“Capak inti-illariymin.”
The Indians bowed before him, replying in chorus to the chant.
“Now, Panomuna will kindle the sacred fire on the altar,” Mr. Monahan informed the group. “He will concentrate the rays of the sun upon tinder in the golden bowl. Then Captain Carter will do the trick faster.”
The native ruler held his great bowl aloft, catching the rays of the sun as he pronounced his weird chant.
Soon he had created his fire, which he deposited with ceremony on the altar. The multitude cheered.
Gradually, the cries subsided and deep silence came upon the throng. Every eye fastened upon Captain Carter. Confident and sure of himself, he strode down the temple steps.
“I hope he uses that cigarette lighter!” Mr. Livingston murmured. “It would be just our luck for him to use a match.”
“The natives already are familiar with matches,” Mr. Monahan commented. “That wouldn’t impress them and Carter knows it.”
By this time Jack had caught the gleam of bright metal in the captain’s hand.
“He’s using the cigarette lighter!” he exclaimed jubilantly.