“The automatic,” cried Mr. Hampton. “I forgot I had given him one.”
Cinto stumbled and fell in a crumpled heap on the steps.
CHAPTER XXVI—THE MOUNTAIN SPEAKS
“Come on, Dad,” cried Jack. “Come on, fellows. Let’s join him. We’re in a bad hole here.”
So astounded was the crowd about them by this new development, that, for the moment, it had forgotten the fainting of the Inca, forgotten the strangers. It was their chance. Whipping out their automatics, the eight, close together, burst through the fringe about them on the edge of the terrace and darted down the steps.
“Run, Prince,” cried Mr. Hampton, in Spanish. “Run for the fortress. We are your friends. We follow.”
Prince Huaca heard, glanced their way, and then stood stock-still in amazement. He had known nothing of their presence. But sufficient that they were at hand and were coming to his rescue. A smile of joy broke forth on his face. Instead of starting directly across the square, he dashed along the face of the steps of the Temple toward them.
Tumultuous cries broke out behind them now, and Bob and Jack, who brought up the rear, facing about, saw the mob of courtiers and soldiers, intermingled, start down the steps after them. One man was ahead of the others. He was Captain Guascar. Sword uplifted, unhindered by heavy armor as were his warriors, he came bounding down, three steps at a time.