"Will you eat, señor, or sleep?" asked my rescuer.
"Sleep," said I, "as soon as you have answered a question or two."
I cannot repeat exactly what the man told me, as his Spanish was none of the best, and he mixed it up with a patois which I only half understood. However, the outline of the story was plain enough, and will take but little telling.
My late jailer belonged to the Order of the Silver Key, a powerful Indian society, acting under the leadership of Raymon Sorillo. He had been placed in the fort both as a spy on the garrison and to assist comrades if at any time they endeavoured to capture the stronghold by way of the secret passage. Only the commandant and his chief officer were supposed to know of its existence, but a strange accident had revealed it to the Indians some years previously.
The jailer, of course, could have set me free, but in that case he must have joined in my flight. The plan he adopted was to communicate with his friends, and then, by feigning illness, to divert suspicion from himself. As soon as we descended the steps, he replaced the trap-door, removed all signs of disturbance, and crept cautiously back to his room.
When the Indian had finished his explanation, I asked him to what place he had brought me.
"The Hidden Valley," he replied, "where no Spaniard has ever set foot. Here you are quite safe, for all the armies of Peru could not tear you from this spot."
"Does Sorillo ever come here?" I asked.
"Rarely; but his messengers come and go at their pleasure."
"That is good news," I remarked, thinking of my mother. "I shall be able to get a message through to Lima. And now, if you please, I will go to sleep."