While he pretended to bow and to remove his shoes, and to go through some sort of rites which made Nicky want to laugh, Bill whispered to Cliff.
“Can you hear me, Cliff?”
“Yes.”
“When I say ‘Hailli, Chasca’ the third time, open the tent flap. Pay no attention to anybody. Don’t answer if anybody speaks. Keep yourself erect and act as though everybody here was dirt under your feet. Got all that?”
“Yes, Bill.”
“Pick out the biggest of the two litters and walk right to it as if you knew all about it. Stop by it and just bow your head forward a little and say, ‘Hailli, Inca!’ and then turn and let the bearers help you into the other hamaca. Don’t talk, and don’t notice anything. I’ll do everything—with John.”
Presently the tent flaps separated and out came the counterfeit of the supposed celestial visitor. He did as Bill had instructed him. To the litter, which was covered with gold, or gold leaf, and heavily ornamented with green stones and other glittering gems, he made his solemn, unhurried way.
“Hailla, Inca!”
“Chasca, Hailli,” answered a deep voice from within. Cliff saw a man reclining, in royal robes, of texture even finer than the robes worn by those around him; on his head was a circle of fringed wool, the scarlet “borla” or sign of the Inca, with its two feathers from the sacred birds which were kept to supply those feathers alone-two of them to be worn by the Inca in his headgear. Huge golden ornaments hung so heavily from the man’s ears that they had dragged his earlobes down practically to his shoulders. He was a strange looking person and yet there was dignity and solemn power in his face.
While Cliff was helped to ascend to the floor of his own litter, Nicky had a little experience of his own.