Finally, wearied by strain and exertion they stood, arm to arm, panting, eyeing one another and then the Inca rose and spoke.
“Thus must end the contest,” he told them, “the son of an Inca, himself descended from the god we worship, can not hope to put down Chasca, himself holy and from the stars. Nor can Chasca put down the son of the master he has come to visit in friendship.”
“Even so, royal Father,” panted Challcuchima. “We were evenly matched.”
Cliff smiled queerly, turning his head away; his chums wondered why. The rest of the ceremonial was rather tedious; long and flowery speeches were made by the Inca and his chief priest, extolling the virtues of his son and exhorting him to carry the wise and generous rule forward when he became Inca. Garlands were placed on the heads of all the contestants, made of bright flowers with evergreen woven into that of Challcuchima to show his endurance. Then he was crowned with the special, tasseled fillet of vicuna wool, yellow in color, which attested his appointment to be the next ruler.
When the ceremonies were over and, back in their temple, the contenders and Bill and Mr. Whitley discussed the previous events Tom turned to Cliff.
“Why did you smile at the Inca’s decision—when you and Chally wrestled to a standstill?” he demanded.
“He bribed me,” Cliff answered. “Remember, when I had the hammerlock hold——?”
“I wondered how he broke that,” Nicky interrupted and Bill nodded.
“He whispered that if I defeated him he would be disgraced, and promised to give me anything I wanted if I would not win.”
“Did you make him promise anything?” Nicky was eager.