“It can’t be a very big place,” I remarked.
“That mountain is bigger than it seems from here,” declared Joe.
“Yes,” said Chaka; “it is a big mountain, and in its center, so my father told me, is a big valley where all things beautiful grow and flourish. The people are not many as compared with the Itzaex. Perhaps they number a thousand—perhaps two thousand—I do not know. But they are a powerful race, descended from those who once came from Atlantis, and in their valley they find all that they need to support life.”
We stood looking thoughtfully at the barren, towering peak. No wonder elaborate preparations had been made to invade such a stronghold.
“I wish we had their gold and rubies without the trouble of going there,” I said.
“Well,” said Allerton, awakening to a more alert mood, “we haven’t; and the journey must be made. What do you propose, Chaka? Can we steal away from the city to-night and start toward Aota?”
The atkayma shook his head.
“Look!” said he, pointing below. “The walls are guarded by my warriors. I myself might easily pass through, but not the white people. Already the word has gone abroad that the priests demand your lives. The funeral pyre of the dead atkayma requires victims. My uncle has aroused public hatred against you and the Itzaex nation thirsts for your blood.”
“That’s pleasant,” commented Joe.
“But what’s the program, then?” I inquired. “We don’t agree to be murdered, of course, however thirsty your people may be. That isn’t what we came here for.”