Bruno frowned a bit at that unsatisfactory conclusion, but the professor was of more equable temper, for a wonder. He smilingly shook his head, while gazing kindly, then spoke:
“I myself might have made the same error, Waldo, but you surely were in error, for once.”
“What! You mean I never saw those white women, uncle Phaeton?”
“No, no, I am not so seriously faulting your eyesight, my dear boy,” came the swift assurance. “But even the best of us are open to errors, and there were in olden times not a few Aztecs with fair skins; not exactly white, yet comparatively fair when their race was considered. And, no doubt, Waldo, you saw just such another a bit ago.”
But the youngster was not so easily shaken in his own opinion.
“There were a couple of 'em, not just such another, uncle. And they were white,—pure white as ever the Lord made a woman! And—why, didn't I see their hair, long and floating loose? And wasn't that yellow as—as gold, or the sunshine itself?”
“Yellow hair?”
“Yes, indeedy! Yellow hair, white skins,—faces, anyway. Blondes, the couple of 'em; and to that I'll make my davy!”
And so the youngster maintained with even more than usual sturdiness, when questioned more closely, pointing out the very spot upon which the strange beings were standing, the top of a large, tall building, clearly one of the series of temples.
In vain the field-glass was fixed upon that particular point. The partly roofed azotea was wholly devoid of human life, and though watch was maintained in that direction for many minutes thereafter, by one or other of the air-voyagers, naught was seen to confirm the assertion made by the younger Gillespie.