As they emerged into the starlight, they stopped short at the sight which lay before them. Scarcely a quarter of mile ahead were the slumbering ruins of a long-dead Inca city.
Visible against the dark sky were three lofty entranceway arches, built of colossal stones.
The grandeur of the sight awed the group to silence. Ken, the first to find voice, whispered: “It’s just as the parchment described! We’ve found the sacred city!”
Mr. Livingston leaned against a rock as he gazed beyond the massive arches to the ruins of the old habitation.
“Ahead lies the temple of the ancient Incas,” he murmured. “Few white men ever have viewed the sights we are about to see.”
Imbued by a deep excitement, the Explorers pushed on. Almost on tiptoe, they passed beneath age-blackened entranceway arches. Not a native was visible.
“It’s like a city of the dead,” whispered Ken.
Entering upon what once had been an Inca street, the Scouts picked their way amid a litter of broken pillars and masonry.
On either side were remains of houses whose porticos were decorated with elaborate carvings. All had been built of great stone blocks, joined perfectly but without the use of mortar.
With cat-like tread, the Scouts moved on to the main plaza. In its center stood a tall, black stone column, on which was poised a statue of a man. To the right were ruins of a once magnificent temple approached by a flight of broken steps.