Thus far Huetzin had felt almost certain that he had escaped recognition in Tenochtitlan. By the Spaniards he was invariably addressed as Don Juan, while his own followers spoke and thought of him only as their chieftain, giving him always the title of his office. Although, under the circumstances of his present appearance in the city, he did not fear any evil consequences to himself from being identified with the prisoner who had escaped from Huitzil's altar only three months before, he thought it best, for Tiata's sake, to remain unknown as long as possible. Nor did he esteem this a difficult matter. While the personality of the Spaniards was of great interest in the court of Montezuma, that of their despised Tlascalan allies was not deemed worthy of consideration. Who, then, would concern himself as to the name, title, or previous history, even of their chief? As Huetzin answered to himself "No one," he forgot that the anger of a baffled priest never slumbers, forgives, nor forgets. He forgot Topil.
Thus, when the young Toltec finally discovered a shadowy form, that seemed to move when he moved, and to halt when he halted, though always at a distance from him, he became interested rather than apprehensive, and wondered for whom he was mistaken. In his efforts to obtain a closer view of his shadow, he tried disappearing around corners and then quickly retracing his steps, hiding in dark angles, and various other plans, but always without success. At length he lost sight of the figure, and was beginning to think he must be mistaken in his suspicions, when he was startled by a whisper in his ear: "If you would know of Tiata, follow me!" Then a dark form moved swiftly ahead of him.
For a moment the young Toltec stood irresolute. The utterance of his sister's name showed that he was indeed recognized. He longed above all things for news concerning her, but should he, for that reason, throw prudence to the winds and follow the first stranger who bade him do so? Certainly not. At the same time his curiosity was so aroused that he determined to overtake the mysterious person, if possible, and force an explanation from him. The shadow was still in sight, though at some distance, and, under the impulse of the resolve just made, Huetzin started swiftly after it. As he ran, so it fled, always almost, but not quite, within reach. A touch of its fluttering garments led him to believe that the chase was nearly ended, and in his exultation he failed to notice that he had passed through a wide gateway. Again, as he was about to grasp the figure, it darted through an open door; but here the pursuer paused. He would follow no further.
At that moment there came a shrill scream from within. It was a woman's voice, and it seemed to cry: "Huetzin! oh, Huetzin!" Impulsively the young man sprang forward. He had hardly passed the dark portal, when he was seized by several pairs of strong hands and thrown to the ground. A minute later he was led away, helplessly bound, through the darkness. At length he was rudely thrust into a wooden cage, such as were used for captives destined for sacrifice, and there left to his own sorrowful reflections.
He could no longer doubt that he had been recognized, his every movement watched, and his capture devised by means of the simple trap to which he had fallen so easy a victim. Fortunately for him, Topil, the chief priest, had that day gone on a secret mission to Tezcuco. He did not return until near noon of the following day. As soon as he reached the temple he was informed that the young Tlascalan, upon whom he had so long desired to lay hands, once more awaited his pleasure.
Topil's eyes lighted with a fierce gleam as he muttered, "Ha! son of Tlahuicol, and avowed enemy of the holy priesthood, thou shalt not escape me now!" Then, aloud, he said: "Away with him to the altar of Huitzil, to which I will shortly follow. With this sacrifice shall the anger of the gods be averted, and all shall once more go well with Anahuac."
In obedience to this order, Huetzin was dragged from his cage, to which no ray of light had penetrated since he was thrust into it, was blindfolded, and bound to the back of a sturdy tamane, or porter of the temple. In this manner, and surrounded by a strong guard of priests, he was borne for a long distance, and, as he could distinguish from the motion, up many flights of stairs. When he was at length set down, although the bandage was not removed from his eyes, he felt certain that he once more stood on the horrible platform crowning the great teocal of Huitzil.
As he stood there, feeling that now his last hour had indeed come, he vaguely calculated the chances of a desperate plan for wrenching himself free, at the last moment, seizing the chief priest, who he was sure would conduct the sacrifice in person, and leaping with him from the giddy height. All at once he became conscious of a mighty hum of voices rising from far below, and gradually swelling into acclamations. Then, although he could not see him, a priest came running breathlessly up the stairway that led to the platform. Huetzin did, however, hear the words, "They are coming here! Away with him! Another time will do as well! Even his dead body must not be discovered!" Then the prisoner was seized and dragged into a building, which, by the horrible odor pervading it, he recognized as the shrine of the god. Here he was thrust into some sort of a room or closet, and its door was closed behind him.
In the meantime, Huetzin's former preserver, Tlalco, the Toltec priest, had been well aware of his arrival in the city, but had not yet found an opportunity to communicate with him. With all his secret means of acquiring information, he had not known of the young chieftain's capture and imminent peril until Topil's return from Tezcuco. Then he overheard the communication made to the chief priest, and, without an instant's delay, hastened to the king's palace. Montezuma was not there, nor were his attendant nobles. They were escorting the Spaniards on a visit to the places of greatest interest within the city.
Sandoval had been greatly concerned to learn, upon inquiring for his friend Don Juan, just before setting forth on this excursion, that the young Tlascalan had not returned to his quarters since leaving them late on the previous evening. He would have instituted an immediate search for the missing youth, had not the arrival of the king at that moment demanded his service. Filled with an ever-increasing uneasiness, the young Spaniard was compelled to visit, with his commander and the other cavaliers, the great market-place of Tlateloco, where not even the thousand strange sights, that so interested the others, could distract his mind from its one all-absorbing thought. What had become of the friend whom he had learned to love as a brother? Was he in danger? If so, what was its nature?