watch chain--but they were regular imps--the red Pygmies I mean, not the missionaries. But what is Mr. Illingway writing to you about now, Tom? I know he sent you several letters since we came back from Africa. What's the latest news?" "I'll tell you," replied the young inventor, sitting down on a packing box. "It would take too long to read the letter so I'll sum it up, and you can go over it later." "To be brief, Mr. Illingway tells of a wonderful golden image that is worshiped by a tribe of Africans in a settlement not far from Gumba Twamba, where he is stationed. It's an image of solid gold--" "Solid gold!" interrupted Mr. Swift. "Yes, dad, and about three feet high," went on Tom, referring to the letter to make sure. "It's heavy, too, no hollows in it, and these Africans regard it as a god. But that's not the strangest part of it. Mr. Illingway goes on to say that there is no gold in that part of Africa, and for a time he was at a loss how to account for the golden image. He made some inquiries and learned that it was once the property of a white traveler who made his home with the tribe that now worships the image of gold. This traveler, whose name Mr. Illingway could not find out, was much liked by the Africans. He taught them many things, doctored them when they were sick, and they finally adopted him into the tribe." "It seems that he tried to make them better, and wanted them to become Christians, but they clung to their own beliefs until he died. Then, probably thinking to do his memory honor, they took the golden image, which was among his possessions, and set it up as a god." "Bless my hymn book!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "What did they do that for?" "This white man thought a great deal of the image," said Tom, again referring to the letter, "and the Africans very likely imagined that, as he was so good to them, some of his virtues had passed into the gold. Then, too, they may have thought it was part of his religion, and as he had so often wanted them to adopt his beliefs, they reasoned out that they could now do so, by worshiping the golden god." "Anyhow, that's what they did, and the image is there to-day, in that far-off African village. But I haven't got to the real news yet. The image of solid gold is only a part of it." "Before this traveler died he told some of the more intelligent natives that the image had come from a far-off underground city--a regular city of gold--nearly everything in it that was capable of being made of metal, being constructed of the precious yellow gold. The golden image was only one of a lot more like it, some smaller and some larger--" "Not larger, Tom, not larger, surely!" interrupted Mr. Swift. "Why, my boy, think of it! An image of solid gold, bigger even than this one Mr. Illingway writes of, which he says is three feet high. Why, if there are any larger they must be nearly life size, and think of a solid gold statue as large as a man--it would weigh--well, I'm afraid, to say how much, and be worth--why, Tom, it's impossible. It would be worth millions--all the wealth of a world must be in the underground city. It's impossible Tom, my boy!" "Well, that may be," agreed Tom. "I'm not saying it's true. Mr. Illingway is telling only what he heard." "Go on! Tell some more," begged Mr. Damon. "Bless my shirt studs, this is getting exciting!" "He says that the traveler told of this underground city of gold," went on Tom, "though he had never been there himself. He had met a native who had located it, and who had brought out some of the gold, including several of the images, and one he gave to the white man in return for some favor. The white man took it to Africa with him." "But where is this underground city, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "Doesn't Mr. Illingway give you any idea of its location." "He says it is somewhere in Mexico," explained the lad. "The Africans haven't a very good idea of geography, but some of the tribesmen whom the white traveler taught, could draw rude maps, and Mr. Illingway had a native sketch one for him, showing as nearly as possible where the city of gold is located." "Tom Swift, have you got that map?" suddenly cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my pocketbook, but--" "I have it!" said Tom quietly, taking from the envelope a piece of paper covered with rough marks. "It isn't very good, but--" "Bless my very existence!" cried the excitable man. "But you're not going to let such a chance as this slip past; are you Tom? Are you going to hunt for that buried city of gold?" "I certainly am," answered the young inventor quietly. "Tom! You're not going off on another wild expedition?" asked Mr. Swift anxiously. "I'm afraid I'll have to," answered his son with a smile. "Go? Of course he'll go!" burst out Mr. Damon. "And I'm going with him; can't I, Tom?" "Surely. The reason Mr. Illingway sent me the letter was to tell me about the city of gold. He thought, after my travels in Africa, that to find a buried city in Mexico would be no trouble at all, I suppose. Anyhow he suggests that I make the attempt, and--" "Oh, but, Tom, just when I am perfecting my gyroscope!" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "I need your help." "I'll help you when I come back, dad. I want to get some of this gold." "But we are rich enough, Tom." "It isn't so much the money, dad. Listen. There is another part to the letter. Mr. Illingway says that in that underground city, according to the rumor among the African natives, there is not only gold in plenty, and a number of small gold statues, but one immense big one--of solid gold, as large as three men, and there is some queer mystery about it, so that white traveler said. A mystery he wanted to solve but could not." "So, dad, I'm going to search for that underground city, not only for the mere gold, but to see if I can solve the mystery of the big gold statue. And if I could bring it away," cried Tom in great excitement as he waved the missionary's letter above his head, "it would be one of the wonders of the world--dad, for, not only is it very valuable, but it is most beautifully carved." "Well, I might as well give up my gyroscope work until you come back from the city of gold, Tom, I can see that," said Mr. Swift, with a faint smile. "And if you go, I hope you come back. I don't want that mysterious image to be the undoing of you." "Oh, I'll come back all right!" cried Tom confidently. "Ho! for the city of gold and the images thereof! I'm going to get ready to start!" "And so am I!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoe strings, Tom, but I'm with you! I certainly am!" and the little man excitedly shook hands with Tom Swift, while the aged inventor looked on and nodded his head doubtfully. But Tom was full of hope. CHAPTER II AN UNSUSPECTED LISTENER For a few moments after Tom Swift had announced his decision to start for the city of gold, and Mr. Damon had said he would accompany the young inventor, there was a silence in the workshop. Then Mr. Swift laid aside the delicate mechanism of the new model gyroscope on which he had been working, came over to his son, and said: "Well, Tom, if you're going, that means you're going--I know enough to predict that. I rather wish you weren't, for I'm afraid no good will come of this." "Now, dad, don't be talking that way!" cried Tom gaily. "Pack up and come along with us." Lovingly he placed his arm around the bent shoulders of his father. "No, Tom, I'm too old. Home is the place for me." "Bless my arithmetic tables!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "you're not so much older than I am, and I'm going with Tom. Come on, Mr. Swift." "No, I can't put up with dangers, hardship and excitement as I used to. I'd better stay home. Besides, I want to perfect my new gyroscope. I'll work on that while you and Tom are searching for the city of gold. But, Tom, if you're going you'd better have something more definite to look for than an unknown city, located on a map drawn by some African bushman." "I intend to, dad. I guess when Mr. Illingway wrote his letter he didn't really think I'd take him up, and make the search. I'm going to write and ask him if he can't get me a better map, and also learn more about the location of the city. Mexico isn't such a very large place, but it would be if you had to hunt all over it for a buried city, and this map isn't a lot of help," and Tom who had shown it to his father and Mr. Damon looked at it closely. "If we're going, we want all the information we can get," declared the odd man. "Bless my gizzard, Tom, but this may mean a lot to us!" "I think it will," agreed the young inventor. "I'm going to write to Mr. Illingway at once, and ask for all the information he can get." "And I'll help you with suggestions," spoke Mr. Damon. "Come on in the house, Tom. Bless my ink bottle, but we're going to have some adventures again!" "It seems to me that is about all Tom does--have adventures--that and invent flying machines," said Mr. Swift with a smile, as his son and their visitor left the shop. Then he once more bent over his gyroscope model, while Tom and Mr. Damon hurried in to write the letter to the African missionary. And while this is being done I am going to ask your patience for a little while--my old readers, I mean--while I tell my new friends, who have never yet met Tom Swift, something about him. Mr. Swift spoke truly when he said his son seemed to do nothing but seek adventures and invent flying machines. Of the latter the lad had a goodly number, some of which involved new and startling ideas. For Tom was a lad who "did things." In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle," I told you how he became acquainted with Mr. Damon. That eccentric individual was riding a motor cycle, when it started to climb a tree. Mr. Damon was thrown off in front of Tom's house, somewhat hurt, and the young inventor took him in. Tom and his father lived in the village of Shopton, New York, and Mr. Swift was an inventor of note. His son followed in his footsteps. Mrs. Swift had been dead some years, and they had a good housekeeper, Mrs. Baggert. Another "member" of the family was Eradicate Sampson, a colored man of all work, who said he was named "Eradicate" because he "eradicated" the dirt. He used to do odd jobs of whitewashing before he was regularly employed by Mr. Swift as a sort of gardener and watchman. In the first book I told how Tom bought the motor cycle from Mr. Damon, fixed it up, and had many adventures on it, not the least of which was saving some valuable patent models of his father's which some thieves had taken. Then Tom Swift got a motor boat, as related in the second volume of the series, and he had many exciting trips in that craft. Following that he made his first airship with the help of a veteran balloonist and then, not satisfied with adventures in the air, he and his father perfected a wonderful submarine boat in which they went under the ocean for sunken treasure. The automobile industry was fast forging to the front when Tom came back from his trip under water, and naturally he turned his attention to that. But he made an electric car instead of one that was operated by gasolene, and it proved to be the speediest car on the road. The details of Tom Swift and his wireless message will be found in the book of that title. It tells how he saved the castaways of Earthquake Island, and among them was Mr. Nestor, the father of Mary, a girl whom Tom thought--but there, I'm not going to be mean, and tell on a good fellow. You can guess what I'm hinting at, I think. It was when Tom went to get Mary Nestor a diamond ring that he fell in with Mr. Barcoe Jenks, who eventually took Tom off on a search for the diamond makers, and he and Tom, with some friends, discovered the secret of Phantom Mountain. One would have thought that these adventures would have been enough for Tom Swift, but, like Alexander, he sighed for new worlds to conquer. How he went to the caves of ice in search of treasure, and how his airship was wrecked is told in the eighth volume of the series, and in the next is related the details of his swift sky-racer, in which he and Mr. Damon made a wonderfully fast trip, and brought a doctor to Mr. Swift in time to save the life of the aged inventor. It was when Tom invented a wonderful electric rifle, and went to Africa with a Mr. Durban, a great hunter, to get elephants' tusks, that he rescued Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, the missionaries, who were held captive by red pygmies. That was a startling trip, and full of surprises. Tom took with him to the dark continent a new airship, the Black Hawk, and but for this he and his friends never would have escaped from the savages and the wild beasts. As it was, they had a hazardous time getting the missionary and his wife away from the jungle. It was this same missionary who, as told in the first chapter of this book, sent Tom the letter about the city of gold. Mr. Illingway and his wife wanted to stay in Africa in an endeavor to christianize the natives, even after their terrible experience. So Tom landed them at a white settlement. It was from there that the letter came. But the missionaries were not the only ones whom Tom saved from the red pygmies. Andy Foger, a Shopton youth, was Tom's enemy, and he had interfered with our hero's plans in his trips. He even had an airship made, and followed Tom to Africa. There Andy Foger and his companion, a German were captured by the savages. But though Tom saved his life, Andy did not seem to give over annoying the young inventor. Andy was born mean, and, as Eradicate Sampson used to say, "dat meanness neber will done git whitewashed outer him--dat's a fack!" But if Andy Foger was mean to Tom, there was another Shopton lad who was just the reverse. This was Ned Newton, who was Tom's particular chum, Ned had gone with our hero on many trips, including the one to Africa after elephants. Mr. Damon also accompanied Tom many times, and occasionally Eradicate went along on the shorter voyages. But Eradicate was getting old, like Mr. Swift, who, of late years, had not traveled much with his son. When I add that Tom still continued to invent things, that he was always looking for new adventures, that he still cared very much for Mary Nestor, and thought his father the best in the world, and liked Mr. Damon and Ned Newton above all his other acquaintances, except perhaps Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, I think perhaps I have said enough about him; and now I will get back to the story. I might add, however, that Andy Foger, who had been away from Shopton for some time, had now returned to the village, and had lately been seen by Tom, riding around in a powerful auto. The sight of Andy did not make the young inventor feel any happier. "Well, Tom, I think that will do," remarked Mr. Damon when, after about an hour's work, they had jointly written a letter to the African missionary. "We've asked him enough questions, anyhow," agreed the lad. "If he answers all of them we'll know more about the city of gold, and where it is, than we do now." "Exactly," spoke the odd man. "Now to mail the letter, and wait for an answer. It will take several weeks, for they don't have good mail service to that part of Africa. I hope Mr. Illingway sends us a better map." "So do I," assented Tom. "But even with the one we have I'd take a chance and look for the underground city." "I'll mail the letter," went on Mr. Damon, who was as eager over the prospective adventure as was Tom. "I'm going back home to Waterfield I think. My wife says I stay here too much." "Don't be in a hurry," urged Tom. "Can't you stay to supper? I'll take you home to-night in the sky racer. I want to talk more about the city of gold, and plan what we ought to take with us to Mexico." "All right," agreed Mr. Damon. "I'll stay, but I suppose I shouldn't. But let's mail the letter." It was after supper, when, the letter having been posted, that Tom, his father and Mr. Damon were discussing the city of gold. "Will you go, even if Mr. Illingway can't send a better map?" asked Mr. Damon. "Sure," exclaimed Tom. "I want to get one of the golden images if I have to hunt all over the Aztec country for it." "Who's talking of golden images?" demanded a new voice, and Tom looked up quickly, to see Ned Newton, his chum, entering the room. Ned had come in unannounced, as he frequently did. "Hello, old stock!" cried Tom affectionately. "Sir, there's great news. It's you and me for the city of gold now!" "Get out! What are you talking about?" Then Tom had to go into details, and explain to Ned all about the great quantity of gold that might be found in the underground city. "You'll come along, won't you, Ned?" finished the young inventor. "We can't get along without you. Mr. Damon is going, and Eradicate too, I guess. We'll have a great time." "Well, maybe I can fix it so I can go," agreed Ned, slowly, "I'd like it, above all things. Where did you say that golden city was?" "Somewhere about the central part of Mexico, near the city of--" "Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Ned, holding up a hand to caution Tom to silence. "What is it?" asked the young inventor in a whisper. "Some one is coming along the hall," replied Ned in a low voice. They all listened intently. There was no doubt but that some one was approaching along the corridor leading to the library where the conference was being held. "Oh, it's only Mrs. Baggert," remarked Tom a moment later, relief showing in his voice. "I know her step." There was a tap on the door, and the housekeeper pushed it open, for it had been left ajar. She thrust her head in and remarked: "I guess you've forgotten, Mr. Swift, that Andy Foger is waiting for you in the next room. He has a letter for you." "Andy Foger!" gasped Tom. "Here." "That's so, I forgot all about him!" exclaimed Mr. Swift jumping up. "It slipped my mind. I let him in a while ago, before we came in the library, and he's probably been sitting in the parlor ever since. I thought he wanted to see you, Tom, so I told him to wait. And I forgot all about him. You'd better see what he wants." "Andy Foger there--in the next room," murmured Tom. "He's been there some time. I wonder how much he heard about the city of gold?" CHAPTER III ANDY IS WHITEWASHED The parlor where Mr. Swift had asked Andy to wait, adjoined the library, and there was a connecting door, over which heavy curtains were draped. Tom quickly pulled them aside and stepped into the parlor. The connecting door had been open slightly, and in a flash the young inventor realized that it was perfectly possible for any one in the next room to have heard most of the talk about the city of gold. A glance across the room showed Andy seated on the far side, apparently engaged in reading a book. "Did you want to see me?" asked Tom sharply. His father and the others in the library listened intently. Tom wondered what in the world Andy could want of him, since the two were never in good tame, and Andy cherished a resentment even since our hero had rescued him from the African jungle. "No, I didn't come to see you," answered Andy quickly, laying aside the book and rising to face Tom. "Then what--" "I came to see your father," interrupted the red-haired bully. "I have a letter for him from my father; but I guess Mr. Swift misunderstood me when he let me in." "Did you tell him you wanted to see me?" asked Tom suspiciously, thinking Andy had made a mistatement in order to have a longer time to wait. "No, I didn't, but I guess your father must have been thinking about something else, for he told me to come in here and sit down. I've been waiting ever since, and just now Mrs. Baggert passed and saw me. She--" "Yes, she said you were here," spoke Tom significantly. "Well, then it's my father you want to see. I'll tell him." Tom hurried back to the library. "Dad," he said, "it's you that Andy wants to see. He has a letter from Mr. Foger for you." "For me? What in the world can it be about? He never wrote to me before. I must have misunderstood Andy. But then it's no wonder for my head is so full of my new gyroscope plans. There is a certain spring I can't seem to get right--" "Perhaps you'd better see what Andy wants," suggested Mr. Damon gently. He looked at Tom. They were both thinking of the same thing. "I will," replied Mr. Swift quickly, and he passed into the library. "I wonder how much Andy heard?" asked Ned, in a low voice. "Oh, I don't believe it could have been very much," answered Tom. "No, I stopped you just in time," rejoined his chum, "or you might have blurted out the name of the city near where the buried gold is." "Yes, we must guard our secret well, Tom," put in Mr. Damon. "Well, Andy couldn't have known anything about the letter I got," declared Tom, "and if he only heard snatches of our talk it won't do him much good." "The only trouble is he's been there long enough to have heard most of it." suggested Ned. They could talk freely now, for in going into the parlor Mr. Swift had tightly closed the door after him. They could just hear the murmur of his voice speaking to Andy. "Well, even if he does guess about the city of gold, and its location, I don't believe he'll try to go there," remarked Tom, after a pause. A moment later they heard Mr. Swift letting Andy out of the front door, and then the inventor rejoined his son and the others. He held an open letter in his hand. "This is strange--very strange," he murmured. "What is it?" asked Tom quickly. "Why, Mr. Foger has written to me asking to be allowed to sell some of our patents and machines on commission." "Sell them on commission!" exclaimed his son. "Why does a millionaire like Mr. Foger want to be selling goods on commission? It's only a trick!" "No, it's not a trick," said Mr. Swift slowly. "He is in earnest. Tom, Mr. Foger has lost his millions. His fortune has been swept away by unfortunate investments, he tells me, and he would be glad of any work I could give him. That's why Andy brought the letter to-night. I just sent him back with an answer." "What did you say, dad?" "I said I'd think it over." "Mr. Foger's millions gone," mused Tom. "And Andy in there listening to what we said about the city of gold," added Ned. "No wonder he was glad the door was open. He'd be there in a minute, Tom, if he could, and so would Mr. Foger, if he thought he could get rich. He wouldn't have to sell goods on commission if he could pick up a few of the golden images." "That's right," agreed Tom, with an uneasy air. "I wish I knew just how much Andy had heard. But perhaps it wasn't much." The time was to come, however, when Tom was to learn to his sorrow that Andy Foger had overheard a great deal. "Bless my bankbook!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I never dreamed of such a thing! Andy had every reason in the world for not wanting us to know he was in there! No wonder he kept quiet. I'll wager all the while he was as close to the open door as he could get, hoping to overhear about the location of the place, so he could help his father get back his lost fortune. Bless my hatband! It's a good thing Mrs. Baggert told us he was there." They all agreed with this, and then, as there was no further danger of being overheard, they resumed their talk about the city of gold. It was decided that they would have to wait the arrival of another letter from Mr. Illingway before starting for Mexico. "Well, as long as that much is settled, I think I'd better be going home," suggested Mr. Damon. "I know my wife will be anxious about me." "I'll get out the sky racer and you'll be in Waterford in a jiffy," said Tom, and he kept his word, for the speedy aeroplane carried him and his guest rapidly through the night, bringing Tom safely back home. It was several days after this, during which time Tom and Ned had had many talks about the proposed trip. They had figured on what sort of a craft to use in the journey. Tom had about decided on a small, but very powerful, dirigible balloon, that could be packed in a small compass and taken along. "This city may be in some mountain valley, and a balloon will be the only way we can get to it," he told Ned. "That's right," agreed his chum. "By the way, you haven't heard any more about Andy; have you?" "Not a thing. Haven't even seen him. None of us have." "There goes Rad, I wonder if he's seen him." "No, or he'd have mentioned it to me. Hey, Rad," Tom called to the colored man, "what are you going to do?" "Whitewash de back fence, Massa Tom. It's in a mos' disrupted state ob disgrace. I'se jest natchally got t' whitewash it." "All right, Rad, and when you get through come back here. I've got another job for you." "A'right, Massa Tom, I shorely will," and Rad limped off with his pail of whitewash, and the long-handled brush. It may have been fate that sent Andy Foger along the rear road a little later, and past the place where Eradicate was making the fence less "disrupted." It may have been fate or Andy may have just been sneaking along to see if he could overhear anything of Tom's plans--a trick of which he was frequently guilty. At any rate, Andy walked past where Eradicate was whitewashing. The colored man saw the red-haired lad coming and murmured: "Dere's dat no 'count white trash! I jest wish Massa Tom was here now. He'd jest natchally wallop Andy," and Eradicate moved his longhandled brush up and down, as though he were coating the Foger lad with the white stuff. As it happened, Eradicate was putting some of the liquid on a particularly rough spot in the fence, a spot low down, and this naturally made the handle of his brush stick out over the sidewalk, and at this moment Andy Foger got there. "Here, you black rascal!" the lad angrily exclaimed. "What do you mean by blocking the sidewalk that way? It's against the law, and I could have you arrested for that." "No, could yo' really now?" asked Eradicate drawlingly for he was not afraid of Andy. "Yes, I could, and don't you give me any of your back-talk! Get that brush out of the way!" and Andy kicked the long handle. The natural result followed. The other end of the brush, wet with whitewash, described a curve through the air, coming toward the mean bully. And as the blow of Andy's foot jarred the brush loose, the next moment it fell right on Andy's head, the white liquid trickling down on his clothes, for Eradicate was not a miser when it came to putting on whitewash. For a moment Andy could not speak. Then he burst out with: "Hi! You did that on purpose! I'll have you in jail for that! Look at my hat, it's ruined! Look at my clothes! They're ruined! Oh, I'll make you pay for this!" "Deed, it shore was a accident," said Eradicate, trying not to laugh. "You done did it yo'se'f!" "I did not! You did it on purpose; Tom Swift put you in on this! I'll--I'll--" But Andy had to stop and splutter for some of the lime ran down off his hat into his mouth, and he yelled: "I'll--I'll--Ouch! Phew! Woof! Oof! Oh!" Then, in his rage, he made a blind rush for Eradicate. Now the colored man had no fear of Andy, but he did not want the pail of whitewash to upset, and the said pail was right in the path of the advancing youth. "Look out!" cried Eradicate. "I'll make you look out!" spluttered Andy. "I'll thrash you for this!" Eradicate caught up his pail. He did not want to have the trouble of mixing more of the liquid. Just as he lifted it Andy aimed a kick for him. But he mis-calculated, and his foot struck the bottom of the pail and sent it flying from the hands of the colored man. Sent it flying right toward Andy himself, for Eradicate jumped back out of the way. And the next moment a veritable deluge of whitewash was sprayed and splashed and splattered over Andy, covering him with the snowy liquid from head to foot! CHAPTER IV A PERILOUS FLIGHT There was silence for a moment--there had to be--for Eradicate was doubled over with mirth and could not even laugh aloud, and as for Andy the whitewash running down his face and over his mouth effectually prevented speech. But the silence did not last long. Just as Eradicate caught his breath, and let out a hearty laugh, Andy succeeded in wiping some of the liquid from his face so that it was safe to open his mouth. Then he fairly let out a roar of rage. "I'll have you put in jail for that, Eradicate Sampson!" he cried. "You've nearly killed me: You'll suffer for this! My father will sue you for damages, too! Look at me! Look at me!" "Dat's jest what I'se doin', honey! Jest what I'se doin'!" gasped Eradicate, hardly able to speak from laughter. "Yo' suah am a most contrary lookin' specimen! Yo' suah is! Ha! Ha!" "Stop it!" commanded Andy. "Don't you dare laugh at me, after throwing whitewash on me." "I didn't throw no whitewash on you!" protested the colored man. "Yo' done poured it over yo'se'f, dat's what yo' done did. An' I jest cain't help laughin', honey. I jest natchally cain't! Yo' look so mortally distressed, dat's what yo' does!" Andy's rage might have been dangerous, but the very excess of it rendered him incapable of doing anything. He was wild at Eradicate and would willingly have attacked him, but the whitewash was beginning to soak through his clothes, and he was so wet and miserable that soon all the fight oozed out of him. Then, too, though Eradicate was old, he was strong and he still held the long handle of the whitewash brush, no unformidable weapon. So Andy contented himself with verbal abuse. He called Eradicate all the mean names he could think of, ending up with: "You won't hear the last of this for a long time, either. I'll have you, and your old rack of bones, your mule Boomerang, run out of town, that's what I will." "What's dat? Yo' all gwine t'hab Boomerang run out ob town?" demanded Eradicate, a sudden change coming over him. His mule was his most beloved possession. "Lemme tell yo' one thing, Massa Andy. I'se an old colored man, an' I ain't much 'count mebby. But ef yo' dare lay one finger on mah mule Boomerang, only jest one finger, mind you', why I'll--I'll jest natchally drown yo'--all in whitewash, dat's what I'll do!" Eradicate drew himself up proudly, and boldly faced Andy. The bully shrank back. He knew better than to arouse the colored man further. "You'll suffer for this," predicted the bully. "I'm not going to forget it. Tom Swift put you up to this, and I'll take it out of him the next time I see him. He's to blame." "Now looky heah, honey!" said Eradicate quick. "Doan't yo' all git no sich notion laik dat in yo' head. Massa Tom didn't tell me to do noth'in an I ain't. He ain't eben 'round yeh. An' annudder thing. Yo'se t' blame to' this yo' own se'f. Ef yo' hadn't gone fo' is kick de bucket it nebber would 'a happened. It's yo' own fault, honey, an' doan't yo' forgit dat! No, yo' better go home an' git some dry clothes on." It was good advice, for Andy was soaking wet. He glared angrily at Eradicate, and then swung off down the road, the whitewash dripping from his garments at every step. "Land a massy! But he suah did use up all mah lime." complained Eradicate, as he picked up the overturned pail. "I's got t' make mo'. But I doan't mind," he added cheerfully, and then, as he saw the woe-begone figure of Andy shuffling along, he laughed heartily, fitted the brush on the handle and went to tell Tom and Ned what had happened, and make more whitewash. "Hum! Served him right," commented the young inventor. "I suppose he'll try to play some mean trick on you now," commented Ned. "He'll think you had some hand in what Rad did." "Let him," answered Tom. "If he tries any of his games I'll be ready for him." "Maybe we'll soon be able to start for the city of gold," suggested Ned. "I'm afraid not in some time," was his chum's reply. "It's going to take quite a while to get ready, and then we've got to wait to hear from Mr. Illingway. I wonder if it's true that Mr. Foger has lost his fortune; or was that only a trick?" "Oh, it's true enough," answered Ned. "I heard some of the bank officials talking about it the other day." Ned was employed in one of the Shopton banks, an institution in which Tom and his father owned considerable stock. "He hasn't hardly any money left, and he may leave town and go out west, I heard." "He can't go any too soon to suit me," spoke Tom, "and I hope he takes Andy with him." "Your father isn't going to have any business dealings with Mr. Foger then?" "I guess not. Dad doesn't trust him. But say, Ned, what do you say to a little trip in my sky racer? I want to go over to Waterford and see Mr. Damon. We can talk about our trip, and he was going to get some big maps of Central Mexico to study. Will you come?" "I will this afternoon. I've got to go to the bank now." "All right, I'll wait for you. In the meanwhile I'll be tuning up the motor. It didn't run just right the other night." The two chums separated, Ned to go downtown to the bank, while Tom hastened to the shed where he kept his speedy little air craft. Meanwhile Eradicate went on whitewashing the fence, pausing every now and then to chuckle at the memory of Andy Foger. Tom found that some minor adjustments had to be made to the motor, and they took him a couple of hours to complete. It was nearly noon when he finished, and leaving the sky racer in the open space in front of the shed, he went in the house to wash up, for his face and hands were begrimed with dirt and oil. "But the machine's in good shape," he said to the housekeeper when she objected to his appearance, "and Ned and I will have a speedy spin this afternoon." "Oh, you reckless boys! Risking your lives in those aeroplanes!" exclaimed Mrs. Baggert. "Why, they're safer than street cars!" declared Tom with a laugh. "Just think how often street cars collide, and you never heard of an aeroplane doing that." "No, but think what happens when they fall." "That's it!" cried Tom gaily, "when they fall you don't have time to think. But is dinner ready? I'm hungry." "Never saw you when you weren't." commented the housekeeper laughing. "Yes, you can sit right down. We won't wait for your father. He said he'd be late as he wants to find something about his gyroscope. I never did any such people as inventors for spoiling their meals," she added as she put dinner on the table. Mr. Swift came in before his son had finished. "Was Andy Foger here to see me again?" he asked. "No, why do you ask?" inquired Tom quickly. "I just saw him out by the aeroplane shed, and--" Tom jumped up without another word, and hurried to where his sky racer rested on its bicycle wheels. He breathed more easily when he saw that Andy was not in sight, and a hurried inspection of the aeroplane did not disclose that it had been tampered with. "Anything the matter?" asked Mr. Swift, as he followed his son. "No, but when you mentioned that Andy was out here I thought he might have been up to some of his tricks. He had a little trouble with Eradicate this morning, and he threatened to get even with me for it." And Tom told of the whitewashing incident. "I just happened to see him as I was coming to dinner," went on the aged inventor. "He hurried off--when he noticed me, but I thought he might have been here to leave another letter." "No," said Tom. "I must tell Eradicate to keep his weather eye open for him, though. No telling what Andy'll do. Well, I must finish eating, or Ned will be here before I'm through." After dinner, Ned arrived, and helped Tom start the motor. With a roar and a bang the swift little machine rapidly got up speed, the propellers whizing so fast that they looked like blurs of light. The sky racer was held back by a rope, as Tom wanted to note the "pull" of the propellers, the force they exerted against the air being registered on a spring balance. "What does it say, Ned?" cried the young inventor as he adjusted the carburettor. "A shade over nine hundred pounds." "Guess that'll do. Hop in, and I'll cast off from the seat." This Tom frequently did when there was no one available to hold the aeroplane for him while he mounted. He could pull a cord, loosen the retaining rope, and away the craft would go. The two chums were soon seated side by side and then Tom, grasping the steering wheel, turned on full power and jerked the releasing rope. Over the ground shot the sky racer, quickly attaining speed until, with a deft motion, the young inventor tilted the deflecting rudder and up into the air they shot. "Oh, this is glorious!" cried Ned, for, though he had often taken trips with Tom, every time he went up he seemed to enjoy it more. Higher and higher they rose, and then with the sharp nose of the craft turned in the proper direction they sailed off well above the trees and houses toward Waterford. "Guess I'll go up a bit higher," Tom yelled into his chums ear when they were near their destination. "Then I can make a spiral glide to earth. I haven't practiced that lately." Up and up went the sky racer, until it was well over the town of Waterford, where Mr. Damon lived. "There's his place!" yelled Ned, pointing downward. He had to yell to be heard above the noise of the motor. Tom nodded in reply. He, too, had picked out Mr. Damon's large estate. There were many good landing places on it, one near the house for which Tom headed. The aeroplane shot downward, like a bird darting from the sky. Tom grasped the rudder lever more firmly. He looked below him, and then, suddenly he uttered a cry of terror. "What is it?" yelled Ned. "The rudder! The deflecting rudder! It's jammed, and I can't throw her head up! We're going to smash into the ground, Ned! I can't control her! Something has gone wrong!" CHAPTER V NEWS FROM AFRICA Blankly, and with fear in his eyes, Ned gazed at Tom. The young inventor was frantically working at the levers, trying to loosen the jammed rudder--the rudder that enabled the sky racer to be tilted upward. "Can't you do it?" cried Ned. Tom shook his head helplessly, but he did not give up. Madly he worked on, and there was need of haste, for every moment the aeroplane was shooting nearer and nearer to the earth. Ned glanced down. They were headed for the centre of a large grass plot and the bank employee found himself grimly thinking that at least the turf would be softer to fall on than bare ground. "I--I can't imagine what's happened!" cried Tom. He was still yanking on the lever, but it would not move, and unless the head of the aeroplane was thrown up quickly, to catch the air, and check its downward flight, they would both be killed. "Shut off the engine and vol-plane!" cried Ned. "No use," answered Tom. "I can't vol-plane when I can't throw her head up to check her." But he did shut off the banging, throbbing motor, and then in silence they continued to fall. Ned had half a notion to jump, but he knew that would mean instant death, and there was just a bare chance that if he stayed in the machine it would take off some of the shock. They could see Mr. Damon now. The old man had run out of his house at the sight of the approaching aeroplane. He knew it well, for he had ridden with Tom many times. He looked up and waved his hand to the boys, but he had no idea of their danger, and he could not have helped them had he been aware of it. He must have soon guessed that something was wrong though, for a moment later, the lads could hear him shout in terror, and could see him motion to them. Later he said he saw that Tom was coming down at too great an inclination, and he feared that the machine could not be thrown up into the wind quickly enough! "Here goes something--the lever or the rudder!" cried Tom in desperation, as he gave it a mighty yank. Up to now he had not pulled with all his strength as he feared to break some connecting-rod, wire or lever. But now he must take every chance. "If I can get that rudder up even a little we're safe!" he went on. Once more he gave a terrific pull on the handle. There was a snapping sound and Tom gave a yell of delight. "That's the stuff!" he cried. "She's moving! We're all right now!" And the rudder had moved only just in time, for when the aeroplane was within a hundred feet of the earth the head was suddenly elevated and she glided along on a level "keel." "Look out!" yelled Ned, for a new danger presented. They were so near the earth that Tom had over-run his original stepping place, and now the sky racer was headed directly for Mr. Damon's house, and might crash into it. "All right! I've got her in hand!" said the young inventor reassuringly. Tom tilted the rudder at a sharp angle to have the air pressure act as a brake. At the same time he swerved the craft to one side so that there was no longer any danger of crashing into the house. "Bless my--" began Mr. Damon, but in the excitement he really didn't know what to bless, so he stopped short. A moment later, feeling that the momentum had been checked enough to make it safe to land, Tom directed the craft downward again and came gracefully to earth, a short distance away from his eccentric friend. "Whew!" gasped the young inventor, as he leaped from his seat. "That was a scary time while it lasted." "I should say so!" agreed Ned. "Bless my straw hat!" cried Mr. Damon. "What happened? Did you lose control of her, Tom?" "No, the deflecting rudder got jammed, and I couldn't move it. I must look and see what's the matter." "I thought it was all up with you," commented Mr. Damon, as he followed Tom and Ned to the front end of the craft, where the deflecting mechanism was located. Tom glanced quickly over it. His quick eye caught something, and he uttered an exclamation. "Look!" the young inventor cried. "No wonder it jammed!" and from a copper sleeve, through which ran the wire that worked the rudder, he pulled a small iron bolt. "That got between the sleeve and the wire, and I couldn't move it," he explained. "But when I pulled hard I loosened it." "How did it fall in there?" asked Ned. "It didn't FALL there." spoke Tom quietly. "It was PUT there." "Put there! Bless my insurance policy! Who did such a dastardly trick?" cried Mr. Damon. "I don't know," answered Tom still quietly, "but I suspect it was Andy Foger, and he was never any nearer to putting us out of business than a little while ago, Ned." "Do you mean to say that he deliberately tried to injure you?" asked Mr. Damon. "Well, he may not have intended to hurt us, but that's what would have happened if I hadn't been able to throw her up into the wind when I did," replied Tom. Then he told of Mr. Swift having seen the red-haired bully near the aeroplane. "Andy may have only intended to put my machine out of working order," went on the young inventor, "but it might have been worse than that," and he could not repress a shudder. "Are you going to say anything to him?" asked Ned. "I certainly am!" replied Torn quickly. "He doesn't realize that he might have crippled us both for life. I sure am going to say something to him when I get back." But Tom did not get the chance, for when he and Ned returned to Shopton,--the sky racer behaving beautifully on the homeward trip,--it was learned that Mr. Foger had suddenly left town, taking Andy with him. "Maybe he knew I'd be after him," said Tom grimly, and so that incident was closed for the time being, but it was a long time before Tom and Ned got over their fright. They had a nice visit with Mr. Damon, and talked of the city of gold to their heart's content, looking at several large maps of Mexico that the eccentric man had procured, and locating, as well as they could from the meager map and description they had, where the underground treasures might be. "I suppose you are getting ready to go, Mr. Damon?" remarked Ned. "Hush!" cautioned the odd man, looking quickly around the room. "I haven't said anything to my wife about it yet. You know she doesn't like me to go off on these 'wild goose chases' as she calls them, with you, Tom Swift. But bless my railroad ticket! It's half the fun of my life." "Then don't you think you can go?" asked the young inventor eagerly, for he had formed a strong like for Mr. Damon, and would very much regret to go without him. "Oh, bless my necktie! I think I'll be able to manage it," was the answer. "I'm not going to tell her anything about it until the last minute, and then I'll promise to bring her back one of the golden images. She won't object then." "Good!" exclaimed Tom. "I hope we can all bring back some of the images." "Yes, I know who you'll bring one for," said Ned with a laugh, and he took care to get beyond the reach of Tom's fist. "Her first name is Mary," he added. "You get out!" laughed Tom, blushing at the same time. "Ah! What a thing it is to be young!" exclaimed Mr. Damon with a mock sigh. The boys laughed, for the old man, though well along in years, was a boy at heart. They talked at some length, speculating when they might hear from Mr. Illingway, and discussing the sort of an outfit that would be best to take with them. Then, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, Tom and Ned went back in the aeroplane, hearing the news about the Fogers as I have previously mentioned. "Well, I'll have to wait until I do see Andy to take it out of his hide," remarked Tom grimly. "I'm glad he's out of the way, though. There won't be any more danger of his overhearing our plans, and I can work in peace on the dirigible balloon." Though Tom had many air crafts, the one he thought best suited to take with them on their search for the city of gold would have to be constructed from parts of several machines, and it would take some time. Tom began work on it the next day, his father helping him, as did Mr. Damon and Ned occasionally. Several weeks were spent in this way, meanwhile the mails being anxiously watched for news from Africa. "Here you are, Tom!" called the postman one morning, as he walked out to the shop where the young inventor was busy over the balloon. "Here's another letter from that Buggy-wuggy place." "Oh, you mean Gumba Twamba, in Africa!" laughed the lad. "Good! That's what I've been waiting for. Now to see what the missionary says." "I hope you're not going to go as a missionary to Africa, Tom," said the postman. "No danger. This is just a letter from a friend there. He sent me some facts so I can go off on another expedition." "Oh, you're always going off on wild adventures," commented Uncle Sam's messenger with a shake of his head as he hurried away, while Tom tore open the letter from Africa and eagerly read it. CHAPTER VI "BEWARE THE HEAD-HUNTERS!" "That's what I want!" exclaimed the young inventor, as he finished the perusal of the missionary's missive. "What is it?" asked Mr. Swift, entering the shop at that moment. "News from Africa, dad. Mr. Illingway went to a lot of trouble to get more information for us about the city of gold, and he sends a better map. It seems there was one among the effects of the white man who died near where Mr. Illingway has his mission. With this map, and what additional information I have, we ought to locate the underground city. Look, dad," and the lad showed the map. "Humph!" exclaimed Mr. Swift with a smile. "I don't call that a very clear map. It shows a part of Central Mexico, that's true, but it's on such a small scale I don't see how you're going to tell anything by it." "But I have a description," explained Tom. "It seems according to Mr. Illingway's letter, that you have to go to the coast and strike into the interior until you are near the old city of Poltec. That used to be it's name, but Mr. Illingway says it may be abandoned now, or the name changed. But I guess we can find it." "Then, according to what he could learn from the African natives, who talked with the white man, the best way is to hire ox carts and strike into the jungle. That's the only way to carry our baggage, and the dirigible balloon which I'm going to take along." "Pretty uncertain way to look for a buried city of gold," commented Mr. Swift. "But I suppose even if you don't find it you'll have the fun of searching for it, Tom." "But we ARE going to find it!" the lad declared. "We'll get there, you'll see!" "But how are you going to know it when you see it?" asked his father. "If it's underground even a balloon won't help you much." "It's true it is underground," agreed Tom, "but there must be an entrance to it somewhere, and I'm going to hunt for that entrance. Mr. Illingway writes that the city is a very old one, and was built underground by the priests of some people allied to the Aztecs. They wanted a refuge in times of war and they also hid their valuables there. They must have been rich to have so much gold, or else they didn't value it as we do." "That might be so," assented Mr. Swift. "But I still maintain, Tom, that it's like looking for a needle in a haystack." "Still, I'm going to have a try for it," asserted the lad. "If I can once locate the plain of the big temple I'll be near the entrance to the underground city." "What is the 'plain of the big temple,' Tom?" "Mr. Illingway writes," said the lad, again referring to the letter, "that somewhere near the beginning of the tunnel that leads into the city of gold, there is an immense flat plain, on which the ancient Aztecs once built a great temple. Maybe they worshiped the golden images there. Anyhow the temple is in ruins now, near an overgrown jungle, according to the stories the white man used to tell. He once got as near the city of gold as the big temple, but hostile natives drove him and his party back. Then he went to Africa after getting an image from someone, and died there. So no one since has ever found the city of gold." "Well, I hope you do, Tom, but I doubt it. However, I suppose you will hurry your preparations for going away, now that you have all the information you can get." "Right, dad. I must send word to Mr. Damon and Ned at once. A few more days' work, and my balloon will be in shape for a trial flight, and then I can take it apart, pack it up, and ship it. Then ho! for the city of gold!" Mr. Swift smiled at his son's enthusiasm, but he did not check it. He knew Tom too well for that. Naturally Mr. Damon and Ned were delighted with the additional information the missionary had sent, and Ned agreed with Tom that it was a mere matter of diligent search to find the underground city. "Bless my collar button!" cried Mr. Damon. "It may not be as easy as all that, but Tom Swift isn't the kind that gives up! We'll get there!" Meanwhile Tom worked diligently on his balloon. He sent a letter of thanks to Mr. Illingway, at the same time requesting that if any more information was obtained within the next three weeks to cable it, as there would not be time for a letter to reach Shopton ere Tom planned to leave for Mexico. The following days were busy ones for all. There was much to be done, and Tom worked night and day. They had to get rifles ready, for they might meet hostile natives. Then, too, they had to arrange for the proper clothing, and other supplies. To take apart and ship the balloon was no small task, and then there were the passages to engage on a steamer that would land them at the nearest point to strike into the interior, the question of transportation after reaching Mexico, and many other matters to consider. But gradually things began to shape themselves and it looked as though the expedition could start for the city of gold in about two weeks after the receipt of the second letter from the missionary. "I think I'll give the balloon a trial to-morrow," said Tom one night, after a hard day's work, "It's all ready, and it ought to work pretty good. It will be just what we need to sail over some dense jungle and land down on the plain by the great temple." "Bless my slippers!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "I must think up some way of telling my wife that I'm going." "Haven't you told her yet?" asked Ned. The eccentric man shook his head. "I haven't had a good chance," he said, "but I think I'll tell her to-morrow, and promise her one of the gold images. Then she won't mind." Tom was just a little bit nervous when he got ready for a trial flight in the new dirigible balloon. To tell the truth he much preferred aeroplanes to balloons, but he realized that in a country where the jungle growth prevailed, and where there might be no level places to get a "take off," or a starting place for an aeroplane, the balloon was more feasible. But he need have had no fears, for the balloon worked perfectly. In the bag Tom used a new gas, much more powerful even than hydrogen, and which he could make from chemicals that could easily be carried on their trip. The air craft was small but powerful, and could easily carry Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon, together with a quantity of food and other supplies. They intended to use it by starting from the place where they would leave the most of their baggage, after getting as near to the city of gold as they could by foot trails. Tom hoped to establish a camp in the interior of Mexico, and make trips off in different directions to search for the ruined temple. If unsuccessful they could sail back each night, and if he should discover the entrance to the buried city there was food enough in the car of the balloon to enable them to stay away from camp for a week or more. In order to give the balloon a good test, Tom took up with him not only Ned and Mr. Damon, but Eradicate and Mr. Swift to equalize the weight of food and supplies that later would be carried. The test showed that the craft more than came up to expectations, though the trial trip was a little marred by the nervousness of the colored man. "I doan't jest laik dis yeah kind of travelin'," said Eradicate. "I'd radder be on de ground." Most of the remaining two weeks were spent in packing the balloon for shipment, and then the travelers got their own personal equipment ready. They put up some condensed food, but they depended on getting the major portion in Mexico. It was two days before they were to start. Their passage had been engaged on a steamer, and the balloon and most of their effects had been shipped. Mr. Damon had broken the news to his wife, and she had consented to allow him to go, though she said it would be for the last time. "But if I bring her back a nice, big, gold image I know she'll let me go on other trips with you, Tom." said the eccentric man. "Bless my yard stick, if I couldn't go off on an adventure now and then I don't know what I'd do." They were in the library of the Swift home that evening. Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon and the aged inventor, and of course the only thing talked of was the prospective trip to the city of gold. "What I can't understand," Mr. Swift was saying, "is why the natives made so many of the same images of gold, and why there is that large one in the underground place. What did they want of it?" "That's part of the mystery we hope to solve," said Tom. "I'm going to bring that big image home with me if I can. I guess--" He was interrupted by a ring at the front door. "I hope that isn't Andy Foger," remarked Ned. "No danger," replied Tom. "He'll keep away from here after what he did to my aeroplane." Mrs. Baggert went to the door. "A message for you, Tom," she announced a little later, handing in an envelope. "Hello, a cablegram!" exclaimed the young inventor. "It must be from Mr. Illingway, in Africa. It is," he added a moment later as he glanced at the signature. "What does he say?" asked Mr. Swift. "Can he give us any more definite information about the city of gold?" inquired Ned. "I'll read it," said Tom, and there was a curious, strained note in his voice. "This is what it says:" "'No more information obtainable. But if you go to the city of gold beware of the head-hunters!'" "Head-hunters!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my top-knot, what are they?" "I don't know," answered Tom simply, "but whatever they are we've got to be on the lookout for them when we get to the gold city, and that's where I'm going, head-hunters or no head-hunters!" CHAPTER VII TOM MAKES A PROMISE It may well be imagined that the cable warning sent by Mr. Illingway caused our friends considerable anxiety. Coming as it did, almost at the last minute, so brief--giving no particulars--it was very ominous. Yet Tom was not afraid, nor did any of the others show signs of fear. "Bless my shotgun!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he looked at the few words on the paper which Tom passed around. "I wish Mr. Illingway had said more about the head-hunters--or less." "What do you mean?" asked Ned. "Well, I wish he'd given us more particulars, told us where we might be on the lookout for the head-hunters, what sort of chaps they were, and what they do to a fellow when they catch him." "Their name seems plainly to indicate what they do," spoke Mr. Swift grimly. "They cut off the head of their enemies, like that interesting Filipino tribe. But perhaps they may not get after you. If they do--" "If they do," interrupted Tom with a laugh, "we'll hop in our dirigible balloon, and get above THEIR heads, and then I guess we can give a good account of ourselves. But would you rather Mr. Illingway had said less about them, Mr. Damon?" "Yes, I wish, as long as he couldn't tell us more, that he'd kept quiet about them altogether. It's no fun to be always on the lookout for danger. I'm afraid it will get on my nerves, to be continually looking behind a rock, or a tree, for a head-hunter. Bless my comb and brush!" "Well, 'forewarned is forearmed,'" quoted Ned. "We won't think anything more about them. It was kind of Mr. Illingway to warn us, and perhaps the head-hunters have all disappeared since that white traveler was after the city of gold. Some story which he told his friends, the natives in Africa, is probably responsible for the missionary's warning. Let's check over our lists of supplies, Tom, and see if we have everything down!" "Can't you do that alone, Ned?" "Why?" and Ned glanced quickly at his chum. Mr. Damon and Mr. Swift had left the room. "Well, I've get an engagement--a call to make, and--" "Enough said, old man. Go ahead. I know what it is to be in love. I'll check the lists. Go see--" "Now don't get fresh!" advised Tom with a laugh, as he went to his room to get ready to pay a little visit. "I say, Tom," called Ned after him. "What about Eradicate? Are you going to take him along? He'd be a big help." "I know he would, but he doesn't want to go. He balked worse than his mule Boomerang when I spoke about an underground city. He said he didn't want to be buried before his time. I didn't tell him we were going after gold, for sometimes Rad talks a bit too much, and I don't want our plans known." "But I did tell him that Mexico was a great place for chickens, and that he might see a bull fight." "Did he rise to that bait?" "Not a bit of it. He said he had enough chickens of his own, and he never did like bulls anyhow. So I guess we'll have to get along without Rad." "It looks like it. Well, go and enjoy yourself. I'll wait here until you come back, though I know you'll be pretty late, but I want to make sure of our lists." "All right, Ned," and Tom busied himself with his personal appearance, for he was very particular when going to call on young ladies. A little later he was admitted to her house by Miss Mary Nestor, and the two began an animated conversation, for this was in the nature of a farewell call by Tom. "And you are really about to start off on your wild search?" asked the girl. "My! It seems just like something out of a book!" "Doesn't it?" agreed Tom. "However, I hope there's more truth in it than there is in some books. I should hate to be disappointed, after all our preparation, and not find the buried city after all." "Do you really think there is so much gold there?" "Of course there's a good deal of guesswork about it," admitted the young inventor, "and it may be exaggerated, for such things usually are when a traveler has to depend on the accounts of natives." "But it is certain that there is a big golden image in the interior of Africa, and that it came from Mexico. Mr. Illingway isn't a person who could easily be deceived. Then, too, the old Aztecs and their allies were wonderful workers in gold and silver, for look at what Cortez and his soldiers took from them." "My! This is quite like a lecture in history!" exclaimed Mary with a laugh. "But it's interesting. I wonder if there are any SMALL, golden images there, as you say there are so many in the underground city." "Lots of them!" exclaimed Tom, as confidently as though he had seen them. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Mary. I'll bring you back one of these golden images for an ornament. It would look nice on that shelf I think," and Tom pointed to a vacant space on the mantle. "I'll bring you a large one or a small one, or both, Mary." "Oh, you reckless boy! Well, I suppose it WOULD be nice to have two, for they must be very valuable. But I'm not going to tax you too much. If you bring me back two SMALL ones, I'll put one down here and the other--" She paused and blushed slightly. "Yes, and the other," suggested Tom. "I'll put the other up in my room to remember you by," she finished with a laugh, "so pick out one that is nicely carved. Some of those foreign ones, such as the Chinese have, are hideous." "That's right," agreed Tom, "and I'll see that you get a nice one. Those Aztecs used to do some wonderful work in gold and silver carving. I've seen specimens in the museum." Then the two young people fell to talking of the wonderful trip that lay before Tom, and Mary, several times, urged him to be careful of the dangers he would be likely to encounter. Tom said nothing to her of the head-hunters. He did not want to alarm Miss Nestor, and then, too, he thought the less he allowed his mind to dwell on that unpleasant feature of the journey, the less likely it would be to get on the nerves of all of them. Ned was right when he predicted that Tom would make quite a lengthy visit. There was much to talk about and he did not expect to see Mary again for some time. But finally he realized that he must leave, and with a renewed promise to bring back with him the two small gold images, and after saying good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, Tom took his leave. "If you get marooned in the underground city, Tom," said Mr. Nestor, "I hope you can rig up a wireless outfit, and get help, as you did for us on Earthquake Island." "I hope so," answered our hero with a laugh, and then, a little saddened by his farewell, and pondering rather solemnly on what lay before him--the dangers of travel as well as those of the head-hunters--Tom hastened back to his own home. The young inventor found Ned busy over the list of supplies, diligently checking it and comparing it with the one originally made out, to see that nothing had been omitted. Mr. Damon had gone to his room, for he was to remain at the Swift house until he left with the gold-hunting expedition. "Oh, you've got back, have you?" asked Tom's chum, with a teasing air. "I thought you'd given up the trip to the city of gold." "Oh, cheese it!" invited Tom. "Come on, now I'll help you. Where's Eradicate? I want him to go out and see that the shop is locked up." "He was in here a while ago and he said he was going to look after things outside. He told me quite a piece of news." "What was it?" "It seems that the Foger house has been sold, the furniture was all moved out to-day, and the family has left, bag and baggage. I asked Rad if he had heard where to, and he said someone down in the village was saying that Andy and his father have engaged passage on some ship that sails day after to-morrow." "Day after to-morrow!" cried Tom. "Why, that's when ours sails! I hope Andy didn't hear enough of our plans that night to try to follow us." "It would be just like him," returned Ned, "but I don't think they'll do it. They haven't enough information to go on. More likely Mr. Foger is going to try some new ventures to get back his lost fortune." "Well, I hope he and Andy keep away from us. They make trouble everywhere they go. Now come on, get busy." And, though Tom tried to drive from his mind the thoughts of the Fogers, yet it was with an uneasy sense of some portending disaster that he went on with the work of preparing for the trip into the unknown. He said nothing to Ned about it, but perhaps his chum guessed. "That'll do," said Tom after an hour's labor. "We'll call it a night's work and quit. Can't you stay here--we've got several spare beds." "No, I'm expected home." "I'll walk a ways with you," said Tom, and when he had left his chum at his house our hero returned by a street that would take him past the Foger residence. It was shrouded in darkness. "Everybody's cleared out," said Tom in a low voice as he glance at the gloomy house. "Well, all I hope is that they don't camp on our trail." CHAPTER VIII ERADICATE WILL GO "I guess everything is all ready," remarked Tom, "I can't think of anything more to do," said Ned. "Bless my grip-sack!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "if there IS, someone else has got to do it. I'm tired to death! I never thought getting ready to go off on a simple little trip was so much work. We ought to have made the whole journey from start to finish in an airship, Tom, as we've done before." "It was hardly practical," answered the young inventor. "I'm afraid we'll be searching for this underground city for some time, and we'll only need an airship or a dirigible balloon for short trips here and there. We've got to go a good deal by information the natives can furnish us, and we can't get at them very well when sailing in the air." "That's right," agreed the eccentric man. "Well, I'm glad we're ready to start." It was the evening of the day before they were to leave for New York, there to take steamer to a small port on the Mexican coast, and every one was busy putting the finishing details to the packing of his personal baggage. The balloon, taken apart for easy transportation, had been sent on ahead, as had most of their supplies, weapons and other needed articles. All they would carry with them were handbags, containing some clothing. "Then you've fully made up your mind not to go; eh Rad?" asked Tom of the colored man, who was busy helping them pack. "You won't take a chance in the underground city?" "No, Massa Tom, I's gwine t' stay home an' look after yo' daddy. 'Sides, Boomerang is gettin' old, an' when a mule gits along in yeahs him temper ain't none ob de best." "Boomerang's temper never was very good, anyhow," said Tom. "Many's the time he's balked on you, Rad." "I know it, Massa Tom, but dat jest shows what strong character he done hab. Nobody kin manage dat air mule but me, an' if I were to leave him, dere suah would be trouble. No, I cain't go to no underground city, nohow." "But if you found some of the golden images you could buy another mule--two of 'em if you wanted that many," said Ned, and a moment later he remembered that Tom did not want the colored man to know anything about the trip after gold. He had been led to believe that it was merely a trip to locate an ancient city. "Did yo' done say GOLDEN images?" asked Eradicate, his eyes big with wonder. Ned glanced apologetically at Tom, and said, with a shrug of his shoulders: "Well, I--" "Oh, we might as well tell him," interrupted the young inventor. "Yes, Rad, we expect to bring back some images of solid gold from the underground city. If you go along you might get some for your self. Of course there's nothing certain about it, but--" "How--how big am dem gold images, Massa Tom?" asked Eradicate eagerly. "You've got him going now, Tom," whispered Ned. "How big?" repeated Tom musingly. "Hum, well, there's one that is said to be bigger than three men, and there must be any number of smaller ones--say boy's size, and from that on down to the real little ones, according to Mr. Illingway." "Real gold--yellow, gold images as big as a man," said Eradicate in a dreamy voice. "An'--an' some big as boys. By golly, Massa Tom, am yo' suah ob dat?" "Pretty sure. Why, Rad?" "Cause I's gwine wid yo', dat's why! I didn't know yo' all was goin' after gold. My golly I's gwine along! Look out ob mah way, ef yo' please,--Mr. Damon. I'se gwine t' pack up an' go. Am it too late to git me a ticket, Massa Tom?" "No, I guess there's room on the ship. But say, Rad, I don't want you to talk about this gold image part of it. You can say we're going to look for an underground city, but no more, mind you!" "Trust me, Massa Tom; trust me. I--I'll jest say BRASS images, dat's what I'll say--BRASS! We's gwine after brass, an' not GOLD. By golly, I'll fool 'em!" "No, don't say anything about the images--brass or gold," cautioned Tom. "But, Rad, there's another thing. We may run across the head-hunters down there in Mexico." "Head-hunters? What's dem?" "They crush you, and chop off your head for an ornament." "Ha! Ha! Den I ain't in no danger, Massa Tom. Nobody would want de head ob an old colored man fo' an ornament. By golly! I's safe from dem head-hunters! Yo' can't scare me dat way. I's gwine after some of dem gold images, I is, an' ef I gits some I'll build de finest stable Boomerang ever saw, an' he kin hab oats fo' times a day. Dat's what I's gwine t' do. Now look out ob mah way, Mr. Damon, ef yo' pleases. I's gwine t' pack up," and Eradicate shuffled off, chuckling to himself and muttering over and over again: "Gold images! Gold images! Images ob solid gold! Think ob dat! By golly!" "Think he'll give the secret away, Tom?" asked Ned. "No. And I'm glad he's going. Four makes a nice party, and Rad will make himself useful around camp. I've been sorry ever since he said he wouldn't go, on account of the good cooking I'd miss, for Rad is sure a fine cook." "Bless my knife and fork, that's so!" agreed Mr. Damon. So complete were the preparations of our friends that nothing remained to do the next morning. Eradicate had his things all in readiness, and when good-byes had been said to Mr. Swift, and Mrs. Baggert, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon, followed by the faithful colored man, set off for the depot to take the train for New York. There they were to take a coast steamer for Tampico, Mexico, and once there they could arrange for transportation into the interior. The journey to New York was uneventful, but on arrival there they met with their first disappointment. The steamer on which they were to take passage had been delayed by a storm, and had only just arrived at her dock. "It will take three days to get her cargo out, clean the boilers, load another cargo in her and get ready to sail," the agent informed them. "Then what are we to do?" asked Ned. "Guess we'll have to wait; that's all," answered Tom. "It doesn't much matter. We're in no great rush, and it will give us three days around New York. We'll see the sights." "Bless my spectacles! Its an ill wind that blows nobody good," remarked Mr. Damon, "I've been wanting to visit New York for some time, and here's my chance." "We'll go to a good hotel," said Tom, "and enjoy ourselves as long as we have to wait for the steamer." CHAPTER IX "THAT LOOKED LIKE ANDY!" What seemed at first as if it was going to be a tedious time of waiting, proved to be a delightful experience, for our friends found much to occupy their attention in New York. Tom and Ned went to several theatrical performances, and wanted Mr. Damon to go with them, but the odd man said he wanted to visit several museums and other places of historical interest, so, while he was browsing around that way, the boys went to Bronx Park, and to Central Park, to look at the animals, and otherwise enjoy themselves. Eradicate put in his time in his own way. Much of it was spent in restaurants where chicken and pork chops figured largely on the bills of fare, for Tom had plentifully supplied the colored man with money, and did not ask an accounting. "What else do you do besides eat, Rad?" asked Ned with a laugh, the second day of their stay in New York. "I jest natchally looks in de jewelery store windows," replied Eradicate with a grin on his honest black face. "I looks at all de gold ornaments, an' I tries t' figger out how much better mah golden images am gwine t' be." "But don't you go in, and ask what a gold image the size of a man would be worth!" cautioned Tom. "The jeweler might think you were crazy, and he might suspect something." "No, Massa Tom, I won't do nuffin laik dat," promised Eradicate. "But, Massa Tom, how much DOES yo' 'spect a image laik dat WOULD be worth?" "Haven't the least idea, Rad. Enough, though, to make you rich for the rest of your life." "Good land a' massy!" gasped Eradicate, and he spent several hours trying to do sums in arithmetic on scraps of paper. "Hurrah!" cried Tom, when, on the morning of the third day of their enforced stay in New York, a letter was sent up to his room by the hotel clerk. "What's up?" asked Ned. "I didn't know that you sent Mary word that you were here." "I didn't, you old scout!" cried Tom. "This is from the steamship company, saying that the steamer Maderia, on which we have taken passage for Mexico, will sail to-night at high tide. That's the stuff! At last we'll really get on our way." "Bless my notebook!" cried Mr. Damon. "I hoped we'd stay at least another day here. I haven't seen half enough in the museums." "You'll see stranger things than in any museum when we get to the underground city," predicted Tom. "Come on, Ned, we'll take in a moving picture show, have our last lunch in the big city, and then go aboard." So impatient were the travelers to go on board the steamer that they arrived several hours before the time set for sailing. Many others did the same thing, however, as supper was to be served on the Maderia. Though it was within a few hours of leaving time there seemed so much to be done, such a lot of cargo to stow away, and so much coal to put into the bunkers, that Tom and the others might well be excused for worrying about whether or not they really would sail. Big trucks drawn by powerful horses thundered down the long dock. Immense automobiles laden with boxes, barrels and bales puffed to the loading gangways. There was the puffing and whistling of the donkey engines as they hoisted into the big holds the goods intended for export. At the side of the steamer were grimy coal barges, into which was dipped an endless chain of buckets carrying the coal to the bunkers. Stevadores were running here and there, orders and counter-orders were being given, and the confusion must have been maddening to any one not accustomed to it. "Bless my walking stick!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "We'll never get off to-night, I'm positive." "Dat's right," agreed Eradicate. "Look at all dat coal dey's got to load in." "Oh, they knew how to hustle at the last minute," said Tom, and so it proved. Gradually the loading was finished. The coal barges were emptied and towed away. Truck after truck departed from the dock empty, having left its load in the interior of the steamer. One donkey engine after another ceased to puff, and the littered decks were cleared. "Let's watch the late-comers get aboard," suggested Ned to Tom, when they had arranged things in their stateroom. The two boys and Mr. Damon had a large one to themselves and Eradicate had been assigned a small one not far from them. "That'll make the time pass until supper is ready," agreed the young inventor, so they took their station near the main gangway and watched the passengers hurrying up. There were many going to make the trip to Mexico it seemed, and later the boys learned that a tourist agency had engaged passage for a number of its patrons. "That fat man will never get up the slope unless some one pushes him," remarked Ned, pointing to a very fleshy individual who was struggling up the steep gangplank, carrying a heavy valise. For the tide was almost at flood and the deck of the steamer was much elevated. Indeed it seemed at one moment as if the heavy-weight passenger would slide backward instead of getting aboard. "Go give him a hand, Rad," suggested Tom, and the colored man obligingly relieved the fat man of his grip, thereby enabling him to give all his attention to getting up the plank. And it was this simple act on the part of Rad that was the cause of an uneasy suspicion coming to Tom and Ned. For, as Eradicate hastened to help the stout passenger, two others behind him, a man and a boy, started preciptably at the sight of the colored helper. So confused were they that it was noticed by Ned and his chum. "Look at that!" said Ned in a low voice, their attention drawn from the fat man to the man and youth immediately behind him. "You'd think they were afraid of meeting Rad." "That's right," agreed Tom, for the man and youth had halted, and seemed about to turn back, Then the man, with a quick gesture, tossed a steamer rug he was carrying over his shoulder up so that it hid his face. At the same time the lad with him, evidently in obedience to some command, pulled his cap well down over his face and turned up the collar of a light overcoat he was wearing. He also seemed to shrink down, almost as if he were deformed. "Say!" began Ned in wondering tones, "Tom, doesn't that look like--" "Andy Foger and his father!" burst out the young inventor in a horse whisper. "Ned, do you think it's possible?" "Hardly, and yet--" Ned paused in his answer to look more closely at the two who had aroused the suspicions of himself and Tom. But they had now crowded so close up behind the fat man whom Eradicate was assisting up the plank, that he partly hid them from sight, and the action of the two in covering their faces further aided them in disguising themselves, if such was their intention. "Oh, it can't be!" declared Tom. "If they were going to follow us they wouldn't dare go on the same steamer. It must be some one else. But it sure did look like Andy at first." "That's what I say," came from Ned. "But we can easily find out." "How?" "Ask the purser to show us the passenger list. Even if they are down under some other names he'd know the Fogers if we described them to him." "That's right, we'll do it." By this time the fat man, who was being assisted by Eradicate had reached the top of the gang plank. He must have been expected, for several friends rushed to greet him, and for a moment there was a confusing little throng at the place where the passengers came abroad. Tom and Ned hurried up, intent on getting a closer view of the man and youth who seemed so anxious to escape observation. But several persons got in their way, and the two mysterious ones taking advantage of the confusion, slipped down a companionway to their stateroom, so that when our two lads managed to extricate themselves from the throng around the fat man, who insisted on thanking them for allowing Eradicate to help him, it was too late to effect any identification, at least for the time being. "But we'll go to the purser," said Tom. "If Andy and his father are on this steamer we want to know it." "That's right," agreed Ned. Just then there was the usual cry: "All ashore that's going ashore! Last warning!" A bell rang, there was a hoarse whistle, the rattle of the gangplank being drawn in, a quiver through the whole length of the ship, and Tom cried: "We're off!" "Yes," added Ned, "if Andy and his father are here it's too late to leave them behind now!" CHAPTER X MYSTERIOUS PASSENGERS Ned and Tom did not escape the usual commotion that always attends the sailing of a large steamer. The people on the dock were waving farewells to those on the boat, and those on the deck of the Maderia shook their handkerchiefs, their steamer rugs, their hands, umbrellas--in short anything to indicate their feelings. It was getting dark, but big electric lights made the dock and the steamer's deck brilliantly aglow. The big whistle was blowing at intervals to warn other craft that the steamer was coming out of her slip. Fussy little tugs were pushing their blunt noses against the sides of the Maderia to help her and, in brief, there was not a little excitement. "Bless my steamer chair!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "We're really off at last! And now for the land of--" "Hush!" exclaimed Tom, who stood near the odd gentleman. "You're forgetting. Some one might hear you." "That's so, Tom. Bless my soul! I'll keep quiet after this." "Mah golly!" gasped Eradicate as he saw the open water between the ship and the deck, "I can't git back now if I wanter--but I doan't wanter. I hope yo' father takes good care ob Boomerang, Massa Tom." "Oh, I guess he will. But come on, Ned, we'll go to the purser's office now." "What for? Is something wrong?" asked Mr. Damon. "No, we just want to see if--er--if some friends of ours are on board," replied the young inventor, with a quick glance at his chum. "Very well," assented Mr. Damon. "I'll wait for you on deck here. It's quite interesting to watch the sights of the harbor." As for these same sights they possessed no attractions for the two lads at present. They were too intent on learning whether or not their suspicions regarding the Fogers were correct. "Now if they are on board," said Tom, as they made their way to the purser's office, "it only means one thing--that they're following us to get at the secret of the city of gold," and Tom whispered this last, even though there seemed to be no one within hearing, for nearly all the passengers were up on deck. "That's right," agreed Ned. "Of course there's a bare chance, if those two were the Fogers, that Mr. Foger is going off to try and make another fortune. But more than likely they're on our trail, Tom." "If it's them--yes." "Hum, Foger--no, I don't think I have any passengers of that name," said the purser slowly, when Tom had put the question. "Let's see, Farday, Fenton, Figaro, Flannigan, Ford, Foraham, Fredericks--those are all the names in the 'Fs'. No Fogers among them. Why, are you looking for some friends of yours, boys?" "Not exactly friends," replied Tom slowly, "but we know them, and we thought we saw them come aboard, so we wanted to make sure." "They might be under some other name," suggested Ned. "Yes, that is sometimes done," admitted the purser with a quick glance at the two lads, "It's done when a criminal wants to throw the police off his track, or, occasionally, when a celebrated person wants to avoid the newspaper reporters. But I hardly think that--" "Oh, I don't believe they'd do it," said Tom quickly. He saw at once that the suspicions of the purser had been aroused, and the official might set on foot inquiries that would be distasteful to the two lads and Mr. Damon. Then, too, if the Fogers were on board under some other name, they would hear of the questions that had been put regarding them, and if they were on a legitimate errand they could make it unpleasant for Tom. "I don't believe they'd do anything like that," the young inventor repeated. "Well, you can look over the passenger list soon," said the purser. "I'm going to post it in the main saloon. But perhaps if you described the persons you are looking for I could help you out. I have met nearly all the passengers already." "Mr. Foger is a big man, with a florid complexion and he has a heavy brown moustache," said Ned. "And Andy has red hair, and he squints," added Tom. "No such persons on board," declared the official positively. "It's true we have several persons who squint, but no one with red hair--I'm sure of it." "Then they're not here," declared Ned. "No, we must have been mistaken," agreed Tom, and there was relief in his tone. It was bad enough to have to search for a hidden city of gold, and perhaps have to deal with the head-hunters, without having to fight off another enemy from their trail. "Much obliged," said the young inventor to the purser, and then the two lads went back on deck. A little later supper was served in the big dining saloon, and the boys and Mr. Damon were glad of it, for they were hungry. Eradicate ate with a party of colored persons whose acquaintance he had quickly made. It was a gay gathering in which Tom and Ned found themselves, for though they had traveled much, generally it had been in one of Tom's airships, or big autos, and this dining on a big ship was rather a novelty to them. The food was good, the service prompt, and Tom found himself possessed of a very good appetite. He glanced across the table and noted that opposite him and Ned, and a little way down the board, were two vacant chairs. "Can't be that anyone is seasick already." he remarked to his chum. "I shouldn't think so, for we haven't any more motion than a ferryboat. But some persons are very soon made ill on the water." "If they're beginning this early, what will happen when we get out where it's real rough?" Tom wanted to know. "They'll sure be in for it," agreed Ned, and a glance around the dining saloon showed that those two vacant chairs were the only ones. Somehow Tom felt a vague sense of uneasiness--as if something was about to happen. In a way he connected it with the suspicion that the Fogers were aboard, and with his subsequent discovery that their names were not on the passenger list. Then, with another thought in mind, he looked about to see if he could pick out the man and youth who, on coming up the gang plank, had been taken by both Tom and Ned to be their enemies. No one looking like either was to be seen, and Tom's mind at once went back to the vacant seats at the table. "By Jove, Ned!" he exclaimed. "I believe I have it!" "Have what--a fit of seasickness?" "No, but these empty seats--the persons we saw you know--they belong there and they're afraid to come out and be seen." "Why should they be--if they're not the Fogers. I guess you've got another think coming." "Well, I'm sure there's something mysterious about those two--the way they hid their faces as they came on board--not appearing at supper--I'm going to keep my eyes open." "All right, go as far as you like and I'm with you. Just now you may pass me the powdered sugar. I want some on this pie." Tom laughed at Ned's matter-of-fact indifference, but when the young inventor turned in to his berth that night he could not stop thinking of the empty seats--the two mysterious passengers--and the two Fogers. They got all jumbled in his head and made his sleep restless. Morning saw the Maderia well out to sea, and, as there was quite a swell on, the vessel rolled and pitched to an uncomfortable degree. This did not bother Tom and Ned, who were used to sudden changes of equilibrium from their voyages in the air. Nor did Mr. Damon suffer. In fact he was feeling fine and went about on deck like an old salt, blessing so many new things that he had many of the passengers amused. Poor Eradicate did suffer though. He was very seasick, and kept to his berth most of the time, while some of his new friends did what they could for him. Tom had in mind a plan whereby he might solve the identity of the mysterious passengers. He was going to do it by a process of elimination--that is he would carefully note all on board until he had fixed on the two who had aroused his suspicions. And he had to do this because so many of the passengers looked very different, now that they had on their ship "togs," than when first coming on board. But the rough weather of the first day prevented the lad from carrying out his plan, as many of the travelers kept to their staterooms, and there were a score of vacant places at the tables. The next day, however, was fine, and with the sea like the proverbial mill pond, it seemed that everyone was out on deck. Yet when meal time came there were these same two vacant seats. "What do you think of it, Ned?" asked Tom, with a puzzled air. "I don't know what to think, Tom. It sure is queer that these two--whoever they are--don't ever come to meals. They can't be seasick on a day like this, and they certainly weren't the first night." "That's right. I'm going to ask one of the stewards where their stateroom is, and why they don't come out." "You may get into trouble." "Oh, I guess not. If I do I can stand it. I want to solve this mystery." Tom did put his question to one of the dining saloon stewards and it created no suspicions. "Ah, yes, I guess you must mean Mr. Wilson and his son." spoke the steward when he had referred to a list that corresponded with the numbers of the vacant places at the table. "They have their meals served in their stateroom." "Why?" asked Tom, "are they ill?" "I really couldn't say, sir. They prefer it that way, and the captain consented to it from the first." "But I should think they'd want to get out for a breath of air," put in Ned. "I can't stay below decks very long." "They may come out at night," suggested the steward. "Some of our travelers think they are less likely to be seasick if they come out at night. They don't see the motion of the waves then." "Guess that's it," agreed Tom with a wink at Ned. "Much obliged. Glad we're not seasick," and he linked his arm in that of his chum's and marched him off. "Why the wink?" asked Ned, when they were out of earshot of the steward. "That was to tip you off to say nothing more. I've got a plan I'm going to work." "What is it?" "Well, we know who the mysterious ones are, anyhow--at least we know their names--Wilson." "It may not be the right one." "That doesn't make any difference. I can find out their stateroom by looking at the passenger list." "What good will that do." "Lots. I'm going to keep a watch on that stateroom until I get a good look at the people in it. And if they only come out at night, which it begins to look like, I'm going to do some night watching. This thing has got to be settled, Ned. Our trip to the city of gold is too important to risk having a mysterious couple on our trail--when that same couple may be the Fogers. I'm going to do some detective work, Ned!" CHAPTER XI THE MIDNIGHT ALARM "Whew! What a lot of 'em!" "Bless my fish line! It's a big school!" "Look how they turn over and over, and leap from the water." "By golly, dere is suttinly some fish dere!" These were the exclamations made by our four friends a few days later, as they leaned over the rail of the Maderia and watched a big school of porpoises gamboling about in the warm waters of the gulf stream. It was the second porpoise school the ship had come up with on the voyage, and this was a much larger one than the first, so that the passengers crowded up to see the somewhat novel sight. "If they were only good eating now, we might try for a few," observed Ned. "Some folks eat them, but they're too oily for me," observed a gentleman who had struck up an acquaintance with the boys and Mr. Damon. "Their skin makes excellent shoe laces though, their oil is used for delicate machinery--especially some that comes from around the head, at least so I have heard." "Wow! Did you see that?" cried Tom, as one large porpoise leaped clear of the water, turned over several times and fell back with a loud splash. "That was the biggest leap yet." "And there goes another," added Ned. "Say, this ought to bring those two mysterious passengers out of their room," observed Tom to his chum in a low voice. "Nearly everyone else seems to be on deck." "You haven't been able to catch a glimpse of them; eh Tom?" "Not a peak. I stayed up several nights, as you know, and paced the deck, but they didn't stir out. Or, if they did, it must have been toward morning after I turned in. I can't understand it. They must be either criminals, afraid of being seen, or they ARE the Fogers, and they know we're on to their game." "It looks as if it might be one or the other, Tom. But if they are criminals we don't have to worry about 'em. They don't concern us." "No, that's right. Split mackerel! Look at that fellow jump. He's got 'em all beat!" and Tom excitedly, pointed at the porpoises, the whole school of which was swimming but a short distance from the steamer. "Yes, a lot of them are jumping now. I wonder--" "Look! Look!" cried the man who had been talking to Mr. Damon. "Something out of the ordinary is going on among those porpoises. I never saw them leap out of the water like that before." "Sharks! It's sharks!" cried a sailor who came running along the deck. "A school of sharks are after the porpoises!" "I believe he's right," added Mr. Sander, the gentleman with Mr. Damon. "See, there's the ugly snout of one now. He made a bite for that big porpoise but missed." "Bless my meat axe!" cried the odd man. "So he did. Say, boys, this is worth seeing. There'll be a big fight in a minute." "Not much of a fight," remarked Mr. Sander. "The porpoise isn't built for fighting. They're trying to get away from the sharks by leaping up." "Why don't they dive, and so get away?" asked Ned. "The sharks are too good at diving," went on Mr. Sander. "The porpoises couldn't escape that way. Their only hope is that something will scare the sharks away, otherwise they'll kill until their appetites are satisfied, and that isn't going to be very soon I'm afraid." "Look! Look!" cried Ned. "A shark leaped half way out of the water then." "Yes, I saw it," called Tom. There was now considerable excitement on deck. Nearly all the passengers, many of the crew and several of the officers were watching the strange sight. The porpoises were frantically tumbling, turning and leaping to get away from their voracious enemies. "Oh, if I only had my electric rifle!" cried Tom. "I'd make some of those ugly sharks feel sick!" "Bless my cartridge belt!" cried Mr. Damon. "That would be a good idea. The porpoises are such harmless creatures. It's a shame to see them attacked so." For the activity of the sharks had now redoubled, and they were darting here and there amid the school of porpoises biting with their cruel jaws. The other fish were frantically leaping and tumbling, but the strange part of it was that the schools of sharks and porpoises kept about the same distance ahead of the ship, so that the passengers had an excellent view of the novel and thrilling sight. "Rifle!" said Mr. Sander, catching at the word. "I fancy the captain may have some. He's quite a friend of mine, I'll speak to him." "Get me one, too, if you please," called Ned as the gentleman hurried away. "And I'll also try my luck at potting a shark. Bless my gunpowder if I won't!" said Mr. Damon. The captain did have several rifles in his stateroom, and he loaned them to Mr. Sander. They were magazine weapons, firing sixteen shots each, but they were not of as high power as those Tom had packed away. "Now we'll make those sharks sing a different tune, if sharks sing!" cried the young inventor. "Yes, we're coming to the rescue of the porpoises!" added Ned. The passengers crowded up to witness the marksmanship, and soon the lads and Mr. Damon were at it. It was no easy matter to hit a shark, as the big, ugly fish were only seen for a moment in their mad rushes after the porpoises, but both Tom and Ned were good shots and they made the bullets tell. "There, I hit one big fellow!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my bull's eye, but I plugged him right in the mouth, I think." "I hope you knocked out some of his teeth," cried Ned. They fired rapidly, and while they probably hit some of the innocent porpoises in their haste, yet they accomplished what they had set out to do--scare off the sharks. In a little while the "tigers of the sea" as some one has aptly called them, disappeared. "That's the stuff!" cried Mr. Damon. "Now we can watch the porpoises at play." But they did not have that sight to interest them very long. For, as suddenly as the gamboling fish had appeared, they sank from sight--all but a few dead ones that the sharks had left floating on the calm surface of the ocean. Probably the timid fish had taken some alarm from the depths into which they sank. "Well, that was some excitement while it lasted," remarked Tom. as he and Ned took the rifles back to the captain. "But it didn't bring out the mysterious passengers," added Ned. Tom shook his head and on their return to deck he purposely went out of his way to go past Stateroom No. 27, where the "Wilsons" were quartered. The door was closed and a momentary pause to listen brought our hero no clew, for all was silent in the room. "It's too much for me," he murmured, shaking his head and he rejoined his chum. Several more days passed, for the Maderia was a slow boat, and could not make good time to Mexico. However, our travelers were in no haste, and they fully enjoyed the voyage. Try as Tom did to get a glimpse of the mysterious passengers he was unsuccessful. He spent many hours in a night, and early morning vigil, only to have to do his sleeping next day, and it resulted in nothing. "I guess they want to get on Mexican soil before any one sees their faces," spoke Ned, and Tom was inclined to agree with his chum. They awoke one morning to find the sea tempestuous. The ship tossed and rolled amid the billows, and the captain said they had run into the tail end of a gulf hurricane. "Two days more and we'll be in port," he added, "and I'm sorry the voyage had to be marred even by this blow." For it did blow, and, though it was not a dangerous storm, yet many passengers kept below. "I'm afraid this settles it," remarked Tom that night, when the ship was still pitching and tossing. "They won't come out now, and this is likely to keep up until we get to port. Well, I can't help it." But fate was on the verge of aiding Tom in an unexpected way. Nearly every one turned in early that night for it was no pleasure to sit in the saloons, and to lie in one's berth made it easier to stand the rolling of the vessel. Tom and Ned, together with Mr. Damon, had fallen into slumber in spite of the storm, when, just as eight bells announced midnight there was a sudden jar throughout the whole ship. The Maderia quivered from stem to stern, seemed to hesitate a moment as though she had been brought to a sudden stop, and then plowed on, only to bring up against some obstruction again, with that same sickening jar throughout her length. "Bless my soul! What's that?" cried Mr. Damon, springing from his berth. "Something has happened!" added Tom, as he reached out and switched on the electric lights. "We hit something!" declared Ned. The ship was now almost stopped and she was rolling from side to side. Up on deck could be heard confused shouts and the running to and fro of many feet. The jangling of bells sounded--hoarse orders were shouted--and there arose a subdued hubbub in the interior of the ship. "Something sure is wrong!" cried Tom. "We'd better get our clothes on and get on deck! Come on, Ned and Mr. Damon! Grab life preservers!" CHAPTER XII INTO THE UNKNOWN "Bless my overshoes! I hope we're not sinking!" cried Mr. Damon, as he struggled into some of his clothes, an example followed by Ned and Tom. "This boat has water-tight compartments, and if it does sink it won't do it in a hurry," commented Tom. "I don't care to have it do it at all," declared Ned, who found that he had started to get into his trousers hindside before and he had to change them. "Think of all our baggage and supplies and the balloon on board." For the travelers had shipped their things by the same steamer as that on which they sailed. "Well, let's get out and learn the worst," cried Tom. He was the first to leave the stateroom, and as he rushed along the passages which were now brilliant with light he saw other half-clad passengers bent on the same errand as himself, to get on deck and learn what had happened. "Wait, Tom!" called Ned. "Come along, I'm just ahead of you," yelled his chum from around a corner. "I'm going to see if Eradicate is up. He's an awful heavy sleeper." "Bless my feather bed! That shock was enough to awaken anyone!" commented Mr. Damon, as he followed Ned, who was running to catch up to Tom. Suddenly a thought came to our hero. The mysterious passengers in Stateroom No. 27! Surely this midnight alarm would bring them out, and he might have a chance to see who they were. Tom thought quickly. He could take a turn, go through a short passage, and run past the room of the mysterious passengers getting on deck as quickly as if he went the usual way. "I'll go look after Rad!" Tom shouted to Ned. "You go up on deck, and I'll join you." Eradicate's stateroom was on his way, after he had passed No. 27. Tom at once put his plan into execution. As he ran on, the confusion on deck seemed to increase, but the lad noted that the vessel did not pitch and roll so much, and she seemed to be on an even keel, and in no immediate danger of going down. As Tom neared Stateroom No. 27 he heard voices coming from it, voices that sent a thrill through him, for he was sure he had heard them before. "Where are the life preservers? Oh, I KNOW we'll be drowned! I wish I'd never come on this trip! Look out, those are my pants you're putting on! Oh, where is my collar? Hand me my coat! Look out, you're stepping on my fingers!" These were the confused and alarmed cries that Tom heard. He paused for a moment opposite the door, and then it was suddenly flung open. The lights were glaring brightly inside and a strange sight met the gaze of the young inventor. There stood Mr. Foger and beside him--half dressed--was his son--Andy! Tom gasped. So did Andy and Mr. Foger, for they had both recognized our hero. But how Mr. Foger had changed! His moustache was shaved off, though in spite of this Tom knew him. And Andy! No longer was his hair red, for it had been dyed a deep black and glasses over his eyes concealed their squint. No wonder the purser had not recognized them by the descriptions Tom and Ned had given. "Andy Foger!" gasped Tom. "Tom--it's Tom Swift, father!" stammered the bully. "Close the door!" sharply ordered Mr. Foger, though he and his son had been about to rush out. "I won't do it!" cried Andy. "The ship is sinking and I'm not going to be drowned down here." "So it was you--after all," went on Tom. "What are you doing here?" "None of your business!" snapped Andy. "Get out of my way, I'm going on deck." Tom realized that it was not the proper time to hold a conversation, with a possibly sinking ship under him. He looked at Mr. Foger, and many thoughts shot through his mind. Why were they on board? Had it anything to do with the city of gold? Had Andy overheard the talk? Or was Mr. Foger merely looking for a new venture whereby to retrieve his lost fortune. Tom could not answer. The bully's father glared at our hero and then, slipping on a coat, he made a dash for the door. "Get out of my way!" he shouted, and Tom stood aside. Andy was already racing for the deck, and as the noise and confusion seemed to increase rather than diminish, Tom concluded that his wisest move would be to get out and see what all the excitement was about. He stopped on his way to arouse Eradicate but found that he and all the colored persons had left their staterooms. A few seconds later Tom was on deck. "It's all right, now! It's all right!" several officers were calling. "There is no danger. Go back to your staterooms. The danger is all over." "Is the ship sinking?" "What happened?" "Are we on fire?" "Are you sure there's no danger?" These were only a few of the questions that were flying about, and the officers answered them as best they could. "We hit a derelict, or some bit of wreckage," explained the first mate, when he could command silence. "There is a slight hole below the water-line, but the bulkheads have been closed, and there is not the slightest danger." "Are we going to turn back for New York?" asked one woman. "No, certainly not. We're going right on as soon as a slight break to one of the engines can be repaired. We are in no danger. Only a little water came in before the automatic bulkheads were shut. We haven't even a list to one side. Now please clear the decks and go back to bed." It took more urging, but finally the passengers began to disperse. Tom found Ned and Mr. Damon, who were looking for him. "Bless my life preserver!" cried the odd man. "I thought surely this was my last voyage, Tom!" "So did I," added Ned. "What's the matter, Tom, you look as though you'd seen a ghost." "I have--pretty near. The Fogers are on board." "No! You don't mean it!" "It's a fact. I just saw them. They are the mysterious passengers." And Tom related his experience. "Where are they now?" demanded Ned, looking about the deck. "Gone below again, I suppose. Though I don't see what object they can have in concealing their identity any longer." "Me either. Well, that surely is a queer go." "Bless my hot cross buns! I should say so!" commented Mr. Damon when he heard about it. "What are you going to do, Tom?" "Nothing. I can't. They have a right on board. But if they try to follow us--well, I'll act then," and Tom shut his jaws grimly. Our three friends went back to their state-room, and Eradicate also retired. The excitement was passing, and soon the ship was under way again, the sudden shock having caused slight damage to one of the big engines. But it was soon repaired and, though the storm still continued, the ship made her way well through the waves. A stout bow, water-tight compartments, and the fact (learned later) that she had struck the derelict a glancing blow, had combined to save the Maderia. There were many curious ones who looked over the side next morning to see the gaping hole in the bow. A canvas had been rigged over it, however, to keep out the waves as much as possible, so little could be viewed. Then the thoughts of landing occupied the minds of all, and the accident was nearly forgotten. For it was announced that they would dock early the next morning. In spite of the fact that their presence on board was known to Tom and his friends, the Fogers still kept to their stateroom, not even appearing at meals. Tom wondered what their object could be, but could not guess. "Well, here we are at last--in Mexico," exclaimed Ned the next morning, when, the Maderia having docked, allowed the passengers to disembark, a clean bill of health having been her good luck. "Yes, and now for a lot of work!" added Tom. "We've got to see about getting ox teams, carts and helpers, and no end of food for our trip into the interior." "Bless my coffee pot! It's like old times to be going off into the jungle or wilderness camping," said Mr. Damon. "Did you see anything of the Fogers?" asked Ned of his chum. "Not a thing. Guess they're in their stateroom, and they can stay there for all of me. I'm going to get busy." Tom and his friends went to a hotel, for they knew it would take several days to get their expedition in shape. They looked about for a sight of their enemies, but saw nothing of them. It took five days to hire the ox carts, get helpers, a supply of food and other things, and to unload the balloon and baggage from the ship. In all this time there was no sign of the Fogers, and Tom hoped they had gone about their own business. Our friends had let it be known that they were going into the interior to prospect, look for historic relics and ruins, and generally have a sort of vacation. "For if it is even hinted that we are after the city of gold," said Tom, "it would be all up with us. The whole population of Mexico would follow us. So keep mum, everyone." They all promised, and then they lent themselves to the task of getting things in shape for travel. Eradicate was a big help, and his cheerful good nature often lightened their toil. At last all was in readiness, and with a caravan of six ox carts (for the balloon and its accessories took up much space) they started off, the Mexican drivers cracking their long whips, and singing their strange songs. "Ho, for the interior!" cried Ned gaily. "Yes, we're off into the unknown all right," added Tom grimly, "and there's no telling when we'll get back, if we ever will, should the head-hunters get after us." "Bless my collar and tie! Don't talk that way. It gives me the cold shivers!" protested Mr. Damon. CHAPTER XIII FOLLOWED "Well, this is something like it!" exclaimed Ned as he sat in front of the campfire, flourishing a sandwich in one hand, and in the other a tin cup of coffee. "It sure is," agreed Tom. "But I say, old man, would you just as soon wave your coffee the other way? You're spilling it all over me." "Excuse me!" laughed Ned. "I'll be more careful in the future. Mr. Damon will you have a little more of these fried beans--tortillas or frijoles or whatever these Mexicans call 'em. They're not bad. Pass your plate, Mr. Damon." "Bless my eyelashes!" exclaimed the odd man. "Water, please, quick!" and he clapped his hand over his mouth. "What's the matter?" demanded Tom. "Too much red pepper! I wish these Mexicans wouldn't put so much of it in. Water!" Mr. Damon hastily swallowed a cup of the liquid which Ned passed to him. "I spects dat was my fault," put in Eradicate, who did the cooking for the three whites, while the Mexicans had their own. "I were just a little short ob some ob dem funny fried beans, an' I took some from ober dere," and the colored man nodded toward the Mexican campfire. "Den I puts some red pepper in 'em, an' I done guess somebody'd put some in afo' I done it." "I should say they had!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, drinking more water. "I don't see how those fellows stand it," and he looked to where the Mexican ox drivers were eagerly devouring the highly-spiced food. It was the second day of their trip into the interior, and they had halted for dinner near a little stream of good water that flowed over a grassy plain. So far their trip had been quite enjoyable. The ox teams were fresh and made good time, the drivers were capable and jolly, and there was plenty of food. Tom had brought along a supply especially for himself and his friends, for they did not relish the kind the Mexican drivers ate, though occasionally the gold-seekers indulged in some of the native dishes. "This is lots of fun," Ned remarked again, when Mr. Damon had been sufficiently cooled off. "Don't you think so, Tom?" "Indeed I do. I don't know how near we are to the place we're looking for, nor even if we're going in the right direction, but I like this sort of life." "How long Massa Tom, befo' dat gold--" began Eradicate. "Hush!" interrupted the young inventor quickly, raising a hand of caution, and glancing toward the group of Mexicans. He hoped they had not heard the word the colored man so carelessly used, for it had been the agreed policy to keep the nature of their search a secret. But at the mention of "gold" Miguel Delazes, the head ox driver, looked up quickly, and sauntered over to where Tom and the others were seated on the grass. This Delazes was a Mexican labor contractor, and it was through him that Tom had hired the other men and the ox carts. "Ah, senors!" exclaimed Delazes as he approached, "I fear you are going in the wrong direction to reach the gold mines. If I had known at the start--" "We're not looking for gold mines!" interrupted Tom quickly. He did not like the greedy look in the eyes of Delazes, a look that flared out at the mention of gold--a look that was crafty and full of cunning. "Not looking for gold mines!" the contractor repeated incredulously. "Surely I heard some one say something about gold," and he looked at Eradicate. "Oh, you mustn't mind what Rad says," cried Tom laughing, and he directed a look of caution at the colored man. "Rad is always talking about gold; aren't you, Rad?" "I 'spects I is, Massa Tom. I shore would laik t' find a gold mine, dat's what I would." "I guess that's the case with all of us," put in Ned. "Rad, get the things packed up," directed Tom quickly. "We've had enough to eat and I want to make a good distance before we camp for the night." He wanted to get the colored man busy so the Mexican would have no chance to further question him. "Surely the senors are not going to start off again at once--immediately!" protested Delazes. "We have not yet taken the siesta--the noon-day sleep, and--" "We're going to cut out the siestas on this trip," interposed Tom. "We don't want to stay here too long. We want to find some good ruins that we can study, and the sooner we find them the better." "Ah, then it is but to study--to photograph ruined cities and get relics, that the senors came to Mexico?" Once more that look of cunning came in the Mexican's eyes. "That's about it," answered Tom shortly. He did not want to encourage too much familiarity on the part of the contractor. "So, no siestas if you please, Senor Delazes. We can all siesta to-night." "Ah, you Americanos!" exclaimed the Mexican with a shrug of his shoulders. He stroked his shiny black moustache. "You are ever so on the alert! Always moving. Well, be it so, we will travel on--to the ruined city--if we can find one," and he gave Tom a look that the latter could not quite understand. It was hot--very hot--but Tom noticed that about a mile farther on, the trail led into a thick jungle of trees, where it would be shady, and make the going more comfortable. "We'll be all right when we get there," he said to the others. It was not with very good grace that the Mexicans got their ox teams ready. They had not objected very much when, on the day before Tom had insisted on starting off right after the mid-day meal, but now when it seemed that it was going to be a settled policy to omit the siesta, or noon sleep, there was some grumbling. "They may make trouble for us, Tom," said in a low voice. "Maybe you'd better give in to them." "Not much!" exclaimed the young inventor. "If I do they'll want to sleep all the while, and we'll never get any where. We're going to keep on. They won't kick after the first few times, and if they try any funny business--well, we're well armed and they aren't," and he looked at his own rifle, and Ned's. Mr. Damon also carried one, and Eradicate had a large revolver which he said he preferred to a gun. Each of our white friends also carried an automatic pistol and plenty of ammunition. "I took care not to let the Mexicans have any guns," Tom went on. "It isn't safe." "I'll wager that they've got knives and revolvers tucked away somewhere in their clothes," spoke Ned. "Bless my tackhammer!" cried Mr. Damon. "Why do you say such blood-curdling things Ned? You make me shiver!" In a little while they took up the trail again, the ox carts moving along toward the comparatively cool woods. Our friends had a cart to themselves, one fitted with padded seats, which somewhat made up for the absence of springs, and Eradicate was their driver. Tom had made this arrangement so they might talk among themselves without fear of being overheard by the Mexicans. At first Senor Delazes had suggested that one of his own drivers pilot Tom's cart, saying: "I know what the senors fear--that their language may be listened to, but I assure you that this man understands no English, do you, Josef?" he asked the man in question, using the Spanish. The man shook his head, but a quick look passed between him and his employer. "Oh, I guess we'll let Rad drive," insisted Tom calmly, "it will remind him of his mule Boomerang that he left behind." "As the senor will," Delazes had replied with a shrug of his shoulders, and he turned away. So it was that Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon, in their own cart, piloted by the colored man, were in the rear of the little cavalcade. "Have you any idea where you are going, Tom?" asked Ned, after they had reached the shade, when it was not such a task to talk. "Oh, I have a good general idea," replied the young inventor. "I've studied the map Mr. Illingway sent, and according to that the city of--well, you know the place we're looking for--lies somewhere between Tampico and Zacatecas, and which the plain of the ruined temple which used to be near the ancient city of Poltec, is about a hundred and fifty miles north of the city of Mexico. So I'm heading for there, as near as I can tell. We ought to fetch it in about a week at this rate." "And what are we to do when we get there?" inquired Mr. Damon. "If we keep on to that place where the images are to be found, with this rascally crew of Mexicans, there won't be much gold for us." He had spoken in low tones, though the nearest Mexican cart was some distance ahead. "I don't intend to take them all the way with us," said Tom. "When I think we are somewhere near the temple plain I'm going to make the Mexicans go into camp. Then we'll put the balloon together and we four will go off in that. When we find what we're looking for we'll go back, pick up the Mexicans, and make for the coast." "If the head-hunters let us," put in Ned grimly. "Bless my nail file! There you go again!" cried Mr. Damon. "Positively, Ned, you get on my nerves." "Yais, Massa Ned, an' _I_ jest wish yo' wouldn't mention dem head gen'men no mo'," added Eradicate. "I can't drive straight when I hears yo' say dem words, an' goodness knows dese oxes is wusser t' drive dan my mule Boomerang." "All right I'll keep still," agreed Ned, and then he and Tom, together with Mr. Damon, studied the map, trying to decide whether or not they were on the proper trail. They made a good distance that day, and went into camp that night near the foot of some low hills. "It will be cooler traveling to-morrow," said Tom. "We will be up higher, and though we'll have to go slower on account of the up grade, it will be better for all of us." They found the trail quite difficult the next day, as there were several big hills to climb. It was toward evening, and they were looking for a good place to camp for the night, when Delazes, who was riding in the first cart, was observed to jump down and hasten to the rear. "I wonder what he wants?" spoke Tom, as he noted the approaching figure. "Probably he's going to suggest that we take a few days' vacation," ventured Ned. "He doesn't like work." "Senor," began Delazes addressing Tom, who called to Eradicate to bring his oxen to a halt, "are you aware that we are being followed?" "Followed? What do you mean?" cried the young inventor, looking quickly around. "Bless my watch chain!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Followed? By whom?" He, too, looked around, as did Ned, but the path behind them was deserted. "When last we doubled on our own trail, to make the ascent of the big hill a little easier," on the Mexican, "I saw, on the road below us two ox carts, such as are hired out to prospectors or relic seekers like yourself. At first I thought nothing of it. That was early this morning. When we stopped for dinner, once more having to double, I had another view of the trail, I saw the same two carts. And now, when we are about to camp, the same two carts are there." He pointed below, for the caravan was on quite an elevation now, and down on the faint trail, which was in plain view, for it wound up the mountain like a corkscrew, were two ox carts, moving slowly along. "They are the same ones," went on Delazes, "and they have been following us all day--perhaps longer--though this is the first I have noted them." "Followed!" murmured Tom. "I wonder--" From his valise he took a small but powerful telescope. In the fast-fading light he focused it on the two ox carts. The next moment he uttered an exclamation of anger and dismay. "Who is it?" asked Ned, though he was almost sure what the answer would be. "Andy Foger and his father!" cried Tom. "I might have known they'd follow us--to learn--" and then he stopped, for Senor Delazes was regarding him curiously. CHAPTER XIV A WEARY SEARCH "Are you sure it's them?" asked Ned. "Bless my toothpick!" cried Mr. Damon. "It isn't possible, Tom?" "Yes, it is," said the young inventor. "It's the Fogers all right. Take a look for yourself, Ned." The other lad did, and confirmed his chum's news, and then Mr. Damon also made sure, by using the glass. "No doubt of it," the odd man said. "But what are you going to do, Tom?" Our hero thought for a moment. Then, once more, he looked steadfastly through the glass at the other carts. The occupants of them did not appear to know that they were under observation, and at that distance they could not have made out our friends without a telescope. Tom ascertained that the Fogers were not using one. "Has Senor Swift any orders?" asked Delazes. "Who are these Fogers? Enemies of yours I take it. Why should they follow you merely to find a ruined city, that the ruins and relics may be studied?" "Here are the orders," spoke Tom, a bit sharply, not answering the question. "We'll camp and have supper, and then we'll go on and make all the distance we can after dark." "What, travel at night?" cried the Mexican, as if in horror at the suggestion. "Yes; why not?" asked Tom calmly. "They can't see us after dark, and if we can strike off on another trail we may throw them off our track. Surely we'll travel after supper." "But it will be night--dark--we never work after dark," protested Delazes. "You're going to this time," declared Tom grimly. "But the oxen--they are not used to it." "Nothing like getting used to a thing," went on the young inventor. "They won't mind after a rest and a good feed. Besides, there is a moon to-night, and it will be plenty light enough. Tell the men, Senor Delazes." "But they will protest. It is unheard of, and--" "Send them to me," said Tom quickly. "There'll be double pay for night work. Send them to me." "Ah, that is good. Senor Swift. Double pay! I think the men will not object," and with a greedy look in his black eyes the Mexican contractor hastened to tell his men of the change of plans. Tom took another look at the approaching Fogers. Their carts were slowly crawling up the trail, and as Tom could plainly see them, he made no doubt but that his caravan was also observed by Andy and his father. "I guess that's the best plan to throw them off," agreed Ned, when they were once more underway. "But how are you going to explain to Delazes, Tom, the reason the Fogers are following us? He'll get suspicious, I'm afraid." "Let him. I'm not going to explain. He can think what he likes, I can't stop him. More than likely though, that he'll put it down to some crazy whim of us 'Americanos.' I hope he does. We can talk loudly, when he's around, about how we want to get historical relics, and the Fogers are after the same thing. There have been several expeditions down this way from rival colleges or museums after Aztec relics, and he may think we're one of them. For the golden images are historical relics all right," added Tom in a lower voice. The Mexicans made no objections to continuing on after supper, once they learned of the double pay, and a little later they went into camp. A turn of the trail hid the Fogers from sight, but Tom and his friends had no doubt but what they were still following. It was rather novel, traveling along by the light of the brilliant moon, and the boys and Mr. Damon thoroughly enjoyed it. Orders had been given to proceed as quietly as possible, for they did not want the Fogers to learn of the night trip. "They may see us," Tom had said when they were ready to start, "but we've got to take a chance on that. If the trail divides, however, we can lose them." "It does separate, a little farther on," Delazes had said. "Good!" cried Tom, "then we'll fool our rival relic hunters and our museum will get the benefit." He said this quite loudly. "Ah, then you want the relics for a museum?" asked the Mexican contractor quickly. "Yes, if they pay enough," replied Tom, and he meant it, for he had no doubt that many museums would be glad to get specimens of the golden images. Just as they were about to start off Tom had swept the moonlit trail with his night-glass, but there was no sign of the Fogers, though they may have seen their rivals start off. "Let her go!" ordered Tom, and they were once more underway. It was about five miles to where the trail divided, and it was midnight when they got there, for the going was not easy. "Now, which way," asked Delazes, as the caravan came to a halt. "To the left or right?" "Let me see," mused Tom, trying to remember the map the African missionary had sent him. "Do these roads come together farther on?" "No, but there is a cross trail about twenty miles ahead by which one can get from either of these trails to the other." "Good!" cried the young inventor. "Then we'll go to the right, and we can make our way back. But wait a minute. Send a couple of carts on the left trail for about two miles. We'll wait here until they come back." "The senor is pleased to joke," remarked the Mexican quickly. "I never was more earnest in all my life," replied Tom. "What's the answer?" asked Ned. "I want to fool the Fogers. If they see cart tracks on both roads they won't know which one we took. They may hit on the right one first shot, and again, they may go to the left until they come to the place where our two carts turn back. In that case we'll gain a little time." "Good!" cried Ned. "I might have known you had a good reason, Tom." "Send on two carts," ordered the young inventor, and now Delazes understood the reason for the strategy. He chuckled as he ordered two of the drivers to start off, and come back after covering a couple of miles. It was rather dreary waiting there at the fork of the trail, and to beguile the time Tom ordered fires lighted and chocolate made. The men appreciated this, and were ready to start off again when their companions returned. "There," announced Tom, when they were on the way once more, "I think we've given them something to think over at any rate. Now for a few more miles, and then we'll rest until morning." All were glad enough when Tom decided to go into camp, and they slept later than usual the next morning. The trail was now of such a character that no one following them could be detected until quite close, so it was useless to worry over what the Fogers might do. "We'll just make the best time we can, and trust to luck," Tom said. They traveled on for two days more, and saw nothing of the Fogers. Sometimes they would pass through Mexican villages where they would stop to eat, and Tom would make inquiries about the ancient city of Poltec and the plain of the ruined temple. In every case the Mexicans shook their heads. They had never heard of it. Long before this Tom had ascertained that neither Delazes nor any of his men knew the location of this plain nor had they ever heard of it. "If there is such a place it must be far in--very far in," the contractor had said. "You will never find it." "Oh, yes, I will," declared Tom. But when a week passed, and he was no nearer it than at first even Tom began to get a little doubtful. They made inquiries at every place they stopped, of villagers, of town authorities, and even in some cases of the priests who obligingly went over their ancient church records for them. But there was no trace of the temple plain, and of course none of the city of gold. Peasants, journeying along the road, parties of travelers, and often little bodies of soldiers were asked about the ruined temple, but always the answer was the same. They had never heard of it, nor of the head-hunters either. "Well, I'm glad of the last," said Mr. Damon, looking apprehensively around, while Eradicate felt of his head to see if it was still fast on his shoulders. It was a weary search, and when two weeks had passed even Tom had to admit that it was not as easy as it had seemed at first. As for the Mexicans, they kept on, spurred by the offer of good wages. Delazes watched Tom narrowly, for a sign or hint of what the party was really after, but the young inventor and his friends guarded their secret well. "But I'm not going to give up!" cried Tom. "Our map may be wrong, and likely it is, but I'm sure we're near the spot, and I'm going to keep on. If we don't get some hint of it in a few days, though, I'll establish a camp, go up in the air and see what I can pick out from the balloon." "That's the stuff!" cried Ned. "It will be a relief from these rough ox carts." So for the next few days they doubled and redoubled on their trail, criss-crossing back and forth, ever hoping to get some trace of the temple, which was near the entrance to the city of gold. In all that time nothing was seen of the Fogers. "We'll try the balloon to-morrow," decided Tom, as they went into camp one night after a weary day. Every one was tired enough to sleep soundly under the tents which were set up over the carts, in which beds were laid. It must have been about midnight when Tom, who felt a bit chilly (for the nights were cool in spite of the heat of the day), got up to look at the campfire. It was almost out so he went over to throw on some more logs. As he did so he heard a noise as if something or somebody had leaped down out of a tree to the ground. A moment later, before he could toss on the sticks he had caught up, Tom was aware of two eyes of greenish brightness staring at him in the glow of the dying fire, and not ten feet away. CHAPTER XV THE GOLDEN IMAGE For a moment the young inventor felt a cold chill run down his spine, and, while his hair did not actually "stand up" there was a queer sensation on his scalp as if the hairs WANTED to stand on end, but couldn't quite manage it. Involuntarily Tom started, and one of the sticks he held in his hand dropped to the ground. The green eyes shifted--they came nearer, and the lad heard a menacing growl. Then he knew it was some wild animal that had dropped down from a tree and was now confronting him, ready to spring on the instant. Tom hardly knew what to do. He realized that if he moved it might precipitate an attack on him, and he found himself dimly wondering, as he stood there, what sort of an animal it was. He had about come to the conclusion that it was something between a cougar and a mountain lion, and the next thought that came to him was a wonder whether any one else in the camp was awake, and would come to his rescue. He half turned his head to look, when again there came that menacing growl, and the animal came a step nearer. Evidently every movement Tom made aroused the beast's antagonism, and made him more eager to come to the attack. "I've got to keep my eyes on him," mused the lad. "I wonder if there's any truth in the old stories that you can subdue a wild beast with your eyes--by glaring at him. But whether that's so or not, I've got to do it--keep looking him in the face, for that's all I can do." True, Tom held in his hand some light sticks, but if it came to a fight they would be useless. His gun was back in the tent, and as far as he could learn by listening there was not another soul in the camp awake. Suddenly the fire, which had almost died out, flared up, as a dying blaze sometimes will, and in the bright glare the young inventor was able to see what sort of beast confronted him. He saw the tawny, yellow body, the twitching tail, the glaring eyes and the cruel teeth all too plainly, and he made up his mind that it was some species of the cougar family. Then the embers flared out and it was darker than before. But it was not so dark but what Tom could still see the glaring eyes. "I've got to get away from him--scare him--or shoot him," the lad decided on the instant. "I'd like to bowl him over with a bullet, but how can I get my gun?" He thought rapidly. The gun was in the tent back of him, near where he had been sleeping. It was fully loaded. "I've got to get it," reflected Tom, and then he dropped the other sticks in his hand. Once more the beast growled and came a step nearer--soft, stealthy steps they were, too, making no sound on the ground. Then Tom started to make a cautious retreat backwards, the while keeping his eyes focused on those of the beast. He made up his mind that he would give that "hypnotism" theory a trial, at any rate. But at his first backward step the beast let out such a fierce growl, and came on with such a menacing leap that Tom stood still in very terror. The animal was now so close to him that a short jump would hurl the beast upon the lad. "This won't do," thought Tom. "Every time I go back one step he comes on two, and it won't take him long to catch up to me. And then, too, he'll be in the tent in another minute, clawing Ned or Mr. Damon. What can I do? Oh, for a gun!" He stood still, and this seemed to suit the animal, for it remained quiet. But it never took its eyes off Tom, and the switching tail, and the low growls now and then, plainly indicated that the beast was but waiting its time to leap and give the death blow. Then an idea came to Tom. He remembered that he had once read that the human voice had a wonderful effect on wild animals. He would try it. "And I'm not going to sing him any slumber song, either," mused Tom. "I'll start on a low tone to call for Ned, and gradually raise my voice until I wake him up. Then I'll tell Ned to draw a bead on the beast and plunk him while I hold his attention." Tom lost no time in putting his plan into operation. "Ned! Ned! Say, old man, wake up! I'm in trouble! There's a beast as big as a lion out here. Ned! Ned! Ned!" Tom began in a low voice, but increased his tones with each word. At first the beast seemed uneasy, and then it stopped switching its tail and just glared at Tom. "Ned! I say Ned! Wake up!" Tom listened. All was silent within the tent. "Ned! Oh, Ned!" Louder this time, but still silence. "Hey, Ned! Are you ever going to wake up! Get your gun! Your gun! Shoot this beast! Ned! Ned!" Tom waited. It seemed as if the beast was nearer to him. He called once more. "Ned! Ned!" He was fairly shouting now. Surely some one must hear him. "What's that? What's the matter? Tom? Where are you?" It was Ned's voice--a sleepy voice--and it came from the interior of the tent. "Here!" called Tom. "Out in front--by the fire--get your gun, and get him with the first shot, or it's all up with yours truly." "Get who with the first shot. Who are you talking about?" "This cougar! Hurry Ned, he's creeping nearer!" Tom heard a movement behind him. He dared not turn his head, but he knew it was his chum. Then he heard a gasp and he knew that Ned had seen the beast. Then all Tom could do was to wait. And it was not easy waiting. At any moment the beast might spring, and, as far as he was concerned it would be all over. Nearer and nearer crept the brute. Again Tom felt that queer sensation down his spine. "Hurry, Ned," he whispered. "All right," came back the reassuring answer. There was a moment of silence. Crack! A sliver of flame cut the darkness. There was a report that sounded like a cannon, and it was followed by an unearthly scream. Instinctively Tom leaped back as he saw the greenish eyes change color. The young inventor felt a shower of dirt thrown over him by the claws of the dying cougar, and then he realized that he was safe. He raced toward the tent, to be met by Ned, and the next instant the camp was in wild commotion. "Bless my slippers!" cried Mr. Damon. "What has happened. Tell me at once?" "Fo' de lob of chicken!" yelled Eradicate from a tent he had all to himself--the cook tent. "Santa Maria! Ten thousand confusions! What is it?" fairly screamed Delazes. "Are you all right, Tom?" called Ned. "Sure. It was a good shot." And then came explanations. Wood was thrown on the fire, and as the Mexicans gathered around the blaze they saw, twitching in the death throes, a big cougar, or some animal allied to it. Neither Tom nor his friends had ever seen one just like it, and the Mexican name for it meant nothing to them. But it was dead, and Tom was saved and the way he grasped Ned's hand showed how grateful he was, even if he did not say much. Soon the excitement died out, after Tom had related his experience, and though it was some time before he and the others got to sleep again, they did finally, and the camp was once more quiet. An early start was made the next day, for Tom had reconsidered his determination to assemble the balloon and explore in that air craft, And the reason for his reconsideration was this: They had not gone far on their journey before they met a solitary Mexican, and of him they asked the usual question about the plain of the temple. He knew nothing, as might have been expected, but he stated that there was a large village not far distant in which dwelt many old Mexicans. "They might know something," he said. "It's worth trying," decided Tom. "I'll wait until to-morrow about the balloon. We can make the village by noon, I guess. Perhaps we can get a clew there." But it was nearly night when the ox carts drew into the Mexican settlement, for there was an accident in the afternoon, one of the vehicles breaking down. There were fires blazing in many places in the village, which was one of the most primitive sort, when our friends entered. They were curiously watched as they drove through on their way to a good camping site beyond. And here, once more, fate stepped in to aid Tom in his search for the city of gold. As they were out of corn meal, and needed some for supper, Tom told Eradicate to stop at one of the larger houses to buy some. The lad followed the colored man into the building, which seemed to be used by several families. "We'll be obliged to yo' all fo' some corn meal," began Eradicate, picking out an aged Mexican to whom he addressed his request. "What is it?" asked the Mexican in Spanish. Tom put the question in that language, and he was on the point of explaining that they were travelers, when he stopped midway, and stared at something on a rude shelf in the main room of the house. "Look! Look, Ned!" whispered Tom. "What is it?" asked his chum. "On that shelf! That image! The image of gold! One just like the drawing Mr. Illingway sent from Africa! Ned, we're on the trail at last, for there is one of the small images from the city of gold!" and Tom, with a hand that trembled in spite of himself, pointed at the small, yellow figure. CHAPTER XVI THE MAP ON THE GOLD Naturally, when Tom pointed at the golden image, the eyes of all the Mexicans in the room, as well as those of the friends of the young inventor, followed. For a moment there was silence and then the aged Mexican, whom Eradicate had asked for corn meal, rapidly uttered something in Spanish. "Yes! Yes!" chorused his companions, and they followed this up, by crying aloud when he had said something else: "No! No!" Then there was confused talking, seemingly directed at Tom, who, though he had lowered his hand, continued to stare at the golden image. "What in the world are they saying?" asked Ned, who only knew a little Spanish. "I can't get on to all of it," explained Tom above the confusion. "Evidently they think we've come to take the image away from them and they are objecting." "Offer to buy it then," suggested Ned. "That's what I'm going to do," answered Tom, and once more addressing the aged Mexican, who seemed to be at the head of the household, Tom offered to purchase the relic which meant so much to him, agreeing to pay a large sum. This seemed to create further confusion, and one of the women of the household hastily took down the little statute and was carrying it into an inner room, when Miguel Delazes came up. He looked into the open doorway, glanced about the room which was illuminated by several rude oil lamps, saw the looks of wonder and surprise on the faces of Tom and his companions, noted the excitement among the Mexicans, and then he caught sight of the golden image which the woman held. "Ah!" exclaimed Delazes, and there was a world of meaning in his tone. His small dark eyes glittered. They roved from the image to Tom, and back to the little golden figure again. "Ah!" muttered the contractor. "And so the senor has found that for what he was searching? It IS gold after all, but such gold as never I have seen before. So, the senor hopes to get many relics like that for his museum? So, is it not? Ah, ha! But that is worth coming many miles to get!" Tom realized that if he did not act quickly Delazes might have his secret, and once it was known that Tom was seeking the buried city of gold, the Mexicans could never be shaken off his trail. He decided on a bold step. "Look here, Senor Delazes," said the young inventor. "I had no more idea that golden image was here than you did. I would like to buy it, in fact I offered to, but they don't seem to want to sell it. If you can purchase it for me I'll pay YOU a good price for it." "And doubtless the senor would like many more," suggested Delazes, with an open sneer. "Doubtless the senor would!" snapped Tom. "Look here, Delazes, I'm here on business, to get all the relics I can--this kind or any other that I may fancy. You can think we're after buried treasure if you want to--I'm not going to take the trouble to contradict you. I hired you and your men for a certain purpose. But if you don't want to stay and let me and my friends run things, the sooner you tell me so the better. But I don't want any more of your underhand remarks. Understand?" For a moment Delazes stared at Tom with snapping eyes, as though he would like to have attacked him. Then, knowing that Tom and his friends were well armed, and doubtless thinking that strategy was better than open force he bowed, smiled in what he probably meant for a friendly fashion, and said: "The senor is pleased to joke. Very well, I shall believe what I like. Meanwhile, does Senor Swift commission me to buy the image for him?" Tom hesitated a moment. He feared he would be no match for the shrewd Mexican, and he wondered how much Delazes already knew. Then he decided on keeping up his end baldly, as that had seemed to have the best effect. "You can have a try at buying the image after I have failed," he said. "I'll try my hand first." "Very well," assented the contractor. The talk had been in English, and none of the Mexicans gave any signs of having understood it. Tom realized that he was playing a dangerous game, for naturally Delazes would privately tell the Mexicans to put so high a price on the statute as to prevent Tom from getting it and then the contractor would make his own terms. But Tom decided that this was the only course, and he followed it. "We'll stay here in the village for to-night," he went on. "Delazes, you and your men can make yourselves comfortable with any friends you may find here. We'll set up our tent as usual, after we get some corn meal for supper. I'll talk to them about the relic to-morrow. They seem to be afraid now." "Very well," assented the contractor again, and then he said something in Spanish to the aged Mexican. What it was Tom could not catch, for Delazes spoke rapidly and seemed to use some colloquial, or slang phrases with which our hero was not familiar. The old Mexican assented by a nod, and then he brought out some corn meal which Eradicate took. The woman with the golden image had gone into an inner room. "Bless my pocketbook!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, when he, Tom, Ned and Eradicate were busy setting up their tent near a campfire just on the edge of the village. "This is most unexpected. What are you going to do, Tom?" "I hardly know. I want to have a talk with whoever owns that image, to learn where they got it. One thing is sure, it proves that Mr. Illingway's information about the city of gold is correct." "But it doesn't tell us where it is," said Ned. "It must be somewhere around here," declared his chum. "Otherwise the image wouldn't be here." "Bless my gaiters, that's so!" exclaimed the odd man. "Not necessarily," insisted Ned. "Why one of the images is away over in Africa, and this one may have been brought hundreds of miles from the underground city." "I don't believe so," declared Tom. "We're somewhere in the neighborhood of the city, according to Mr. Illingway's map, I'm sure. That would be true, image or no image. But when you take the little gold statue into consideration it makes me positive that I'm near the end of the trail. I've just got to have a talk with those people to learn where the statue came from." "Look out for Delazes," warned Ned. "I intend to. As soon as I can, I'm going to leave him and his men behind and set off in the balloon. But first I want to get an idea of where to head for. We must locate the plain on which stands the ruined temple." "It's getting exciting," remarked Ned. "I wish--" "Supper am serbed in de dinin' cah!" interrupted Eradicate with a laugh, as he imitated a Pullman porter. "That's the best thing you could wish for," put in Tom gaily. "Come on, we'll have a good meal, a sleep, and then we'll be ready to play detectives again to-morrow." They all slept soundly that night, though Tom had some idea of staying awake to see if Delazes paid any secret visits to the house where the golden image was kept. But he realized that the Mexican, if he wanted to, could easily find means to outwit him, so the young inventor decided to get all the rest he could and trust to chance to help him out. His first visit after breakfast was to the house of the aged Mexican. The image was not in sight, though Tom and Ned and Mr. Damon looked eagerly around for it. There was a curious light in the eyes of the old man as Tom asked for the little statue of gold. Delazes was not in evidence. Tom had to conduct the conversation in Spanish, no particularly easy task for him, though he made out all right. "Will you sell the image?" he asked. "No sell," replied the Mexican quickly. "Will you please let me look at it?" The Mexican hesitated a moment, called a command to some one in the next room, and, a moment later the old woman shuffled in, bearing the wonderful golden image. Tom could not repress a little gasp of delight as he saw it at close range, for it was beautifully carved out of solid, yellow gold. The woman set it on a rude table, and the young inventor, Ned and Mr. Damon drew near to look at the image more closely. It was the work of a master artist. The statue was about eight inches high, and showed a man, dressed in flowing robes, seated crosslegged on a sort of raised pedestal. On the head was a crown, many pointed and the face beneath it showed calm dignity like that of a superior being. In one extended hand was a round ball, with lines on it to show the shape of the earth, though only the two American continents appeared. In the other hand was what might be tables of stone, a book, or something to represent law-giving authority. "How much?" asked Tom. "No sell," was the monotonous answer. "Five hundred dollars," offered our hero. "No sell." "One thousand dollars." "No sell." "Why is it so valuable to you?" Tom wanted to know. "We have him for many years. Bad luck come if he go." Then the Mexican went on to explain that the image had been in his family for many generations, and that once, when it had been taken by an enemy, death and poverty followed until the statue was recovered. He said he would never part with it. "Where did it come from?" asked Tom, and he cared more about this than he did about buying the image. "Far, far off," said the Mexican. "No man know. I no know--my father he no know--his father's father no know. Too many years back--many years." He motioned to the woman to take the statue away, and Tom and his friend realized that little more could be learned. The young inventor stretched out his hand with an involuntary motion, and the Mexican understood. He spoke to the woman and she handed the image to Tom. The Mexican had recognized his desire for a moment's closer inspection and had granted it. "Jove! It's as heavy as lead!" exclaimed Tom. "And solid gold." "Isn't it hollow up the middle?" asked Ned. "Look on the underside, Tom." His chum did so. As he turned the image over to look at the base he had all he could do not to utter a cry of surprise. For there, rudely scratched on the plain surface of the gold, was what was unmistakably a map. And it was a map showing the location of the ruined temple--the temple and the country surrounding it--the ancient city of Poltec, and the map was plain enough so that Tom could recognize part of the route over which they had traveled. But, better than all, was a tiny arrow, something like the compass mark on modern maps. And this arrow pointed straight at the ruins of the temple, and the direction indicated was due west from the village where our travelers now were. Tom Swift had found out what he wanted to know. Without a word he handed back the image and then, trying not to let his elation show in his face, he motioned to Ned and Mr. Damon to follow him from the house. "Bless my necktie!" exclaimed the odd man, when they were out of hearing distance. "What's up, Tom." "I know the way to the ruined temple. We'll start at once," and he told them of the map on the image. "Who do you suppose could have made it?" asked Ned. "Probably whoever took the image from the city of gold. He wanted to find his way back again, or show some one, but evidently none of the recent owners of the image understand about the map, if they know it's there. The lines are quite faint, but it is perfectly plain." "It's lucky I saw it. I don't have to try to buy the image now, nor seek to learn where it came from. Anyhow, if they told me they'd tell Delazes, and he'd be hot after us. As it is I doubt if he can learn now. Come, we'll get ready to hit the trail again." And they did, to the no small wonder of the contractor and his men, who could not understand why Tom should start out without the image, or without having learned where it came from, for Delazes had questioned the old Mexican, and learned all that took place. But he did not look on the base of the statue. Due west went the cavalcade, and then a new complication arose. Tom did not want to take the Mexicans any nearer to the plain of the temple than possible, and he did not know how many miles it was away. So he decided on taking a longer balloon voyage than at first contemplated. "We'll camp to-night at the best place we can find," he said to Delazes, "and then I'm going on in the balloon. You and your men will stay in camp until we come back." "Ha! And suppose the senors do not come back with the balloon?" "Wait a reasonable time for us, and then you can do as you wish. I'll pay you to the end of the month and if you wait for us any longer I have given instructions for the bank in Tampico to pay you and your men what is right." "Good! And the senors are going into the unknown?" "Yes, we don't know where we'll wind up. This hunting for relics is uncertain business. Make yourselves comfortable in camp, and wait." "Waiting is weary business, Senor Swift. If we could come with you--" began Delazes, with an eager look in his eyes. "Out of the question," spoke Tom shortly. "There isn't room in the balloon." "Very well, senor," and with a snapping glance from his black eyes the contractor walked away. CHAPTER XVII THE RUINED TEMPLE Though Tom had his portable balloon in shape for comparatively quick assembling it was several days, after they went into permanent camp, before it was in condition for use. The Mexicans were not of much help for several reasons. Some of them were ignorant men, and were very superstitious, and would have nothing to do with the "Air Fiend" as they called it. In consequence Tom, Ned, Mr. Damon and Eradicate had to do most of the work. But Tom and Ned were a host in themselves, and Mr. Damon was a great help, though he often stopped to bless something, to the no small astonishment of the Mexicans, one of whom innocently asked Tom if this eccentric man was not "a sort of priest in his own country, for he called down so many blessings?" "Bless my pen wiper!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, when Tom had told him. "I must break myself of that habit. Bless my--" and then he stopped and laughed, and went on with the work of helping to install the motor. Another reason why some of the Mexicans were of little service was because they were so lazy. They preferred to sit in the shade and smoke innumerable cigarettes, or sleep. Then, too, some of them had to go out after some small game with which that part of the country abounded, for though there was plenty of tinned food, fresh meat was much more appreciated. But Tom and Ned labored long and hard, and in about a week after making camp they had assembled the dirigible balloon in which they hoped to set out to locate the plain of the ruined temple, and also the entrance to the underground city of gold. "Well, I'll start making the gas to-morrow," decided Tom, in their tent one night, after a hard day's work. "Then we'll give the balloon a tryout and see how she behaves in this part of the world. The motor is all right, we're sure of that much," for they had given the engine a test several days before. "Which way are we going to head?" asked Ned. "North, I think," answered Tom. "But I thought you said that the temple was west--" "Don't you see my game?" went on the young inventor quickly, and in a low voice, for several times of late he had surprised some of the Mexicans sneaking about the tent. "As soon as we start off Delazes is going to follow us." "Follow us?" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoe horn, what do you mean?" "I mean that he still suspects that we are after gold, and he is going to do his best to get on our trail. Of course he can't follow us through the air, but he'll note in what direction we start and as soon as we are out of sight he and his men will hit the trail in the same direction." "What, and leave the camp?" asked Ned. "Yes, though they'll probably skip off with some of our supplies. That's why I'm going to take along an unusually large supply. We may not come back to this camp at all. In fact, it won't be much use after Delazes and his crowd clean it out and leave." "And you really think they'll do that, Tom?" asked his chum. "I'm almost sure of it, from the way the Mexicans have been acting lately. Delazes has been hinting around trying to surprise me into saying which direction we're going to take. But I've been careful. The sight of that golden image aroused him and his men. They're hungry for gold, and they'd do away with us in a minute if they thought they could find what we're looking for and get it without us. But our secret is ours yet, I'm glad to say. If only the balloon behaves we ought soon to be in the--" "Hark!" exclaimed Ned, holding up a warning hand. They heard a rustling outside the tent, and one side bulged in, as if some one was leaning against it. "Some one's listening," whispered Ned. Tom nodded. The next moment he drew his heavy automatic revolver and remarked in loud tones: "My gun needs cleaning. I'm going to empty it through the tent where that bulge is--look out, Ned." The bulge against the canvas disappeared as if by magic, and the sound of some one crawling or creeping away could be heard outside. Tom laughed. "You see how it is," he said. "We can't even think aloud." "Bless my collar button; who was it?" asked Mr. Damon. "Some of Delazes's men--or himself," replied the young inventor. "But I guess I scared him." "Maybe it was Andy Foger," suggested Ned with a smile. "No, I guess we've lost track of him and his father," spoke Tom. "I've kept watch of the back trail as much as I could, and haven't seen them following us. Of course they may pick up our trail later and come here, and they may join forces with the Mexicans. But I don't know that they can bother us, once we're off in the balloon." To Tom's disappointment, the next day proved stormy, a heavy rain falling, so it was impossible to test the balloon with the gas. The camp was a disconsolate and dreary place, and even Eradicate, usually so jolly, was cross and out of sorts. For three days the rain kept up, and Tom and Ned thought they would never see the last of it, but on the fourth morning the sun shone, wet garments and shoes were dried out, tents were opened to the warm wind and everyone was in better spirits. Tom and his chum at once set about making gas for the big bag, their operations being closely watched by the Mexicans. As I have explained before, Tom had the secret of making a very powerful gas from comparatively simple ingredients, and the machinery for this was not complicated. So powerful was it that the bag of the dirigible balloon did not need to be as large as usual, a distinct saving in space. In a short time the bag began to distend and then the balloon took shape and form. The bag was of the usual cigar shape, divided into many compartments so that the puncture of one would not empty out all the vapor. Below the bag was a car or cabin made of light wood. It was all enclosed and contained besides the motor, storage tanks for gasolene, oil and other things, sleeping berths, a tiny kitchen, a pilot house, and a room to be used for a living apartment. Everything was very compact, and there was not half the room there was in some of Tom Swift's other airships. But then the party did not expect to make long voyages. They could take along a good supply of canned and also compressed food, much of which was in tablet or capsule form, and of course they would take their weapons, and ammunition. "And I hope you'll leave room for plenty of gold," said Ned in a whisper to Tom, as they completed arrangements for the gas test. "I guess we can manage to store all that we can get out of the underground city," replied his chum. "I'm going to find a place for the big gold statue if we can manage to lift it." "Say, we'll be millionaires all right!" exulted Ned. Though much still remained to be done on the balloon, it was soon in shape for an efficient test, and that afternoon Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon went up in it to the no small wonder, fear and delight of the Mexicans. Some, who had never seen an air craft before, fell on their knees and prayed. Others shouted, and when Tom started the motor, and showed how he could control his aircraft, there were yells of amazement. "She'll do!" cried the young inventor, as he let out some gas and came down. Thereupon followed busy days, stocking the airship for the trip to discover the ruined temple. Food and supplies were put aboard, spare garments, all their weapons and ammunition, and then Tom paid Delazes and his men, giving them a month's wages in advance, for he told them to wait in camp that long. "But they won't," the young inventor predicted to Ned. There was nothing more to be done. All that they could do, to insure success had been completed. From now on they were in the hands of fate. "All aboard!" cried Tom, as he motioned for Eradicate to take his place in the car. Mr. Damon and Ned followed, and then the young inventor himself. He shook hands with Delazes, though he did not like the man. "Good bye," said Tom. "We may be back before the month is up. If we are not, go back to Tampico." "Si, senor," answered the contractor, bowing mockingly. Tom turned the lever that sent more gas into the bag. The balloon shot up. The young gold-seeker was about to throw on the motor, when Delazes waved his hand to the little party. "Bon voyage!" he called. "I hope you will find the city of gold!" "Bless my soul!" cried Mr. Damon. "He knows our secret!" "He's only guessing at it," replied Tom calmly. "He's welcome to follow us--if he can." Up shot the aircraft, the propellers whirling around like blades of light. Up and up, higher and higher, and then forward, while down below the Mexicans yelled and swung their hats. Straight for the north Tom headed his craft, so as to throw the eagerly watching ones off the track. He intended to circle around and go west when out of sight. And then the very thing Tom had predicted came to pass. The balloon was scarcely half a mile high when, as the young inventor looked down, he uttered a cry. "See!" he said. "They're breaking camp to follow us." And it was so. Riding along in one of the lightest ox carts was Delazes, his eyes fixed on the balloon overhead, while behind him came his followers. "They're following us," said Tom, "but they're going to get sadly left." In an hour Tom knew his balloon would not be visible to the Mexicans, and at the end of that time he pointed for the west. And then, flying low so as to use the trees as a screen, but going at good speed. Tom and his friends were well on their way to the city of gold. "We must keep a good lookout down below," said Tom, when everything was in working order. "We don't want to fly over the plain of the ruined temple." "We may in the night," suggested Ned. "No night flying this time," said his chum. "We'll only move along daytimes. We'll camp at night." For three days they sailed along, sometimes over vast level plains on which grazed wild cattle, again over impenetrable jungles which they could never have gotten through in their ox carts. They crossed rivers and many small lakes, stopping each night on the ground, the airship securely anchored to trees. Tom could make the lifting gas on board so what was wasted by each descent was not missed. One day it rained, and they did not fly, spending rather a lonely and miserable twelve hours in the car. Another time a powerful wind blew them many miles out of their course. But they got back on it, and kept flying to the west. "We must strike it soon," murmured Tom one day. "Maybe we're too far to the north or south," suggested Ned. "Then we'll have to beat back and forth until we get right," was Tom's reply. "For I'm going to locate that ruined temple." They ate breakfast and dinner high in the air, Eradicate preparing the meals in the tiny kitchen. Ever did they keep looking downward for a sight of a great plain, with a ruined temple in the midst of it. In this way a week passed, the balloon beating back and forth to the North or South, and they were beginning to weary of the search, and even Tom, optimistic as he was, began to think he would never find what he sought. It was toward the close of day, and the young inventor was looking for a good place to land. He was flying over a range of low hills, hoping the thick forest would soon come to an end when, as he crossed the last of the range of small mountains, he gave a cry, that drew the attention of Ned and Mr. Damon. "What is it?" demanded his chum. "Look!" said Tom. "There is the great plain!" Ned gazed, and saw, spread out below them a vast level plateau. But this was not all he saw, for there, about in the centre, was a mass of something--something that showed white in the rays of the setting sun. "Bless my chimney!" cried Mr. Damon. "That's some sort of a building." "The ruined temple," said Tom softly. "We've found it at last," and he headed the balloon for it and put on full speed. CHAPTER XVIII FINDING THE TUNNEL In silence, broken only by the noise of the motor, did the gold-seekers approach the temple. As they neared it they could see its vast proportions, and they noted that it was made of some white stone, something like marble. Then, too, as they drew closer, they could see the desolate ruin into which it had fallen. "Looks as if a dynamite explosion had knocked it all apart," observed Ned. "It certainly does," agreed Mr. Damon. "Maybe Cortez, or some of those early explorers, blew it up with gunpowder after fighting the Aztecs, or whatever the natives were called in those days," suggested Tom. "Bless my bookcase! You don't mean to say you think this temple goes back to those early days," spoke Mr. Damon. "Yes, and probably farther," declared Tom. "It must be very ancient, and the whole country about here is desolate. Why, the way the woods have grown up everywhere but on this plain shows that it must be three or four hundred years ago. There must have been a city around the temple, probably Poltec, and yet there isn't a trace of it that we have seen as we came along. Oh, yes, this is very ancient." "It will be jolly fun to explore it," decided Ned. "I wish it wasn't so near night." "We can't do much now," decided Tom. "It will be too dark, and I don't altogether fancy going in those old ruins except by daylight." "Do you think any of those old Aztec priests, with their knifes of glass, will sacrifice you on a stone altar?" asked Ned, with a laugh. "No, but there might be wild beasts in there," went on the young inventor, "and I'm sure there are any number of bats. There must be lots of nooks and corners in there where a whole army could hide. It's an immense place." The ruined temple certainly was large in extent, and in its glory must have been a wonderful place. The balloon came nearer, and then Tom let it sink to rest on the sand not far from the ancient ruin. Out he leaped, followed by his friends, and for a moment they stood in silent contemplation of the vast temple. Then as the last rays of the setting sun turned the white stones to gold, Tom exclaimed: "A good omen! I'm sure the city of gold must be near here, and in the morning we'll begin our search for the secret tunnel that leads to it." "That's the stuff!" cried Ned enthusiastically. An instant later it seemed to get dark very suddenly, as it does in the tropics, and almost with the first shadows of night there came a strange sound from the ruined temple. It was a low moaning, rumbling sound, like a mighty wind, afar off, and it sent a cold shiver down the spines of all in the little party. "Good land a' massy! What am dat?" moaned Eradicate, as he darted back toward the balloon. "Bless my looking glass!" cried Mr. Damon. A second later the noise suddenly increased, and something black, accompanied by a noise of rapidly beating wings rushed from one of the immense doorways. "Bats!" cried Tom. "Thousands of bats! I'm glad we didn't go in after dark!" And bats they were, that had made the noise as they rushed out on their nightly flight. "Ugh!" shuddered Mr. Damon. "I detest the creatures! Let's get under cover." "Yes," agreed Tom, "we'll have supper, turn in, and be up early to look for the tunnel. We're here at last. I'll dream of gold to-night." Eradicate soon had a meal in preparation, though he stopped every now and then to peer out at the bats, that still came in unbroken flight from the old temple. Truly there must have been many thousands of them. Whether Tom dreamed of gold that night he did not say, but he was the first one up in the morning, and Ned saw him hurrying over the sands toward the temple. "Hold on, Tom!" his chum called as he hastened to dress. "Where you going?" "To have a hunt for that tunnel before breakfast. I don't want to lose any time. No telling when Delazes and his crowd may be after us. And the Fogers, too, may strike our trail. Come on, we'll get busy." "Where do you think the tunnel will be?" asked Ned, when he had caught up to Tom. "Well, according to all that Mr. Illingway could tell us, it was somewhere near this temple. We'll make a circle of it, and if we don't come across it then we'll make another, and so on, increasing the size of the circles each time, until we find what we're looking for." "Let's have a look inside the temple first," suggested Ned. "It must have been a magnificent place when it was new, and with the processions of people and priests in their golden robes." "You ought to have been an Aztec," suggested Tom, as he headed for one of the big doorways. They found the interior of the temple almost as badly in ruins as was the outside. In many places the roof had fallen in, the side walls contained many gaping holes, and the stone floor was broken away in many places, showing yawning, black caverns below. They saw hundreds of bats clinging to projections, but the ugly creatures were silent in sleep now. "Bur-r-r-r-r!" murmured Ned. "I shouldn't like any of 'em to fall on me." "No, it's not a very nice place to go in," agreed Tom. They saw that the temple consisted of two parts, or two circular buildings, one within the other. Around the outer part were many rooms, which had evidently formed the living apartments of the priests. There were galleries, chambers, halls and assembly rooms. Then the whole of the interior of the temple, under a great dome that had mostly fallen in, consisted of a vast room, which was probably where the worship went on. For, even without going farther than to the edge of it, the youths could see stone altars, and many strangely-carved figures and statues. Some had fallen over and lay in ruins on the floor. The whole scene was one of desolation. "Come on," invited Tom, "it's healthier and more pleasant outside. Let's look for that tunnel." But the lads soon realized that it was not going to be as easy to locate this as they had hoped. They were looking for some sort of slanting opening, going down into the earth--the entrance to the underground city--but though they both made a complete circuit of the temple, each at a varying distance from the outer walls, no tunnel entrance showed. "Breakfust! Breakfust!" called Eradicate, when Tom was about to start on a second round. "Let's eat," suggested Ned, "and then we four can circle around together." Tom agreed that this would be a good plan. A little later then, with Tom nearest the temple walls, the four began their march around them. Four times that morning they made the circuit, and the same number in the afternoon, until they were nearly half a mile away from the ruin, but no tunnel showed. "Well, we'll have to keep at it to-morrow," suggested Tom. "It's too soon to give up." But the morrow brought no better success, nor did the following two days. In fact for a week they kept up the search for the tunnel, but did not come upon it, and they had now pretty well covered the big plain. They found a few ruins of the ancient city of Poltec. "Well, what about it?" asked Ned one night as they sat in the balloon, talking it over. "What next, Tom?" "We've got to keep at it, that's all. I think we'll go up in the balloon, circle around over the plain at just a little elevation, and maybe we can spot it that way." "All right, I'm with you." But they did not try that plan. For in the middle of the night Ned suddenly awakened. Something had come to him in his sleep. "Tom! Tom!" he cried. "I have it! What chumps we were!" "What's the matter, old man?" asked Tom anxiously. "Are you sick--talking in your sleep?" "Sleep nothing! I've just thought of it. That tunnel entrance is INSIDE the temple. That's the most natural place in the world for it. I'll bet it's right in the middle of the big inner chamber, where the priests could control it. Why didn't we look there before?" "That's right; why didn't we?" agreed Tom. "I believe you're right, Ned! We'll look the first thing in the morning." They did not wait for breakfast before trying the experiment, and Mr. Damon and Eradicate went with Tom and Ned. It was no easy work to make their way over the ruins to the inner auditorium. Wreckage and ruin was all around, and they had to avoid the yawning holes on every side. But when they got to the main, or sacrificial chamber, as Ned insisted on calling it, they found the floor there solid. In the centre was a great altar, but to their chagrin there was not a sign of a tunnel opening. "Fooled again!" said Tom bitterly. "Maybe some of those holes outside is the entrance," suggested Mr. Damon. "I don't believe so," objected Tom. "They seemed to go only to the cellar, if a temple has such a thing." Bitterly disappointed, Tom strolled over and stood in front of the big stone altar. It seemed that he must give up the search. Idly he looked at the sacrificial stone. Projecting from it was a sort of a bundle. Tom took hold of it, and to his surprise he found that it could be moved. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he pulled it toward him. The next instant he uttered a cry of horror, for the immense stone altar, with a dull rumbling, rolled back as though on wheels, and there, over where it had stood was a hole of yawning blackness, with a flight of stone steps leading down into it. And Tom stood so near the edge that he almost toppled in. "Look! Look!" he cried when he could get his gasping breath, and step back out of danger. "The tunnel entrance!" cried Ned. "That's what it is! You've found it, Tom! The entrance to the city of gold at last!" CHAPTER XIX THE UNDERGROUND RIVER They gathered around the opening so unexpectedly disclosed to them, and stared down into the black depths. Beyond the first few steps of the flight that led to they knew not where, nothing could be seen. In his impatience Tom was about to go down. "Bless my match box!" cried Mr. Damon. "What are you going to do, Tom, my boy?" "Go down there, of course! What else? I want to get to the underground city." "Don't!" quickly advised the odd man. "You don't know what's there. It may be a trap, where the old Aztecs used to throw their victims. There may be worse things than bats there. You'll need torches--lights--and you'd better wait until the air clears. It may have been centuries since that place was opened." "I believe that's right," agreed Ned. "Whew; Smell it! It's as musty as time!" An unpleasant odor came up the tunnel entrance, and it was stifling to stand too close. Tom lighted a match and threw it down. Almost instantly the flame was snuffed out. "We couldn't live down there a minute," said the young inventor. "We've got to wait for it to clear. We'll go back to the balloon and get some electric flash lamps. I brought along a lot of 'em, with extra strong batteries. I thought we'd need some if we did find the city of gold, and it looks as if we were almost there now." Tom's plan was voted good so they hurried out of the temple, their feet echoing and re-echoing over the stone floor. The place, ruined and desolate as it was, had no terrors for them now. In fact they were glad of the very loneliness, and Tom and Ned actually looked about apprehensively as they emerged, fearing they might see a sign of the Mexicans or the Fogers. "Guess they can't pick up our trail," said Tom, when, he saw of what Ned was thinking. "No, we've got the place to ourselves. I wonder how long it will take for the air to get fresh?" "Not so very long, I guess. There was a good draught. There must be some opening in the underground city by which the air is sucked in. They'd never have only one opening to it. But we don't need to look for the other. Come on, we'll get out the torches." These electrical contrivances are familiar to all boys. A small electric lamp is set in the end of a hollow tube of tin, and about the lamp is a reflector. Dry electrical batteries are put in the tin tube, and by means of a push button the circuit is closed, illuminating the lamp, which gives a brilliant glow. Tom had a special kind of lamp, with tungsten filaments, which gave a very powerful light, and with batteries designed to last a long time. A clip on the spring controlling the push button made it so that the lamp could be made to give a steady glow. Thus they were well prepared for exploring the tunnel. It took some little time to get the flash lamps ready, and when they were all charged and they had eaten, they went back to the opening to see if the air had cleared. Tom tested it by dropping a match down, and, to his delight it burned with a clear flame. "It's all right!" he exclaimed. "The air is pure. Now to see where we will bring up. Come on, everybody." "Jest one minute, Massa Tom," begged Eradicate, as the young inventor was about to descend the steps, which even the brightness of his lamp did not disclose the end. "Is yo' gwine down dar, Massa Tom?" "Certainly, Rad." "An' is yo'--'scuse me--but is yo' expectin' me fo' t' follow yo'?" "Certainly, Rad." "Den, all I's got t' say is dat yo' is 'spectin' too much. I ain't gwine t' bury mahse'f alive not yit." "But, Rad, this is where the gold images are. If you don't come down with us you won't get any gold." "Am dat so? No gold?" The colored man scratched his head. "Well, I shore does want gold," he murmured. "I reckon I'd better trot along. But one thing mo', Massa Tom." "What is it, Rad?" "Was yo' all aimin' t' stay down thar any length ob time? 'Case if yo' is yo' all'd better take along a snack ob suffin' t' eat. 'Case when I gits among gold I don't want t' come out very soon, an' we might stay dar all day." "Good advice, Rad," exclaimed Ned with a laugh. "I think we may get hungry. You go back and put us up a lunch. We'll wait for you." "Bless my napkin ring! I think you're right!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, and Eradicate hurried back to the balloon to get some of the condensed food. He was soon back and then, with Tom in the lead, and with everyone carrying an electric torch, with a spare one in reserve, and with their weapons in readiness the party descended the stone steps. Their footfalls echoed solemnly as they went down--down into the unknown blackness. They kept their bright lights playing here and there, but even these did not dispell the gloom. On every side was stone--stone walls--stone steps. It was like going down into some vast stretch of catacombs. "Say, will we ever get to the bottom?" asked Ned, when they had counted several hundred steps. "Maybe this goes down to the middle of the earth." "Well, ef it do I'm gwine right along!" called Eradicate. "I's gwine t' hab one ob dem gold images or bust!" "And I'm with you!" cried Tom. "We'll have to get to the bottom sooner or later." Hardly had he spoken than he came to the last step, and saw stretching off before him a long tunnel, straight and level, lined on both sides, and bottom, with smooth stones that gleamed like marble. "Now we are really in the tunnel," declared Ned. "I wonder what's at the end?" "The city of gold, of course," answered Tom confidently. Eagerly they hurried on. There was a slightly musty smell to the air, but it was fresher than might have been expected. Suddenly Tom, who was in advance, uttered a cry. It sounded like one of alarm, and Ned yelled: "What's the matter?" "Look here!" cried Tom. They hurried up to him, to find him standing before a sort of niche in the wall. And the niche was lined with a yellow metal that gleamed like gold, while in it was one of the golden images, the second one they had seen, and the third they heard about. "We're on the trail! We're on the trail!" cried Tom. "Heah! Let me hab dat!" cried Eradicate. "I may not git anudder," and he reached up for the statue. "Let it stay until we come back," suggested Mr. Damon. "Somebody might take it," said the colored man. "Who?" laughed Tom. "There's not a soul here but ourselves. But take it, if you want it, Rad," and Eradicate did so, stuffing the image, which was only about four inches high, into his pocket. Then they went on, and they saw several other images, though not of gold. Several niches were lined with yellow metal, but whether it was gold or not they could not tell. They did not want to stop, as they were anxious to get to the underground city. "Hark! What's that?" asked Tom, when they had gone about a mile along the tunnel. "Don't you hear something?" "Sounds like a roaring," agreed Ned. "Maybe it's more of the bats." "Doesn't sound like bats," declared Tom. "It's more like a waterfall. Come on." They hurried forward, the strange sound increasing at every step, until it filled the tunnel with its menacing roar. "That's strange," said Tom in worried tones. "I hope we don't come to a waterfall." Suddenly the tunnel made a turn, and as they went around the curve in the wall the sound smote on their ears with increased violence. Tom raced forward, focusing his electric lamp down on the stone corridor. The next instant he cried out: "A river! It's an underground river and we can't go any further! We're blocked!" The others came to his side, and there, in the glare of their lamps, they saw rushing along, between two walls of stone, a dark stream which caused the roaring sound that had come to them. The tunnel was cut squarely in two by the stream, which was at least thirty feet wide, and how deep they could only guess. Swiftly it flowed on, its roar filling the tunnel. CHAPTER XX THE CITY OF GOLD "Well, I guess this is the end of it," remarked Ned ruefully, as they stood contemplating the roaring stream by the gleam of their electric flash lamps. "We can't go on to the city of gold unless we swim that river, and--" "And none of us is going to try that!" interrupted Tom sharply. "The strongest swimmer in the world couldn't make a yard against that current. He'd be carried down, no one knows where." "Bless my bathing suit, yes!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "But what are we to do? Can't we make a raft, or get a boat, or something like that?" "Hab t' be a mighty pow'ful boat t' git across dat ribber ob Jordan," spoke Eradicate solemnly. "That's right," agreed Ned. "But say, Tom, don't you think we could go back, get a lot of trees, wood and stuff and make some sort of a bridge? It isn't so very wide--not more than thirty or forty feet. We ought to be able to bridge it." "I'm afraid not," and Tom shook his head. "In the first place any trees that would be long enough are away at the far edge of the big plain, and we'd have a hard job getting them to the temple, to say nothing of lugging them down the tunnel. Then, too, we don't know much about building a bridge, and with no one on the other side to help us, we'd have our hands full. One slip and we might be all drowned. No, I guess we've got to go back," and Tom spoke regretfully. "It's hard luck, but we've got to give up and go back." "Den I's pow'ful glad I got ma golden image when I did, dat's suah!" exclaimed Eradicate. "Ef we doan't git no mo' I'll hab one. But I'll sell it and whack up wid yo' all, Massa Tom." "You'll do nothing of the sort, Rad!" exclaimed the young inventor. "That image is yours, and I'm sorry we can't get more of them." He turned aside, and after another glance at the black underground river which flowed along so relentlessly he prepared to retrace his steps along the tunnel. "Say, look here!" suddenly exclaimed Ned. "I'm not so sure, after all that we've got to turn back. I think we can go on to the city of gold, after all." "How do you mean?" asked Tom quickly. "Do you think we can bring the balloon down here and float across?" "Bless my watch chain!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "but that WOULD be a way. I wonder--" "No, I don't mean that way at all," went on Ned. "But it seems to me as if this river isn't a natural one--I mean that it flows along banks of smooth stone, just as if they were cut for it, a canal you know." "That's right," said Tom, as he looked at the edge of the channel of the underground stream. "These stones are cut as cleanly as the rest of the tunnel. Whoever built that must have made a regular channel for this river to flow in. And it's square on the other side, too," he added, flashing his lamp across. "Then don't you see," continued Ned, "that this river hasn't always been here." "Bless my gaiters!" gasped Mr. Damon, "what does he mean? The river not always been here?" "No," proceeded Tom's chum. "For the ancients couldn't have cut the channel out of stone, or made it by cementing separate stones together while the water was here. The channel must have been dry at one time, and when it was finished they turned the water in it." "But how is that going to help us?" asked Tom. "I grant you that the river may not have been here at one time, but it's here NOW, which makes it all the worse for us." "But, Tom!" cried his chum, "if the river was turned aside from this channel once it can be done again. My notion is that the ancients could make the river flow here or not, just as they choose. Probably they turned it into this channel to keep their enemies from crossing to the city of gold, like the ancient moats. Now if we could only find--" "I see! I see!" cried Tom enthusiastically. "You mean there must be some way of shutting off the water." "Exactly," replied his chum. "We've got to shut that stream of water off, or turn it into some other channel, then we can cross, and keep on to the city of gold. And I think there must be some valve--some lever, or handle or something similar to the one that moved the altar-near here that does the trick. Let's all look for it." "Bless my chopping block!" cried Mr. Damon. "That's the strangest thing I ever heard of! But I believe you're right, Ned. We'll look for the handle to the river," and he laughed gaily. Every one was in better spirits, now that there seemed a way out of the difficulty, and a moment later they were eagerly flashing their lamps on the sides, floor and ceiling of the tunnel, to discover the means of shutting off the water. At first they feared that, after all, Ned's ingenious theory was not to be confirmed. The walls, ceiling and floor were as smooth near the edge of the river as elsewhere. But Eradicate, who was searching as eagerly as the others, went back a little, flashing his lamp on every square of stone. Suddenly he uttered a cry. "Look yeah, Massa Tom! Heah's suffin' dat looks laik a big door knob. Maybe yo' kin push it or pull it." They rushed to where he was standing in front of a niche similar to the one where he had found the golden image. Sunken in the wall was a round black stone. For a moment Tom looked at it, and then he said solemnly: "Well, here goes. It may shut off the water, or it may make it rise higher and drown us all, or the whole tunnel may cave in, but I'm going to risk it. Hold hard, everybody!" Slowly Tom put forth his hand and pushed the knob of stone. It did not move. Then he pulled it. The result was the same--nothing. "Guess it doesn't work any more," he said in a low tone. "Twist it!" cried Ned. "Twist it like a door knob." In a flash Tom did so. For a moment no result was apparent, then, from somewhere far off, there sounded a low rumble, above the roar of the black stream. "Something happened!" cried Mr. Damon. "Back to the river!" shouted Tom, for they were some distance away from it now. "If it's rising we may have a chance to escape." They hurried to the edge of the stone channel, and Ned uttered a cry of delight. "It's going down!" he yelled, capering about. "Now we can go on!" And, surely enough, the river was falling rapidly. It no longer roared, and it was flowing more slowly. "The water is shut off," remarked Tom. "Yes, and see, there are steps which lead across the channel," spoke Ned, pointing to them as the receding water revealed them. "Everything is coming our way now." In a short time the water was all out of the channel, and they could see that it was about twenty feet deep. Truly it would have been a formidable stream to attempt to swim over, but now it had completely vanished, merely a few little pools of water remaining in depressions on the bottom of the channel. There were steps leading down to the bottom, and other steps ascending on the other side, showing that the river was used as a barrier to further progress along the tunnel. "Forward!" cried Tom gaily, and they went on. They went down into the river channel, taking care not to slip on the wet steps, and a few seconds later they had again ascended to the tunnel, pressing eagerly on. Straight and true the tunnel ran through the darkness, the only illumination being their electric flash lamps. On and on they went, hoping every minute to reach their goal. "Dish suah am a mighty long tunnel," remarked Eradicate. "Dey ought t' hab a trolley line in yeah." "Bless my punching bag!" cried Mr. Damon, "so they had! Now if those ancients were building to-day--" He stopped suddenly, for Tom, who was in the lead, had uttered a cry. It was a cry of joy, there was no mistaking that, and instinctively they all knew that he had found what he had sought. All confirmed it a moment later, for, as they rushed forward, they discovered Tom standing at the place where the tunnel broadened out--broadened out into a great cave, a cave miles in extent, for all they could tell, as their lamps, powerful as they were, only illuminated for a comparatively short distance. "We're here!" cried Tom. "In the city of gold at last!" "The city of gold!" added Ned. "The underground city of gold!" "And gold there is!" fairly shouted Mr. Damon. "See it's all over! Look at the golden streets--even the sides of the buildings are plated with it--and see, in that house there are even gold chairs! Boys, there is untold wealth here!" "An' would yo' all look at dem golden statues!" cried Eradicate, "dey mus' be millions ob 'em! Oh, golly! Ain't I glad I comed along!" and he rushed into one of the many houses extending along the street of the golden city where they stood, and gathered up a fairly large statue of gold--an image exactly similar to the one he already had, except as to size. "I never would have believed it possible!" gasped Tom. "It's a city of almost solid gold. We'll be millionaires a million times over!" CHAPTER XVI THE BIG IMAGE Could the light of day have penetrated to that mysterious and ancient underground city of gold our friends might have had some idea of its magnificence. As it was they could only view small parts of it at a time by the illumination of their electric torches. But even with them they saw that it was a most wonderful place. "I don't believe there's another city like it in all the world," spoke Tom in awed accents, "there never was, and never will be again. Those Aztecs must have brought all their treasures of gold here." "Bless my cake box! that's so," agreed Mr. Damon. "Let's take a look around," advised Ned, "and then we can decide on what will be best to take away." "It won't take me long t' make up mah mind," spoke Eradicate. "I's goin' t' take all dem images I kin find." "I was going to say we'd have plenty of time to look about and pick what we wanted," said Tom, "but I think perhaps we'd better hurry." "Why?" asked Mr. Damon. "There's no telling when Delazes and his gang may find this place, and even the Fogers may be nearer than we think. But I believe our best plan would be this: To take some gold now, and several of the statues, go back to our balloon, and make some kind of big lamps, so we can light this place up. Then, too, I think we'd better move the balloon into the old temple. It will be safer there. Then we can come back here, pack up as much gold as we can carry, and be off. I don't like to think of being underground when Delazes and the Fogers are on the surface. It might not be altogether safe for us." "Bless my insurance policy!" cried the odd man. "Now YOU'RE giving me the cold shivers, Tom. But I believe you're right. We must look ahead a bit." With all their electric flash lamps turned on, the four advanced farther into the underground city of gold. As they went on they saw the precious yellow metal on every side of them. It was used lavishly, showing that to the ancients it was as common as iron or steel is to-day. But they did not use the gold merely as common material in the construction of buildings or objects of use. Instead, the gold seemed to be brought into play to beautify the city. An artistic scheme was carried out, and while it was true that in many buildings common objects were made of gold, yet each one was beautiful in itself. "What a wonderful place this must have been when it was lighted up," spoke Tom. "Do you think it was ever lighted up?" asked his chum. "It must have been," declared the young inventor. "My idea is that this city was the home of the priests of the temple, and their friends. I don't believe the common people ever came here. Perhaps the officers of the army, the rulers and the royal family were admitted, but not the ordinary people. That's why it's so far underground, and so well guarded by the river." "Probably the priests and others collected so much gold they didn't know what to do with it, and built this city to use it up, and, at the same time have a safe place to store it. And they must have had some means of lighting the place, for they couldn't go about in darkness--they couldn't have seen the gold if they did. Yes, this must have been wonderfully beautiful then. The priests probably came here to study, or perhaps to carry out some of their rites. Of course it's only guesswork, but it seems true to me." "I believe you're right, Tom," said Mr. Damon. As our friends walked about they saw that the city, while smaller than they had at first supposed, was laid out with regular streets. Each one was straight, and at certain places in the stone pavement plates of gold were set, so that literally the streets were paved with gold. There were houses or buildings on each side of the streets, and most of these were open at the doors or windows, for there was no need of heat in that buried city. All about were the golden images such as they had seen in the Mexican's house, and like the one in far off Africa. Some of the images were almost life size, and others were only an inch or two inches in height. Not a house but had half a dozen or more in various places, and there were also the images on golden pedestals about the streets. "This must have been their chief god, or else a representation of some great personage to whom they paid the highest honor," said Mr. Damon. "Perhaps he was the reigning king or ruler, and he, himself, might have ordered the images made out of vanity, like some men of to-day." The boys agreed that this was a natural theory. As for Eradicate he was busy collecting numbers of the small golden statues, and stuffing them in his pockets. "Why don't you take bigger ones, and not so many of them?" asked Tom. "'Case as how I doan't want all mah eggs in one basket," replied the colored man. "I kin carry mo' ob de little fellers," and he persisted in this plan. They found in some of the houses utensils of solid gold, but there appeared to be no way of cooking food, and that was probably done outside, or in the great temple. In many houses were articles evidently used in the sacrificial rites or in worship of strange gods. They did not stay to half examine the wonderful city of gold, for it would have taken several days. But on Tom's advice, they took up a considerable quantity of the precious metal in the most convenient form to carry, including a number of the statues and art objects and started back along the tunnel. "We'll rig up some sort of lamps," Tom explained, "and come back to make a thorough examination of this place. I think the scientific men and historians will be glad to know about this city, and I'm going to make some notes about it." They soon came again to the place of the underground river and found no water there. Ned wanted to turn the stream back into the channel again, but Tom said they might not be able to work the ancient mechanism, so they left the black knob as it was, and hurried on. They decided that the knob must have worked some counter-balance, or great weight that let down a gate and cut off the river from one channel, to turn it into another. When they emerged at the top of the steps, and came out at the opening which had been revealed by the rolling back of the great altar, they saw there that counter weights, delicately balanced, had moved the big stone. "We might close that opening," said Tom, "and then if any one SHOULD come along and surprise us, they wouldn't know how to get to the underground city." This was done, the altar rolling back over the staircase. "Now to get the balloon in the temple, make the lamps, and go back," suggested Tom, and, storing the gold they had secured in a safe place in the temple, they went back to move the airship. This was an easy matter, and soon they had floated the big gas bag and car in through one of the immense doorways and so into the great middle part of the temple where the big stone altar was located. "Now we're prepared for emergencies," remarked Tom, as he looked up at the yawning hole in the dome-like roof. "If worst comes to worst, and we have to run, we can float right up here, out of the temple, and skip." "Do you think anything is going to happen?" asked Mr. Damon anxiously. "You never can tell," replied Tom. "Now to make some lamps. I think I'll use gas, as I've got plenty of the chemicals." It took two days to construct them, and Tom ingeniously made them out of some empty tins that had contained meat and other foods. The tins were converted into tanks, and from each one rose a short piece of pipe that ended in a gas tip. On board the dirigible were plenty of tools and materials. Into the cans were put certain chemicals that generated a gas which, when lighted, gave a brilliant glow, almost like calcium carbide. "Now, I guess we can see to make our way about," remarked Tom, on the morning of the third day, when they prepared to go back to the city of gold. "And we'll take plenty of lunch along, for we may stay until nearly night." It did not take them long to roll back the altar, descend into the tunnel, and reach the underground city. The river channel was now dry, even the small pools of water in the depressions having evaporated. The gas torches worked to perfection, and revealed the beauties and wonders of the city of gold to the astonished gaze of our friends. It was even richer in the precious metal than they had at first supposed. "Before we do any exploring, I think we'd better take some more gold back to the balloon," suggested Tom, "and I think I'll just move the balloon itself more out of sight, so that if any persons come along, and look into the temple, they won't see our airship without looking for it." This was done, and a considerable quantity of the precious metal, including a number of the larger-sized statues, were stored in the balloon car. "We can't take much more," Tom warned his friends, "or we'll be over-weighted." "We've got enough now, to make us all rich," said Ned, contentedly. "I want moah," spoke Eradicate with a grin. They went back to the underground city and began to explore it with a view of taking back to civilization some word of its wonders and beauties. "Didn't Mr. Illingway, in his letters, say something about an immense golden statue here?" asked Ned, when they had almost completed a circuit of the underground place. "So he did!" exclaimed Tom. "I'd almost forgotten. It must be somewhere in the centre of this place I should think. Let's have a hunt for it. We can't take it with us, but maybe we could get part of an arm or a leg to keep as a relic. Come on." It was easy to reach the centre of the underground city, for it was laid out on a regular plan. In a short time they were in sight of the central plaza and, even before they reached it the glare of their gas lamps showed them something glittering golden yellow. It was on a tall, golden pedestal. "There it is!" cried Ned. "Yes, there's the big golden image all right," agreed Tom, hurrying forward, and a moment later they stood before a most wonderful statue. CHAPTER XXII TRAPPED "Well, that sure is a big statue!" exclaimed Ned as he walked around it. "An' to t'ink dat it's SOLID GOLD!" cried Eradicate his eyes big with wonder. "I suah wish I had dat all fo' mahse'f!" "We never could carry that in the balloon," spoke Tom with a shake of his head. "I guess we'll have to leave it here. But I would like to take say the head. It would be worth a lot as a relic to some museum--worth more than the value of the gold itself. I've a notion to do it." "How could you get the head off?" asked Mr. Damon. "Oh, pull the statue down or overturn it, as the American patriots did to the Bowling Green, New York, lead statue of King George III during the Revolutionary days," answered Tom. "I think that's what I'll do." "I say, look here!" called Ned, who had made a circuit of the statue. "There's some sort of an inscription here. See if you can read it, Tom." They went around to the front of the big, golden image where Ned stood. On a sort of a plate, with raised letters, was an inscription in a strange language. Part of it seemed to be the name of the person or god whom the statue represented, and what followed none could make out. "It's something like the ancient Greek or Persian language," declared Mr. Damon, who was quite a scholar. "I can make out a word here and there, and it seems to be a warning against disturbing the statue, or damaging it. Probably it was put there to warn small boys thousands of years ago, if they ever allowed small boys in this place." "Does it say what will be done to whoever harms the statue?" asked Tom with a laugh. "Probably it does, but I can't make out what it is," answered Mr. Damon. "Then here goes to see if we can't overturn it and hack off the head," went on Tom. "I've got a sharp little hatchet, and gold is very soft to cut. Over she goes." "You never can upset that statue," declared Ned. "Yes, I can," cried the young inventor. "I brought a long, thin, but very strong rope with me, and I think if we all pull together we can do it." Tom made a noose and skillfully threw it over the head of the statue. It settled about the neck, and then, all taking hold, and walking away a short distance, they gave a "long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether." At first the statue would not move, but when they strained on the rope, the image suddenly tilted, and, a moment later it tumbled to the stone pavement. But the fall was not as heavy as should have resulted from a statue of solid metal. There was a tinkling sound. "That's queer!" cried Tom. "It didn't make half the fuss I expected," and he hurried up to look at the fallen statue. "Why!" he cried in astonishment, "it's hollow--the big golden statue is hollow--it's a fake!" And so it was. The big image was only a shell of gold. "Not so valuable as it looked," commented Ned. "We could take that with us in the balloon, if it wasn't so big." "Well, here goes for the head, anyhow!" exclaimed Tom, and with a few blows of his keen little axe he severed the neck. As he held it up for all to see--rather a grewsome sight it was, too, in the flickering light of the gas torches--there sounded throughout the underground city, a dull, booming noise, like distant thunder. "What's that?" cried Ned. "Bless my bath sponge!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "I hope the water isn't rising in the river." "Oh land a massy!" gasped Eradicate. Without a word Tom dropped the golden head and made for the street that led to the tunnel. The others followed, and soon caught up to the young inventor. On and on they ran, with only the light of their electric flash torches to guide them. Suddenly Tom stopped. "Go on!" cried Ned. "See what's happened! Go on!" "I can't," answered Tom, and they all wondered at his voice. "There's a big block of stone across the tunnel, and I can't go another step. The stone gate has fallen. We're trapped here in the underground city of gold!" "Bless my soul! The tunnel closed?" cried Mr. Damon. "Look," said Tom simply and in hopeless tones, as he flashed his light. And there, completely filling the tunnel, was a great block of stone, fitting from ceiling to floor and from side wall to side wall, completely cutting off all escape. "Trapped!" gasped Ned. "The Mexicans or Andy Foger did this." "No, I don't think so," spoke Tom solemnly. "I think the pulling down of the statue released this stone gate. We trapped ourselves. Oh, why didn't I leave the statue alone!" "That can't have done it!" declared Ned. "We can soon tell," spoke Mr. Damon. "Let's go back and look. Later maybe we can raise the block," and they returned to the fallen gold statue. Tom casting back a hopeless look at the barrier that had buried them alive in the city of gold. CHAPTER XXIII "IS IT A RESCUE?" "Can you see anything, Tom? Any lever or anything by which we can raise the stone gate?" It was Ned who spoke, and he addressed his chum, who was closely examining the pedestal of the fallen golden statue. "Bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "we've get to find some way out of here soon--or--" He did not finish the sentence, but they all knew what he meant. "Oh good landy!" cried Eradicate. "What's gwine t' become ob us?" "Don't you see anything, Tom?" repeated Ned. "Not a thing. Not a sign of a lever or handle by which the stone might be raised. But wait, I'm going to get on top of the pedestal." He managed to scramble up by stepping on and clinging to various ornamental projections, and soon gained the flat place where the big golden statue had rested. But he saw at a glance that it was as smooth as a billiard table. "Nothing here!" he called down to Ned. "Then how do you suppose the gate closed down when the statue was pulled off?" asked Ned. "It must have been because of the disturbance of the equilibrium, or due to a change of weight. Probably this pedestal rests on a platform, like the platform of a large scale. Its weight, with that of the statue, rested on certain concealed levers, and held the stone up out of sight in the roof of the tunnel. When I yanked down the statue I made the weight uneven, and the stone fell, and there doesn't seem to be any way of putting the weight back again." "No, we never could get the statue back on the pedestal," said Ned. "But maybe there's some mechanism at the stone gate, or near it, like the black knob which turned off the water. We may be able to work that and raise the big stone slab." "It's the only thing to try, as long as we haven't dynamite to blast it," agreed Tom. "Come on, we'll take a look." They went back to where the rock closed the tunnel, but a long and frantic search failed to show the least projection, lever, handle or any other thing, that could be moved. "What in the world do you suppose those ancients made such a terrible contrivance for?" Ned wanted to know. "Well, if we could read the warning on the statue we might know," replied Mr. Damon. "That probably says that whoever disturbs the status will close up the golden city forever." "Maybe there's another way out--or in," suggested Tom hopefully. "We didn't look for that. It must be our next move. We must not let a single chance go by. We'll look for some way of getting out, at the far end of this underground city." Filled with gloomy and foreboding thoughts, they walked away from the stone barrier. To search for another means of egress would take some time, and the same fear came to all of them--could they live that long? "It was a queer thing, to make that statue hollow," mused Ned as he walked between Mr. Damon and Tom. "I wonder why it was done, when all the others are solid gold?" "Maybe they found they couldn't melt up, and cast in a mould, enough gold to make a solid statue that size," suggested Mr. Damon. "Then, too, there may have been no means of getting it on the pedestal if they made it too heavy." They discussed these and other matters as they hurried on to seek for some way of escape. In fact to talk seemed to make them less gloomy and sad, and they tried to keep up their spirits. For several hours they searched eagerly for some means of getting out of the underground city. They went to the farthest limits of it, and found it to be several miles in diameter, but eventually they came to solid walls of stone which reached from roof to ceiling, and there was no way out. They found that the underground city was exactly like an overturned bowl, or an Esquimo ice hut, hollow within, and with a tunnel leading to it--but all below the surface of the earth. The city had been hollowed out of solid rock, and there was but one way in or out, and that was closed by the seamless stone. "There's no use hunting any longer," declared Tom, when, weary and footsore, they had completed a circuit of the outer circumference of the city, "the rock passage is our only hope." "And that's no hope at all!" declared Ned. "Yes, we must try to raise that stone slab, or--break it!" cried Tom desperately. "Come on." "Wait a bit," advised Mr. Damon. "Bless my dinner plate! but I'm hungry. We brought some food along, and my advice to you is to eat and keep up our strength. We'll need it." "By golly gracious, that's so!" declared Eradicate. "I'll git de eatin's." Fortunately there was a goodly supply, and, going in one the houses they ate off a table of solid gold, and off dishes of the precious, yellow metal. Yet they would have given it all--yes, even the gold in their dirigible balloon--for a chance for freedom. "I wonder what became of the chaps who used to live here?" mused Ned as he finished the rather frugal meal. "Oh, they probably died--from a plague maybe, or there may have been a war, or the people may have risen in revolt and killed them off," suggested Tom grimly. "But then there ought to be some remains--some mummies or skeletons or something." "I guess every one left this underground city--every soul." suggested Mr. Damon, "and then they turned on the river and left it. I shouldn't be surprised but what we are the first persons to set foot here in thousands of years." "And WE may stay here for a thousand years," predicted Tom. "Oh, good land a' massy; doan't say dat!" cried Eradicate. "Why we'll all be dead ob starvation in dat time." "Before then, I guess," muttered Tom. "I wonder if there's any water in this hole?" "We'll need it--soon," remarked Ned, looking at the scanty supply they had brought in with them. "Let's have a hunt for it." "Let Rad do that, while we work on the stone gate," proposed the young inventor. "Rad, chase off and see if you can find some water." While the colored man was gone, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon went back to the stone gate. To attack it without tools, or some powerful blasting powder seemed useless, but their case was desperate and they knew they must do something. "We'll try chipping away the stone at the base," suggested Tom. "It isn't a very hard rock, in fact it's a sort of soft marble, or white sand stone, and we may be able to cut out a way under the slab door with our knifes." Fortunately they had knives with big, strong blades, and as Tom had said, the stone was comparatively soft. But, after several hours' work they only had a small depression under the stone door. "At this rate it will take a month," sighed Ned. "Say!" cried Tom, "we're foolish. We should try to cut through the stone slab itself. It can't be so very thick. And another thing. I'm going to play the flames from the gas torches on the stone. The fires will make it brittle and it will chip off easier." This was so, but even with that advantage they had only made a slight impression on the solid stone door after more than four hours of work, and Eradicate came back, with a hopeless look on his face, to report that he had been unable to find water. "Then we've got to save every drop of what we've got," declared Tom. "Short rations for everybody." "And our lights, too," added Mr. Damon. "We must save them." "All out but one!" cried Tom quickly. "If we're careful we can make them gas torches last a week, and the electric flashes are good for several days yet." Then they laid out a plan of procedure, and divided the food into as small rations as would support life. It was grim work, but it had to be done. They found, with care, that they might live for four days on the food and water and then-- Well--no one liked to think about it. "We must take turns chipping away at the stone door," decided Tom. "Some of us will work and some will sleep--two and two, I guess." This plan was also carried out, and Tom and Eradicate took the first trick of hacking away at the door. How they managed to live in the days that followed they could never tell clearly afterward. It was like some horrible nightmare, composed of hours of hacking away at the stone, and then of eating sparingly, drinking more sparingly, and resting, to get up, and do it all over again. Their water was the first to give out, for it made them thirsty to cut at the stone, and parched mouths and swollen tongues demanded moisture. They did manage to find a place where a few drops of water trickled through the rocky roof, and without this they would have died before five days had passed. They even searched, at times for another way out of the city of gold, for Tom had insisted there must be a way, as the air in the underground cave remained so fresh. But there must have been a secret way of ventilating the place, as no opening was found, and they went back to hacking at the stone. Just how many days they spent in their horrible golden prison they never really knew. Tom said it was over a week, Ned insisted it was a month, Mr. Damon two months, and Eradicate pitifully said "it seem mos' laik a yeah, suah!" It must have been about eight days, and at the end of that time there was not a scrap of food left, and only a little water. They were barely alive, and could hardly wield the knives against the stone slab. They had dug a hole about a foot deep in it, but it would have to be made much larger before any one could crawl through, even when it penetrated to the other side. And how soon this would be they did not know. It was about the end of the eighth day, and Tom and Ned were hacking away at the rocky slab, for Mr. Damon and Eradicate were too weary. Tom paused for a moment to look helplessly at his chum. As he did so he heard, amid the silence, a noise on the other side of the stone door. "What--what's that?" Tom gasped faintly. "It sounds--sounds like some one--coming," whispered Ned. "Oh, if it is only a rescue party!" "A rescue party?" whispered Tom. "Where would a rescue party--" He stopped suddenly. Unmistakably there were voices on the other side of the barrier--human voices. "It IS a rescue party!" cried Ned. "I--I hope so," spoke Tom slowly. "Mr. Damon--Eradicate!" yelled Ned with the sudden strength of hope, "they're coming to save us! Hurry over here!" And then, as he and Tom stood, they saw, with staring eyes, the great stone slab slowly beginning to rise! CHAPTER XXIV. THE FIGHT The talk sounded more plainly now--a confused murmur of voices--many of them--the sound coming under the slowly raising stone doorway. "Who can it be--there's a lot of them," murmured Ned. Tom did not answer. Instead he silently sped back to where they had slept and got his automatic revolver. "Better get yours," he said to his companions. "It may be a rescue party, though I don't see how any one could know we were in here, or it may be--" He did not finish. They all knew what he meant, and a moment later four strained and anxious figures stood on the inner side of the stone door, revolvers in hand, awaiting what might be revealed to them. Would it be friend or foe? At Tom's feet lay the golden head--the hollow head of the statue. The scene was illumined by a flickering gas torch--the last one, as the others had burned out. Slowly the stone went up, very slowly, for it was exceedingly heavy and the mechanism that worked it was primitive. Up and up it went until now a man could have crawled under. Ned made a motion as if he was going to do so, but Tom held him back. Slowly and slowly it went up. On the other side was a very babble of voices now--voices speaking a strange tongue. Tom and his companions were silent. Then, above the other voices, there sounded the tones of some one speaking English. Hearing it Tom started, and still more as he noted the tones, for he heard this said: "We'll be inside in a minute, dad, and I guess we'll show Tom Swift that he and his crowd can't fool us. We've got to the city of gold first!" "Andy Foger!" hoarsely whispered Tom to Ned. The next moment the stone gate went up with a rush, and there, in the light of the gas torch, and in the glare of many burning ones of wood, held by a throng of people on the other side, stood Andy Foger, his father, Delazes, and a horde of men who looked as wild as savages. For a moment both parties stood staring at one another, too startled to utter a sound. Then as Tom noticed that some of the natives, who somewhat resembled the ancient Aztecs, had imitation human heads stuck on the ends of poles or spears, he uttered two words: "Head-hunters!" Like a flash there came to him the warning of the African missionary: "Beware of the head-hunters!" Now they were here--being led on by the Mexican and the Fogers--the enemies of our friends. For another moment there was a silence, and then Andy Foger cried out: "They're here! Tom Swift and his party! They got here first and they may have all the gold!" "If they have they will share it with us!" cried Delazes fiercely. "Quick!" Tom called hoarsely to Ned, Mr. Damon and Eradicate. "We've got to fight. It's the only way to save our lives. We must fight, and when we can, escape, get to the airship and sail away. It's a fight to the finish now." He raised his automatic revolver, and, as he did so one of the savages saw the golden head of the statue lying at Tom's feet. The man uttered a wild cry and called out something in his unknown tongue. Then he raised his spear and hurled it straight at our hero. Had not Mr. Damon pulled Tom to one side, there might have been a different ending to this story. As it was the weapon hissed through the air over the head of the young inventor. The next minute his revolver spat lead and fire, but whether he hit any one or not he could not see, as the place was so filled with smoke, from the powder and from the torches. But some one yelled in pain. "Crouch down and fire!" ordered Tom. "Low down and they'll throw over our heads." It was done on the instant, and the four revolvers rang out together. There were howls of pain and terror and above them could be heard the gutteral tones of Delazes, while Andy Foger yelled: "Look out dad! Here, help me to get behind something or I may be hit. Mr. Delazes, can't you tell those savages to throw spears at Tom Swift and his gang?" "They are doing it, Senor Foger," replied the Mexican. "Oh, why did I not think to bring my gun! We haven't one among us." Then he called some command to the head-hunters who had apparently been enlisted on the side of himself and the two Fogers. The automatic revolvers were soon emptied, and the place was now so full of smoke that neither party could see the other. The torches burned with a red glare. "Reload!" ordered Tom, "and we'll make a rush for it! We can't keep this up long!" It took but an instant to slip in another lot of cartridges and then, on Tom's advice, they slipped the catches to make the automatic weapons simple ones, to be fired at will. They sent several more shots through the door-way but no cries of pain followed, and it was evident that their enemies had stepped back out of the line of fire. "Now's our chance!" cried Tom. "The way is clear. Come on!" He and the others dashed forward, Tom carrying the golden head, though it was hard work. It was not very heavy but it was awkward. As they rushed through the now open gateway they crouched low to avoid the spears, but, as it was one grazed Tom's shoulder, and Eradicate was pierced in the fleshy part of his arm. "Forward! Forward!" cried Tom. "Come on!" And on they went, through the smoke and darkness, Ned flashing his electric torch which gave only a feeble glow as the battery was almost exhausted. On and on! Now they were through the stone gateway, now out in the long tunnel. Behind them they could hear feet running, and several spears clattered to the stone floor. Lights flickered behind them. "If only the river bed is dry!" gasped Tom. "We may yet escape. But if they've filled the channel--" He did not dare think of what that would mean as he ran on, turning occasionally to fire, for he and the others had again reloaded their revolvers. CHAPTER XXV THE ESCAPE--CONCLUSION The noise behind our friends increased. There were shouts of rage, yells of anger at the escape of the prey. High above the other voices were the shrill war-cries of the head-hunters--the savages with their grewsome desires. "Can--can we make it, Tom?" panted Ned. They were almost at the river channel now, and in another instant they had reached it. By the feeble rays of Ned's electric torch they saw with relief that it was empty, though they would have given much to see just a trickle of water in it, for they were almost dead from thirst. Together they climbed up the other side, and as yet their pursuers had not reached the brink. For one moment Tom had a thought of working the black knob, and flooding the channel, but he could not doom even the head-hunters, much less the Fogers and Delazes, to such a death as that would mean. On ran Tom and his companions, but now they could glance back and see the foremost of the other crowd dipping down into the dry channel. "The steps! The steps!" suddenly cried Ned, when they had run a long distance, as a faint gleam of daylight beyond shewed the opening beneath the stone altar. "We're safe now." "Hardly, but a few minutes will tell," said Tom. "The balloon is in shape for a quick rise, and then we'll leave this horrible place behind." "And all the gold, too," murmured Ned regretfully. "We've got some," said Mr. Damon, "and I wouldn't take a chance with those head-hunters for all the gold in the underground city." "Same here!" panted Tom. Then they were at the steps and ran up them. Out into the big auditorium they emerged, weak and faint, and toward the hidden dirigible balloon they rushed. "Quick!" cried Tom, as he climbed into the car, followed by Mr. Damon and Eradicate. "Shove it right under the broken dome, Ned, and I'll turn on the gas machine. It's partly inflated." A moment later the balloon was right below the big opening. The blue sky showed through it--a welcome sight to our friends. The hiss of the gas was heard, and the bag distended still more. "Hop in!" cried Tom. "She'll go up I guess." "There they come!" shouted Ned, as he spoke the foremost of the head-hunters emerged from the hole beneath the stone altar. He was followed by Delazes. "Stop them! Get them! Spear them!" cried the contractor. They evidently thought our friends had all the gold from the underground city. Fortunately the temple was so large that the balloon was a good distance from the hole leading to the tunnel, and before the foremost of the head-hunters could reach it the dirigible began to rise. "If they throw their spears, and puncture the bag in many places we're done for," murmured Tom. But evidently the savages did not think of this, though Delazes screamed it at them. Up went the balloon, and not a moment too soon, for one of the head-hunters actually grabbed the edge of the car, and only let go when he found himself being lifted off the temple floor. Up and up it went and, as it was about to emerge from the broken dome, Tom looked down and saw a curious sight. Mr. Foger and Andy, who brought up in the rear of the pursuing and attacking party, had just emerged from the hole by the great stone altar when there suddenly spouted from the same opening a solid column of water. A cry of wonder came from all as they saw the strange sight. A veritable geyser was now spurting in the very middle of the temple floor, and the head-hunters, the Mexicans and the Fogers ran screaming to get out of the way. "Look!" cried Ned. "What happened?" "The underground river must be running the wrong way!" answered Tom, as he prepared to set in motion the motor. "Either they accidentally turned some hidden lever, or when they raised the stone door they did it. The tunnel is flooded and--" "Bless my match box! So is the underground city!" cried Mr. Damon. "I guess we've seen the last of it and its gold. We were lucky to escape with our lives, and these fellows might have been drowned like rats in a trap, if they hadn't followed us. The underground city will never be discovered again." "And now for home!" cried Tom, when they had eaten and drunk sparingly until they should get back their strength, and had seen to their slight wounds. "And our trip wasn't altogether a failure," said Mr. Damon. "We'd have had more gold if the stone door hadn't trapped us. But I guess we have enough as it is. I wonder how the Fogers ever found us?" "They must have followed our trail, though how we'll never know and they came up to where Delazes and his men were, joined forces with them, and hunted about until they found the temple," remarked Tom. "Then they saw the opening, went down, and found the stone door." "But how did they get it open? and what were they doing with the head-hunters, and why didn't the head-hunters attack them?" Ned wanted to know. "Well, I guess perhaps Delazes knew how to handle those head-hunters," replied Tom. "They may be a sort of lost tribe of Mexicans, and perhaps their ancestors centuries ago owned the city of gold. At any rate I think some of them knew the secret of raising the door." And later Tom learned in a roundabout way from the Fogers that this was so. The father and son had after much hardship joined forces with Delazes and he, by a promise of the heads of the party of our friends, and much tobacco, had gained the head-hunters as allies. On and on sailed the balloon and our friends regained their strength after partaking of the nourishing food. They looked at their store of gold and found it larger than they had thought. Soon they left far behind them the great plain of the ruined temple, which, had they but known it was a lake now, for the underground river, perhaps by some break in the underground mechanism that controlled it, or a break in the channel, overflowed and covered temple, plain and underground city with water many fathoms deep. "Are we going all the way home in the balloon?" asked Ned on the second day of their voyage in the air, when they had stopped to make slight repairs. "No, indeed," replied Tom. "As soon as we get to some city where we can pack it up, and ship our gold without fear of being robbed, I'm coming to earth, and go home in a steamer." This plan was carried out; and a week later, with the gold safely insured by an express company, and the balloon packed for transportation, our friends went to a railroad station, and took a train for Tampico, there to get a steamer for New York. "Bless my top knot!" exclaimed Mr. Damon a few days after this, as they were on the vessel. "I think for queer adventures this one of ours in the city of gold, Tom, puts it all over the others we had." "Oh, I don't know," answered the young inventor, "we certainly had some strenuous times in the past, and I hope we'll have some more in the future." "The same here," agreed Ned. And whether they did or not I will leave my readers to judge if they peruse the next book in this series, which will be called, "Tom Swift and His Air Glider; Or, Seeking the Platinum Treasure." They arrived safely in Shopton in due course of time, and found Mr. Swift well. They did not become millionaires, for they found, to their regret that their gold was rather freely alloyed with baser metals, so they did not have more than half the amount in pure solid gold. But there was a small fortune in it for all of them. In recognition of Mr. Illingway, the African missionary having put Tom on the track of the gold, a large sum was sent to him, to help him carry on his work of humanity. Tom had many offers for the big golden head, but he would not sell it, though he loaned it to a New York museum, where it attracted much attention. There were many articles written about the underground city of gold from the facts the young inventor furnished. Eventually the Fogers got home, but they did not say much about their experiences, and Tom and his friends did not think it worth while to prosecute them for the attack. As for Delazes, Tom never saw nor heard from him again, not in all his reading could he find any account of the head-hunters, who must have been a small, little known tribe. "And you really kept your promise, and brought me a golden image?" asked Mary Nestor of Tom, when he called on her soon after reaching home. "Indeed I did, the two that I promised and a particularly fine one that I picked up almost at the last minute," and Tom gave her the valuable relics. "And now tell me about it," she begged, when she had admired them, and then sat down beside Tom: and there we will leave our hero for the present, as he is in very good company, and I know he wouldn't like to be disturbed. THE END