What could a skulker be doing here? That was the question that leaped to mind. No sentries were posted, at least none had been seen so far. Nor was any other member of the party absent, as he could see in a quick glance to estimate their number.
The perilous situation in which Prince Huaca was placed recurred to his mind. Perhaps, after all, the prince was over-optimistic when he said that all within the fortress were loyal to him. Perhaps, in the loosening of the restraints of discipline, bound to come with the advent of the festival season, the soldiers below had permitted, altogether unawares, of course, some assassin intent on taking Prince Huaca’s life, to enter the fortress, to slip by them unseen.
Bob stood, pressed against the parapet, his eyes on the spot, some yards distant, where he believed he had seen the skulking form. He was thinking. Not a sign of movement. Could he have been mistaken? Should he investigate? If someone lurked there, with evil intentions against Prince Huaca’s life, he would be armed. Bob was without weapons. On the other hand, he realized he would not have to face firearms, but only a knife thrust or sword. And he was confident in his ability to take care of himself in a rough or tumble combat, a confidence bred of victories in the past, not only in school and college, but against ruffians in the surprising adventures into which they seemed fated perpetually to fall.
“I’ll have a look,” he muttered to himself. “No harm in making sure.”
Stealthily, he removed his shoes, set them against the parapet where they could easily be found later, and began creeping noiselessly along the low wall toward the embrasure.
With beating heart, and muscles taut and ready for a spring, he reached the spot. Should he peer around the edge or get on top of the parapet and stare down? Either way held danger, supposing the embrasure occupied. Then he had an idea. As he had stolen along the parapet he had come across a broken lance butt, some two feet in length, discarded by a sentry. This he had carried with him as a club. Now he took off his cap, put it on the end of the stick, and cautiously thrust it ahead of him around the edge of the embrasure.
Nothing happened. Bob was disappointed. Could it be he was mistaken? Had his eyes played him tricks? No, he felt certain he had seen a dark form skulking there. Perhaps he had the wrong embrasure. No, he felt certain this was the one. Casting caution aside, he thrust his head forward and took a quick look at the interior. It was empty.
As he stood, staring, uncomprehending, something soft and thick descended over him, a club came down on his head, a body fell upon him from above, and strong hands gripped his throat to prevent outcry. Like a flash of lightning, the truth was borne in upon him. He had not been mistaken. He had seen a form skulking there. And this man, seeing him come spying, had slipped to the top of the parapet and had leaped upon him.
Bob’s first thought was to cry out; but a fold of the enveloping bag was in his mouth, and he felt certain the muffled sound he made could not be heard. He realized, as in a flash, that whoever had attacked him, here in the center of Prince Huaca’s stronghold, would be intent on silencing his lips and would have no mercy on him.
These thoughts sped through Bob’s mind with lightning speed. The big fellow, on the other hand, reacted physically to the attack. He began fighting at once, and in a way that must have been totally unexpected by his antagonist. Instead of plucking at the other’s hands, which were clutched about his throat, he crumpled up as if overcome and sank to the stones.