The Boy Fortune Hunters in Yucatan

by L. Frank Baum

No; it would not do at all. We had only one hope of escape: to recover our gas-jackets and soar above the valley, over the forests and back to the ship where my father was by this time anxiously awaiting us.

So we decided that Paul, Chaka and I, being free to go and come at our pleasure, must begin a careful and cautious search for the place where our confiscated property had been deposited. We judged this would be one of the warehouses where public supplies were kept.

Next day we started on our secret mission, each going a different way. I had been instructed to seek out the officer who had first arrested us and robbed us in the prison, and try to pump him; so after breakfast I sauntered away through the city, past the theatre and along the flower bordered paths that led to the low white building near the center of the valley.

I met one of the soldiers, or “public guardians,” on my way, and found him not loth to enter into conversation. He told me the officer’s name was Pagatka and his rank that of Waba, or Captain. He did not know where the Waba Pagatka might be found; the officer was likely to be anywhere that duty called him.

When I began cautiously to refer to the property that had been taken from us the fellow withdrew into a shell of reserve. He admitted he had been one of those who had surrounded us and led us into the prison; but after that he had returned to his home and knew nothing of subsequent happenings. I deemed it wise not to press him or arouse his suspicions as to what I was after. He parted from me presently and went his own way.

My search for the Waba Pagatka was unsuccessful. I entered the great hall of the prison, where a small guard was stationed, and was allowed to go anywhere I pleased. All the smaller rooms but one were unoccupied. Here a man was confined who had quarreled with his neighbor and in the heat of argument had used bad language. He told me he regretted the occurrence, as it had seriously disgraced him.

There was no place here where our gas-jackets and electrites were likely to be hidden. The soldier in charge thought I might find the Waba in the manufacturing district, so I left the prison and began my journey toward the upper end of the valley.

The air was sweet and invigorating, for the altitude, even here in the cup of the mountain, was considerable and rendered the climate delightful. Everywhere the farmers were busy in their fields, and centuries of cultivation seemed not to have exhausted the soil in the least. Perhaps they had learned how to fertilize and restore it; anyhow, the crops were bountiful and not a weed nor rank growth of any sort was to be seen.

At midday I reached a dwelling at the north edge of the city, and asked for food. It was willingly furnished and in abundance, for every inhabitant of Tcha was entitled to his neighbor’s hospitality, all supplies being provided by the government.

During the afternoon I wandered about the district of the artisans trying to catch sight of the elusive Waba Pagatka, but failing dismally. I took occasion, however, to look into several warehouses, and found them all filled with the handicraft of the people or with raw material to be worked up. Returning, I circled the city and passed the weavers’ dwellings, where I was greatly interested in the looms these clever people had invented. They wove the finest linen I have ever seen, and a material much worn by the women which seemed to me softer and more exquisitely finished than the best of our silks. Yet it was not made from the cocoon of the silk worm, but from a reed that was shredded into hair-like filaments. It was really wonderful how great a variety of things were grown, mined and manufactured by a few people in a tiny shut-in place like this.