Part 17

But, queen or not, Una was ready to pin her faith to this strange being who had accosted them in so unexpected a manner. It was useless even to attempt an explanation of how an aged Indian woman, answering to the name of Narva, inhabiting a cave in the remote Andes, could talk English, and how it happened that she appeared to know them--a party of distressed foreigners--whom she had certainly never met before. So long as she refused to explain--and refuse she certainly did--all this would have to remain the puzzle that it was. But, logical or not, dangerous or not, Narva seemed to be something very like their last hope. Her bearing, although decidedly reserved, was not unkindly--was even friendly--and so Una determined to follow her without further discussion. The others scarcely shared her confidence. Mrs. Quayle stuck to it that Narva was dangerous, probably a witch; Leighton was still in doubt as to her sanity. Finally, Miranda put the point blank question--

"Why we go with her?"

"Simply because we have no one else to go with, no other plan," was Una's prompt reply.

There was no gainsaying this. They were wandering, without guide or clew of any kind, through a cave filled with mysteries and dangers. On the trail behind them were two bands of natives, absorbed in the occupation of cutting each other's throats. From one of these bands it was certain they had much to fear. In front of them was a considerable body of cavemen, not at present engaged in war, it is true, but who might, for all they knew, prove unfriendly. Witch or queen, Narva volunteered to guide them--somewhere.

"At least we must know where she intends to take us," declared Leighton.

"I take you from these," said Narva, pointing in the direction of the villagers.

"Why should we go from them?" asked Leighton.

"They kill you," was the laconic reply.

"What bloodthirsty people they all are!" exclaimed Andrew.

But Narva's calm statement of what was to be expected proved decisive. There remained the doubt as to her sincerity. The timorous Mrs. Quayle scented a diabolical plot in the whole affair, and her fears were shared by some of the others. Only Una would brook no delay.

"We want to get out of the cave," she said, addressing Narva. "We have lost the way--you will guide us?"

"Something you do first," retorted Narva; "then you go free."

The suggestion that they were still, in a sense, prisoners, and that some kind of service was expected of them before they could regain their freedom, was not pleasant. What was it that they could do for so singular a person as this, who gave the impression of having planned to meet them in this very spot? Narva took a witch's privilege to speak in riddles. No amount of questioning could get her to explain what she meant. The answer to everything was always "follow me"--and as she pointed to the valley whenever she said this, they gathered that the direction they were expected to take was practically that which they had been pursuing ever since they left the Condor Gate. As this would inevitably bring them among the villagers--who, they had just been told, were prepared to "kill them"--they could not understand Narva's plan at all. There being no choice left them, however, they yielded and went with her.

The path leading into the valley was abrupt and dangerous. Narva, striding ahead, was unimpeded by obstacles that left the others breathless and panic-stricken. They wanted to turn back before they had gone very far--but this would have been quite as difficult to accomplish as to go on.

At this point, apparently, the geological construction of the cave had undergone some radical changes. Convulsions, undoubtedly of volcanic origin, had rent the solid walls of granite in two, leaving irregular chasms, of uncertain depth, to be traversed before the smooth floor of the valley could be reached. These chasms, where their width demanded it, were spanned by swaying bridges of rope--or liana--and wood that proved a sore trial to the weaker members of the party, delaying their progress to an extent that seriously strained Narva's patience. The old Indian was especially put out by Mrs. Quayle, whom she contemptuously called "baby," and whose pathetic helplessness astride a plank over a yawning cavern aroused in her the nearest approach to laughter she had shown.

Under Narva's guidance, however, the difficulties of this downward trail were overcome without mishap. The perilous abysses, once crossed, appeared not more than miniature dangers in retrospect; but immediately facing them, on this plain that, at a distance, had seemed so charming and pastoral in character, there was menace enough for the most daring. At first sight of the invaders, for so they were deemed, the villagers showed unmistakable hostility. Dropping their various occupations with one accord, they confronted the explorers in so threatening a manner that the latter had either to defend themselves as best they might, or retreat. But the thought of those villainous chasms, spanned by flimsy bridges of rope, was too appalling to offer the remotest hope of safety in flight. Anything would be better than a return--if return were even possible--over so hazardous a path.

"We fight!" announced Miranda through clenched teeth--and, regretting his lost revolver, he threw himself into as warlike an attitude as his rotund figure would permit.

This had anything but a quieting effect on the villagers. From every direction volunteers hastened to strengthen their line of battle, and it might have fared badly with the enterprising doctor, upon whom a concentrated attack resembling a football rush was about to be launched, had it not been for the interference of Narva. The old Indian woman, scornful at first of the excited demonstration of the villagers, now took an active part in what was going on. Brushing Miranda aside, she checked the advancing mob with a torrent of angry words that sounded like the scolding lecture of an outraged school teacher bringing her refractory pupils to order. As she spoke in the native language of the Indians, what she said was totally unintelligible to those whom she was defending. But on the cavemen the effect of her words was immediate. The shouts ceased; the hastily formed line of battle was broken. The angry villagers acknowledged Narva's authority by every sign of submission--sullenly given, it is true--and the way was clear and free for the "invaders" to go on.

The singular episode impressed them deeply. They realized that they were surrounded by people who did not want them in this underworld of theirs, and that they were, at the same time, under the protection of a being who, mad or inspired, was powerful enough to stand between them and danger. Who she was, or why she befriended them remained a mystery. On this point Narva was as uncommunicative as ever. On occasion, as they had just witnessed, she was capable of the volubility of a fishwife; with them her reserve was impregnable.

"Follow me!" she commanded--and there was nothing for it but obey. Miranda, who was the immediate cause of the trouble, muttered maledictions on the fate that left him at the mercy of an eccentric beldame who might be leading them to some unthinkable witch's dance--and the rest exhorted him to curb his warlike propensities in the future.

Gliding ahead at a quicker pace than before, Narva led the way along the narrow path on each side of which stood the huts of the villagers. These huts were not more than thirty in number, built of the rough-hewn stone of the cave. Each, apparently, contained two, or in some cases, three rooms on the ground floor. Roofs they had none, a deficiency in architecture evidently without inconvenience, since the great vaulted dome of the cave furnished them with whatever protection overhead was necessary. The whole series of little houses composing the village resembled one huge, hospitable communal dwelling, not unlike the ancient pueblo ruins of Arizona, in which there was the privacy desired by separate families, together with a close union of household interests that is scarcely possible in settlements where each group of individuals lives under its own rooftree. As if further to preserve this communal manner of living, the openings into the huts were without doors, although, in a few instances, curtains of a heavy red material served as doors. These curtains were adorned with thin plates of gold, cut in primitive designs depicting various forms of animal life. The huts so marked the explorers took to be the dwellings either of village dignitaries, or buildings devoted to public uses.

There was scant opportunity to observe more than the barest outlines of this singular underground settlement, as the pace set by Narva left no time for loitering. But the explorers felt little desire to prolong their stay here, although they soon forgot their fears as they noted the sullen deference with which their mysterious guide was everywhere greeted. The villagers retired before them into their various dwellings, and as the little company passed along the unobstructed street it was welcomed with demonstrations of respect resembling the homage accorded some eastern potentate who deigns to visit his subjects. The change was grateful to those who a moment ago had been the objects of popular disfavor, at the same time that it stimulated their curiosity regarding Narva. The latter paid no heed to her surroundings, but her progress was timed to the needs of those who followed her. An occasional backward glance gave proof that her interest in them, whether for good or ill, had not abated. Talk with her, however, was impossible; and thus the straggling little village, with its groups of obsequious Indians, was traversed in silence.

When the last hut had disappeared in the distance Narva turned abruptly. The path was again becoming precipitous, and although the mysterious light with which the cave was illumined revealed whatever obstacles were in the way, there were dark chasms in the overhanging cliffs that filled the timid with grim forebodings. Where they stood the ground was level, making a little platform, or square, three sides of which were unprotected by walls. On the fourth side an arched opening in the smooth face of a lofty tower of granite, glittering with countless facets of crystal, served as entrance to a spacious interior. Emblazoned on the keystone of this arch was the same emblem that marked the cyclopean gateway to the inhabited portion of the cave--the rudely carved figure of a condor. Beneath this sculptured symbol Narva stood for a moment regarding the others with stern composure. Then she pointed to the shadowy depths within.

"Enter!" she commanded.

XVII

A SONG AND ITS SEQUEL

Narva's forbidding presence promised little in the way of cheer or warmth of welcome to her wearied companions. The singular dwelling into which the latter were ushered recalled, at first glance, the gloomy abode of some medieval anchorite to whose theory of existence anything approaching luxury was to be shunned, rooted out, as an obstruction to the soul's growth. Whether or not Narva's mode of living was actually based on these mystical considerations, her home, at least, in its lack of visible comforts, seemed the typical hermit's cell. Here was neither superfluous ornament nor evidence of the slightest touch of feminine grace or care. The blackened walls of granite rose with uncompromising abruptness, unbroken by niche or shelf, to a ceiling whose vague outlines were lost in darkness. A truss of straw was thrown in one corner of the apartment, and upon it was spread a rough woolen counterpane. Three flattened blocks of stone, placed at intervals along the walls, served as benches; in the center a rock-table, carefully smoothed and large enough for a banquet fairly regal in its dimensions, rose four feet from the floor. Upon this table, with its suggested possibilities of entertainment, stood a large jug, curiously fashioned of a single crystal, within which faintly gleamed an opalescent liquid. There were also two stone platters, one containing heaped-up cubes of a white substance resembling bread, and the other certain broiled fish--they looked like fish--whose globular bodies and reddish-blue flesh aroused misgivings, if not a more decided feeling of repugnance, among those unfamiliar with subterranean bills of fare.

But the explorers were famished enough to attack anything. The dangers they had escaped, the fatigue arising from prolonged exposure and unwonted exercise, the bracing air of the cave, would have corrected the most fastidious taste and made even boot-leather palatable. But Narva's fish, notwithstanding their sickly hue, were not to be classed, by any means, with boot-leather. After the first wave of disgust, even the suspicious Miranda scented a welcome repast in the dishes spread before him, while the others were in this only too eager to follow his lead. Their hostess, aware of their hunger, gave a reassuring gesture of invitation.

"Eat!" she said solemnly; "it is for you."

They needed no second bidding. Scorning the absence of chairs and the ordinary dishes and utensils that go with a meal, they fell to and, with the first mouthful, expressed approval by varying grunts and exclamations. Even the fish was voted a delicacy of superlative excellence. In flavor it recalled the sweet succulence of rare tropical fruit, like the cirimoya, with a soupçon of spice that gave it the fillip of a genuine culinary masterpiece. As for the bread, it was not bread at all, but some mysterious compound of flesh and vegetable, the nutritive qualities of which were eagerly explained and extolled by the ravenous doctor.

Una, however, was denied participation in this unexpected and singular feast. From the first Narva had shown a special interest in the girl; caused, doubtless, by the latter's early expression of confidence in her offer to protect them. This interest, it now appeared, had a distinct purpose in view, which Narva lost no time in carrying out. Satisfied that the others were provided with the entertainment they desired, she took Una by the hand and led her to a distant corner of the apartment.

"Will you go with me?" she asked her in a whisper.

Una hesitated. To leave her uncle and the others, trusting herself entirely to this mysterious being, was more than she had bargained for. Divining the cause of her irresolution, Narva spoke reassuringly.

"They are safe," she said. "We will come back to them."

Something in the older woman's manner won Una's confidence. She felt that a way out of their difficulties was being offered her. Hope of a still greater result silenced her fears.

"Yes," she said.

Then, behind one of the stone benches, yielding to Narva's touch, a door slowly opened, revealing a narrow passage upon which they entered.

Glancing hastily back, Una noticed that the door, a great block of stone revolving with the utmost nicety in grooves made for the purpose, had closed behind them. She was thus separated from her companions and alone with a singular being whose purpose in all this she was at a loss to fathom. Narva's trustworthiness had appealed to her, it is true, and she had followed her leading when the others held back. But there was an air about Narva, suggesting the occasional freaks of one whose wits are not of the steadiest, that might well cause anxiety among those temporarily in her power. Just now, however, there was no sign of trouble, and Una repressed any outward evidence of alarm she might feel. Narva, indeed, seemed to have lost the solemn dignity she had assumed hitherto, and became every moment more ingratiating, reassuring. Gently stroking Una's hand, she stopped in her hurried walk down the corridor and, throwing back the heavy veil obscuring her features, showed a face marked by the nobility and calm of age. Its serenity and kindliness strengthened Una's confidence.

"We will go back to them," said Narva; "but first we must see," she added enigmatically.

"Why have you brought me here?" asked Una.

"Something you will see. You will help us, and then I will help you. I knew you were coming."

The explanation, if it could be called one, increased Una's mystification.

"You could know nothing of me. How could you know?" she persisted. "How can I help you?"

"Ah, Narva is very old," she replied, her long bony fingers passing through the masses of snow-white hair that fell to her shoulders, "and with the old there is knowledge. Long time I lived with your people, far from here. All the years I keep the secret of this Kingdom of the Condor. No one knows--if they know they do not dare to come. Only one--he knows, he has come. And now, you have come. Why?"

The abrupt question was confusing. Una wondered how much she knew, how much she dared tell her. The inscrutable eyes fixed upon her revealed nothing. Was it to learn her secret Narva had lured her away from the others? The narrow gloomy passage where they stood was remote from the inhabited portion of the cave; the door to Narva's dwelling, now that it was closed, was not distinguishable from the rest of the wall into which it fitted so admirably. Had Una tried, she could not have found her way back. She was completely at Narva's mercy--but the old Indian had shown only friendliness hitherto, it was reasonable to suppose that her proffer of assistance was genuine, since motive for treachery was lacking. Impulsively reaching this conclusion, Una answered Narva's question without reserve.

"I have come," she said, "because I am looking for one who is dear to me. I think he is lost in this cave."

"Why?" asked Narva, showing neither surprise nor incredulity.

"Once before he disappeared, and then he was lost here."

"When?"

"Three years ago. A man who was with him told me. But--he is not his friend. Perhaps it is not true."

"It is true."

"How do you know that?" asked Una eagerly.

"I know," she replied quietly, but with convincing emphasis.

"Then he is here! I am right. You know where he is. You will take me to him!"

"Ah! Perhaps you will not go. You are a white woman; you will be afraid to leave your friends and go with me."

"I am not afraid."

"Perhaps this man you look for has changed. Perhaps he will not know you. And this other, his enemy, perhaps he is here. There will be trouble, danger."

"Take me to him!" demanded Una passionately. "If there is danger, I should be with him. I am not afraid. I trust you."

"That is good," said Narva. "Come!"

Una now became aware that the corridor down which they were slowly walking widened out into a respectable thoroughfare at its further end, whence it abruptly turned and was merged in the main trail that had brought them to Narva's dwelling. Thus, the latter, through some labyrinthine arrangement of passages, was entered at one place and offered an exit in an entirely opposite direction, whence, by devious twists and turns, it came back to the first point of approach. To Una, at least, bewildered by the intricacies of cave topography, this seemed the explanation of the course they were pursuing, although the mysterious doubling of their tracks brought little consolation--especially when she realized that her uncle and his companions were lost in the center of a maze the clew to which completely eluded her. Anxiety for their safety overrode, for the moment, every other consideration; she grasped Narva's arm with a detaining gesture, a half uttered question on her lips. Her appeal, however, was not answered. Like some ancient oracle, from which has proceeded the final Pythian message, no further revelation was to be granted. In true sibylline fashion, with finger on lip and eyes set on some object in the distance hidden from Una, Narva indicated that the time for speech had passed and now it remained for them to carry out as expeditiously as possible, the design upon which they were setting forth. From her gesture and the stealthy caution with which she advanced, Una gathered that there were urgent reasons for maintaining a strict silence. They might be surrounded by hostile forces, their destination might be a secret one, or at least a knowledge of it might involve danger to the man for whose preservation she firmly believed they were engaged. Narva, in warning her of this danger, hinted that whatever they had to fear was in some way due to the presence of Raoul Arthur in the cave. The enmity of the latter to David, moreover, was full of sinister possibilities, and the conviction that they were about to foil the evil thus threatened nerved Una to face anything.

Una would have felt a stronger confidence in their mission, a keener enthusiasm, had Narva been more definite as to the identity of the man to whose rescue she believed they were hastening, or had she given some hint of the kind of danger to which he was actually exposed. But it was all so vague, she feared that some mistake had been made, a mistake easily growing out of the fervid imagination that, any one could see, quite controlled Narva's mind. While there was no shaking the old sibyl's reticence, however, the calm determination with which she set about her task proved, in a measure, inspiring. Una might feel an occasional doubt as to the outcome of their venture, but this doubt finally disappeared altogether before the faith, growing stronger with the changing aspect of the scene through which they were passing, that in some unlooked-for way she was about to attain the main object that had brought them into this ancient home of a vanished race.

They had now entered a portion of the cave where the dim half-light to which Una was accustomed turned, by comparison, almost to the light of day. This light appeared to come from a fixed point directly in front of them. No central globe, or body of fire, to which this appearance might be traced was visible; but, in the far distance, where the light reached its greatest intensity, over the top of a dark ridge of rock rising before them like the summit of a mountain, thin streamers of white radiance shot upward, rising and falling in the unequal flashes and subsidences generated by an electric battery. This luminous appearance, however, was too stupendous in its effects to be attributable to a mere electric battery. To Una's dazzled vision it rather resembled the first onrush of the morning sun, when the presence of that luminary just below the horizon is proclaimed by advancing rays of light. Here, however, an effect of greater motion was produced than in the steady and gradual illumination of the heavens heralding the coming of the sun. The sparkles and flashes neither grew nor shrank in intensity. If they were produced by a central body corresponding to the sun that shone upon the outside world, it was a stationary sun, fixed in some mysterious, invisible recess of the cave.