“Many years ago, when he was a young warrior. At that time he and his band had taken a fancy to hunt on this mountain and began to climb it in search of game. One night, as they lay sleeping, all were seized and bound. Then, being blindfolded they were carried bodily through what seemed to be a long passage. In the morning their bonds were removed and they found themselves within the splendid hidden city of the Tcha. A council was held, at which it was decided to kill all but my father, the atkayma of the Itzaex. He was made to promise that he would never mention the secret of the existence of the city to any but his son or his successor who would rule his nation in his place after him. Ever, during his life and the lives of his successors, he was to prevent any of the Itzaex or other people from wandering near to this mountain. Under these conditions his life would be spared and he would be sent back to his home. Of course my father promised, and the next night was blindfolded and led through other passages, finding himself alone at daylight at the very foot of the mountain. He told me all this, so that I could fulfill his pledge when I became atkayma; but he would tell me nothing of the people of Tcha, except that they were a wonderful race and their city was magnificent with gold and beautiful red gems. Some few details I gleaned from him, but aside from what I have now told you I know nothing.”
“Then,” said I, “the thing is all hearsay. There is no positive proof that within the steep and forbidding walls of this mountain lies any city at all.”
Chaka looked at me reproachfully.
“My father, the atkayma, never lied,” he said.
“I don’t mean that, old man. He might have got a crack on the head, and dreamed it all. Or the things he saw may have impressed him, an ignorant savage, as more wonderful than they really were.”
“I believe the story, Sam,” said Allerton, sharply. “Indeed, I have risked my life and future happiness upon its truth. Why should you doubt?”
“Oh, I don’t Paul,” said I. “I’ve seen too many queer things to doubt anything but the commonplace. But you must admit it’s a rather flimsy story to base such great hopes on.”
We were sitting on the chests on the narrow ledge, talking in this manner, when Bry, who was facing the cliff that rose sheer above us, uttered a cry and pointed upward.
We all turned, to stare in astonishment.
Not ten yards distant, upon a tiny shelf of rock that looked like a bracket jutting out from the cliff, squatted a man.