CHAPTER IX.

FRANK HAS AN INTERVIEW.

Frank Reade Jr., felt much as the prisoner of the Bastile must have, when he saw the light of day once more, after having felt the assurance that he was doomed to death in prison.

The young inventor drank in the clear air, and in an instant was refreshed.

“Heaven be praised!” he murmured. “My life is spared. Now to find the Kite.”

He made his way to the path over the face of the cliff.

Following it, he was soon upon the height above.

But there was no sign of the Kite visible anywhere.

The air-ship was gone.

The young inventor for a moment experienced a chill. This was intensified into awful horror as he looked about him.

“My soul!” he exclaimed. “There has been a terrible storm, and——Great God! Can it be that the Kite has been destroyed?”

This question was one not to be easily answered.

The upturned earth, fallen trees, and scenes of wreck and violence was evidence that the storm had been a terrible one.

Certainly it looked not at all improbable that the Kite had been dashed to pieces by the fury of the tornado.

“My God!” cried Frank, in despair. “This is the worst fatality yet.”

Then he reflected that he must have been a greater length of time in the cavern than he had reckoned upon.

What was to be done?

How was he to find the air-ship or to learn its fate? The problem was a mighty one to consider.

But as he was pondering upon it in a dismayed way, Frank was given a start of surprise.

From his position he could see the defile below.

He was amazed to see a band of horsemen threading their way out into the valley.

He saw at a glance that they were brigands.

Red Muriel rode at their head.

At once Frank’s curiosity was aroused.

Where were the villains going and what were they up to? He was determined to know.

What the fate of the air-ship and the others was Frank did not know, but he lived in the hope that the Kite had outrode the storm and would yet return all safe.

For the nonce the best thing he could do was to follow the brigands and, if possible, learn what disposition they had made of the Incas’ treasure.

So Frank crept cautiously along the edge of the cliff.

He waited until the brigands had turned from the defile into the valley, then he crept down in their rear.

They rode slowly, and it was not difficult for him to keep up with them.

For several miles across the valley he followed them.

Darkness was fast coming on and Frank concluded that the gang were going to their headquarters.

This was a gratifying reflection.

He was more than anxious to learn the location of this.

So intent did he become in following the villains that he forgot all else.

At length they entered a circuitous path among jagged masses of rock, and which led steadily upward.

For a mile this was continued.

Not until the peaks were about them and they were fairly among the clouds did the robbers come to a stop.

Then a deep chasm was reached, across which was one of those peculiar rope bridges seen nowhere else in the world.

This did not seem safe to cross.

Yet the sure-footed ponies, one by one, crossed the swaying bridge and passed safely to the other side.

Frank waited until all had passed over.

He saw upon a wide plateau beyond the peaks a number of log cabins thatched with palms.

He concluded at once, and correctly, that this was the stronghold of the brigands.

Frank was too cautious to venture to cross the bridge as yet.

This would certainly have exposed his presence to the brigands.

But darkness was fast coming on, and he would have a better opportunity to carry his point.

So the young inventor secreted himself in a clump of bushes near.

He watched the opposite side of the gorge, and while doing so was given a thrilling surprise.

From the growth of palms there stepped forth suddenly and stood revealed upon the wall of the chasm a beautiful vision of female loveliness.

This was a young girl, as fair and slender as a dream. But her dress was not of the Spanish type, nor were her features. There was no mistaking the fact that she was American.

Frank Reade, Jr., was so astonished that for a moment he knew not what to do or say.

He watched her intently.

Despite the shadows the distance was not so great but that he could see plainly the expression of pain upon her face.

Frank crept close to the verge of the chasm.

He felt like speaking to her, but refrained from some motive.

The distance between himself and the fair prisoner, for such he judged her to be, was not more than thirty feet.

A whisper can almost be heard at this distance, as is well known.

For several moments the girl prisoner stood there inactive. Then suddenly she began to sing in a low, sweet, thrilling voice.

It was a love ballad, the song of a broken heart.

The melody was divine, and the singer’s words were so intense and pathetic that Frank’s whole sympathies went out to her.

He could not refrain from saying in a low, distinct voice, when she had finished:

“Have courage! A friend is near you!”

A sharp, startled exclamation escaped the singer’s lips, and she looked about her like one awakened from a dream.

“What was that?” she exclaimed. “I thought I heard a voice in my native tongue.”

“You heard aright,” said Frank. “Am I right in addressing you? Are you not a prisoner?”

“I am,” replied the young girl, with an eager cry. “But who are you?”

“I am Frank Reade, Jr.”

“You are an American?”

“Yes.”

“Heaven be praised! And have you come to save me?”

“I will, if it is in my power.”

“A thousand thanks.”

“But who are you, and how came you in captivity?” asked Frank.

The young girl drew a deep sigh.

“Ah!” she said; “it will no doubt sound to you like a romance; but I came to this country to look for the man I love.”

Frank was astounded.

“I don’t understand you,” he said.

“I will be more explicit. My name is Mabel Dane, and I am from New York. I came here——”

A sharp cry escaped Frank’s lips.

“You are looking for Royal Harding?” he said.

“Yes!” she replied, excitedly. “Can you tell me of him?”

“I can.”

“Thank God for that! Where is he now?”

“That I cannot say, but I hope alive and well,” replied Frank. “He was with me until very recently.”

“I am so glad to know that he is then alive!” said Mabel Dane, “for I heard that he was sick with a fever in this desolate clime, and I came all the way from New York to find him, and to nurse him back to life and happiness.”

“He has not forgotten you,” said Frank. “Indeed, he had hoped to return to you with his fortune made. It was his by right of discovery, but this brigand villain Muriel has stolen it away.”

“Ah, poor fellow!” cried she; “but he shall worry no more about the fortune. I am rich now in my own right. Shortly after Royal went away to look for his fortune, my father got word from his brother in Australia that an uncle had died and left them a round million each. I was anxious to go in quest of Royal at once. Hearing that he was sick father and I came here in search of him.

“We journeyed on negro-back and on mules, on foot and every way, until in a mountain pass, not fifty miles from here, Red Muriel captured us and brought us here to be held for ransom.”

“The villain!”

“He is that. Well, father has sent for the five thousand dollars required by the wretch, and we will soon be free.”

“Red Muriel shall not have the ransom,” cried Frank. “I will rescue you this very night. Is your father also a prisoner?”

“Oh, yes, and six of our guard of escort given us by the governor at Quito. But do you really think you can rescue us?”

“I know it.”

“What are your plans?”

“As soon as it becomes dark,” said Frank, “we will act. I shall creep across that bridge and——”

“Ah, but that bridge is drawn up at night. You cannot cross by any other means.”

This was a staggerer to Frank.

“Drawn up!” he exclaimed. “You do not mean that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I——”

But he never finished the sentence.

A mocking laugh sounded in his rear. Frank turned like a flash to see a dozen armed brigands back of him.

He was covered by as many carbines.

The young inventor’s heart fell.

There was no use to offer resistance. He was wholly and hopelessly a prisoner. To surrender was his only move.

“You see, Senor Americano,” cried Red Muriel himself, mockingly, “you cannot escape my vengeance. Before you worked a very clear game. But you shall not succeed this time.”

It was certainly a most disheartening occurrence.

But Frank put a bold face on the matter.

“All right,” he said, coolly, in Spanish; “I am your prisoner, Senor Muriel. I cannot resist as I would like to do.”

In a twinkling his arms were bound behind him.

The game was up.

His plan to rescue Mabel Dane and her father was set at naught. The brigands led him across the rope bridge, and he was cast into a leaking and vile smelling hut for the night.

Frank’s sensations were not of the pleasantest. But he bore up bravely.

But the next morning he was led from his prison house by an armed guard.

He was placed with his back to a tall palm tree, and an armed guard at fifty paces covered him with their carbines.

Red Muriel stood by with a cruel smile upon his dark face.

“This time, senor,” he said, derisively and vengefully, “no power on earth shall save you. The last time you were lucky enough to make your escape. But this time you die!”