When the signal for their entrance was given, an array of beauty, in person and dress seldom witnessed, glided upon the scene. There were princesses, the wives and daughters of caciques and chiefs, and others with no royal blood to give them prestige—a double score.
We will not pause to describe the costumes—suffice it to say that the majority of them were gorgeous in the extreme, with elaborately wrought trimmings of gold and silver, and beautifully designed featherwork, making altogether a most fanciful picture of barbaric splendor.
The target, which in this case was the representation of a heart, was placed, and the contest opened.
The order of succession had been determined, and the first archer stepped to the front, receiving, as she did so, a good round of applause. After a moment's deliberation the arrow from her bow was sent on its harmless mission. It was well directed, but did not cut the target. She moved to one side, and another took her place.
"Look!" exclaimed a spectator to an associate as the second archer stepped into position. "By the bearded Quetzal, there's a beauty for you! Superb, isn't she?" The contestant was a stranger to that vast throng, but, had the reader of our story been present, a glance would have sufficed to reveal who it was; for it was none other than Mitla, the "Mountain Princess," who, through the persuasion of the tzin, had consented to enter the contest. After taking position she paused to recover her composure, giving the spectators time to note her admirable physique. A buzz of admiration was heard to pass through the great audience, and then as her bow was deliberately raised to shoot, all became silent! The silence was breathless—almost oppressive—while the vast crowd awaited the result of her shot. A snap was heard to break the stillness, followed by a sudden shadowy streak, which touched the target and disappeared; but the substance of it, the arrow from Mitla's bow, was left buried directly in the center of the heart. When the splendid feat of archery she had accomplished was realized, it was greeted with the wildest demonstrations of delight, accompanied by a shower of flowers, which fell in profusion about her. She had won the heart of the multitude by her superb, native presence, and unexcelled exhibition of skill.
Mitla cast her eyes in the direction of the king's canopied platform, and the look drew forth from friends there lively manifestations of recognition and applause. Coming, as these demonstrations did, from Macua's place on the tianguez, they were regarded by those who observed them as highly significant, fixing upon her the prestige of royal favor, raising the unknown archer, in their semi-barbarous minds, far above the plain of her uneventful life.
Many splendid shots were made by Mitla's competitors, but to no purpose. Her unerring accuracy could not be excelled, and at the close of the contest, amid shouts and acclamations of satisfaction, she was declared the winner.
The victorious girl was conducted before King Macua, who presented to her the prize she had won—a beautiful necklace of gold and gems, which was clasped about her throat by the hand of Euetzin, who was of the king's party. It was a superlatively happy moment to the beautiful mountain girl, and her eyes were effervescing with love's softest light as they rested on him whom, unknown to all save herself, she almost worshiped.
Mitla at once became an object of royal favor, and was escorted onto Macua's platform, and given a place with the king's elect.
A tilt with javelins was the next thing in order. This was in the nature of a challenge contest; a very dangerous one for the participants, and exciting to the beholders.