But what could he do to stop it?
He bent down and put a hand awkwardly on the girl’s black, touseled hair.
“There must be some way——” he said, looking across her head toward Bill.
“I can’t see any way,” Bill said morosely.
“When is this to take place?” he asked the girl in quichua.
“At the Feast of Raymi!” she sobbed.
“Well, you stop crying and——” Bill nudged him. Cliff, too, was using English. He hesitated, and Bill lifted the slim, quivering girl to her feet.
“Be not afraid, child of the long and curling locks,” he said kindly in the dialect she understood, “Chasca does not wish to see your eyes wet. But what can be done, Chasca will do; but breathe not a word lest Chasca’s pity turn to wrath!”
She dropped to the ground and struck her forehead on the path, to Cliff’s great dismay. Then as she remained in that abased position he touched his chums’ arms and they, with Bill, silently slipped away.
“Run and tell Mr. Whitley,” he urged Tom. “If he can get his chemicals ready in time we may save Caya’s sister.”