Finally, no more came. After waiting another ten minutes, Jack crept out to investigate. He returned to report that the natives had returned to their village and that the passageway seemed empty.
“I went a short distance in,” he told the others excitedly, “I could see daylight ahead, so the tunnel must be short. I thought I could make out the ruins of an old roadway.”
“The ancient Inca city,” murmured Mr. Livingston, pulling himself to a sitting position. “Our goal?”
“I’m not sure, but I think so! If we dare press on, we’ll soon know. What do you say?”
“Let’s go,” War urged instantly. “We can’t be any worse off than we are now.”
“Except that the city may be regarded as sacred,” Jack pointed out. “If we were found there, it could mean our finish.”
No one spoke for several minutes. Then Mr. Livingston gave answer by trying to pull himself to his feet. “We go on,” he said grimly. “Our chance to escape by the river already is gone. We must hide at least until nightfall.”
“Sure, and while we’re waiting, why not learn all we can!” cried War, well pleased with the decision.
The passageway, though narrow, permitted the Scouts to walk very nearly upright. With Jack leading they groped their way along the smooth rocks. At length, they came into the open once more.
Blinking as they gazed directly into the bright morning sun, the Scouts looked about. Below rolled a green sea of forest and the winding river.