Left alone in the stilling room with Cabanacte, the chief priest went on:
“Direct the moon-man and old Noco to attend me here. If yonder white face has no evil wish, it may be that his magic may save our king from death.”
Cabanacte smiled grimly.
“I know not, Coheyogo,” he remarked, as he turned toward the exit to the temple, “that the envoy from the moon will heed your curt command. But this I do believe, that, if besought, he’d use his greatest power to save our Sun alive. I will return to you at once.”
With these words the dusky giant strode past the hideous, grinning idols of baked clay, and the plaited coffins of the royal dead, and made his way to the great square from which the white-robed priests were driving an awe-struck, moaning people to their homes.
Coheyogo, glancing furtively around the deserted hall in which the spectres of the dead seemed ready to chase the flickering shadows cast by the miraculous fire, bent down and threw a huge log into the mocking flame, as if to quiet for a moment its spiteful, chiding voice. Suddenly behind him he heard the stealthy footfall of a white-robed underling. Turning quickly from the fire, Coheyogo’s piercing eyes rested upon a priest whom he had recently despatched to the Great Sun’s cabin.
“What news?” cried the chief priest, eagerly. “He still lives?”
“Magani! Listen, master! He lives, and, tossing on his bed, mutters strange words beneath his breath. ’Tis a devil that is in him, for he talks of things we cannot see.”
“And his physician?” asked Coheyogo, impatiently.
“He has done his best, but his eyes are wild and he shakes his head in impotence.”