“It is the ancient city Burton Monahan sought,” Mr. Livingston said with conviction. “We may never know whether or not he ever reached here.”
“But you can bet Captain Carter has the answer,” Warwick muttered.
The Scouts had caught no further glimpse of the arrogant seaman, but they guessed that he might be sleeping or feasting inside one of the ruined buildings beyond the plaza. Farther on, they could see camp fires, and smell the aroma of roasting meat.
“We can’t stay here,” Mr. Livingston advised. “Either we must return the way we came, quickly—or find a hide-out.”
“How about one of these ruined houses?” Ken proposed, pointing out a fairly well preserved stone building some distance from the plaza. “If we hole in there, it will give us a chance to look over the situation.”
Jack nodded, for there was no alternative. As they crept into the stone dwelling, he noticed that Mr. Livingston was breathing hard.
“Fever coming up again?” he asked anxiously.
“I’ll be all right,” Mr. Livingston replied, lowering himself onto the dusty floor. “All the comforts of home here.”
Jack covered him with his jacket and gave him the last of the water from the canteen. After the Scout leader had fallen into a restless sleep, he and Ken quietly conferred.
“Our situation is desperate,” Jack said. “We can’t possibly escape down river with Hap as he is now. And if we stay here until dawn, we’re certain to be captured. Maybe we should find Carter and throw ourselves on his mercy.”