“We are masters of the air,” Ted said. He did not like the attitude of the questioner, and Stanley was visibly uneasy.
For a moment Quizquiz surveyed them. His face, while handsome, bore a sullen expression, and the beady black eyes and drooping mouth bespoke a cruel and cunning disposition.
“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “But are you gods? Are you brothers of the sun, or companions of the moon? You speak with the voices of men. You ask for food and rest, like mortals.”
“All who would make known their thoughts must speak with the voices of men. The Inca is no exception.”
Quizquiz was plainly puzzled.
“And the thing that carries you through the air,” he asked, “is it bird, beast, or devil?”
“That you shall hear for yourself. It speaks with the voice of thunder.”
According to a prearranged plan, Ted sprang to the ground and spun the propeller, while Stanley operated the switch and throttle. With a snort the engine was under way and rapidly picked up speed, until the hand of the indicator registered five hundred revolutions a minute, the shattered blade of the propeller adding a whining shriek to the roar of the exhausts.
The Indians stared wide-eyed at the marvellous performance, and many, no doubt, would have liked nothing better than to turn and flee, but the knowledge that a show of fright would bring dire punishment restrained them from following their impulse.
Stanley cut the switch and the engine stopped.