“And didn’t he say something about our being in a place of which no report was allowed to get out?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I thought. But I couldn’t understand him very well. My Spanish isn’t the best in the world, anyhow.”
“He speaks what I expect is very ancient Spanish,” Frank replied. “You know the story—how those old Spaniards stayed and intermarried. Well, the language has been handed down. It’s hard for me to understand, but I can make out what he means well enough.”
Both boys had been careful not again to mention the word “Inca,” which originally had stirred the interest of their captors. They walked along in silence, until Bob presently resumed.
“Well, what I started to say was that it looks to me as if the reason why no report of the Enchanted City has ever gotten out is that they have captured whoever came near them and either killed them or taken them into the tribe.”
“Tribe?” Frank laughed. “These aren’t wild Indians. They are members of the strangest race in the history of the world, or I miss my guess.”
“What do you think we’ll find?”
“I don’t know, Bob. But you can count on its being something marvellous. Look how these men obey their leader. He must be a prince of the royal blood. But look what we’re coming to.”
The travel along the stream carried them into an ever-narrowing valley which finally became a gorge, and now, as Frank let the exclamation escape him, this gorge broadened out suddenly on the other side and a beautiful valley lay below. In the middle shone a great lake. It was this which Jack had seen from his lofty eyrie in the treetop. Farther off shone other and smaller lakes. Frank counted them. Three.