“Stands to reason,” he said as he perched himself upon the topmost steps of the last flight, “that these were built by natives long ago. See how nature has chipped and worn the edges away.”
“Probably done by the Maya Indians centuries ago,” said Kirk, dropping upon a soft bed of moss and fanning himself with a broad leaf pulled from a palm. “Everything of importance that is told of the Maya Indians happened long ago. There are a few of them back in the hills now. They do not count any more. A nation that was once rich and in a way powerful, that had a civilization rivaling any to be found in the world five centuries ago, has dwindled to a handful of vagabonds of the jungle. It is sad.” He cupped his chin in his hands and, as if seeing the palaces and temples of that lost civilization, sat staring at the jungle. “It is said,” he went on at last, “that the cave we are about to visit was the last hiding place of the smartest and wisest of the Mayas.”
“Fleeing from the Spaniards?” asked Pant.
“No. The Spaniards have many atrocities justly charged against them. But the great Maya civilization was destroyed by fierce, war-like tribes from the North before the prow of the white man’s boat touched Central America’s coral strands.
“The last of the Mayas are said to have fled to this cave and, unless they knew a secret passage leading out of the cave, to have perished there.”
Again Pant thought of the ancient treasure they must have carried with them.
“Did the savage tribe follow them into the cave?”
“They were afraid. That’s the way the story goes. Afraid the Earth God of the Mayas would push the mountain down upon them if they should enter.”
“So,” thought Pant, “whatever the Mayas took with them is in the cave still. And they were possessed of great wealth. I have read of it. Gold and jade, topaz and perhaps diamonds, pearls from the western shores and strange little gods carved from rare stones or formed from metal.”
All this he thought, but not one word did he say as they resumed their upward march.