“Gold. Christophe was thought of as a hero and a liberator until he fell in love with glittering gold.
“Gold,” he stopped short in his tracks. He was here at this very moment in a search for gold, the ‘Rope of Gold.’
“Ah, yes,” he told himself after a moment’s thought. “But we want it at least in part for others, not entirely for ourselves.”
He strolled slowly on. As he did so, he saw in his mind’s eye a broad aqueduct running down from the mountain and on out over a desolate, cactus grown plain. It was broken in places, but once it was repaired it would bring water to thousands of thirsty acres. Not alone that, but it would bring pure, cold water to those who now traveled far to carry luke-warm water on donkeys’ backs.
“Hundreds die needlessly every year because of the water,” the Professor had said. “If only we had the money for rebuilding the waste places.”
“He must have it,” the boy told himself. “Somehow—”
Of a sudden, he felt himself sinking. His first thought was that he had walked off the wall.
But no, he was in the very center.
Stones crumbled and glided beneath his feet. He threw his arms out madly. It was no use. Down, down he went.
He knew on the instant that the unusual had happened.