“Let this man show his magic to Chasca!” snapped Bill.
They all chorused, “Let him show his magic!”
Pizzara grimaced at Bill and turned to the Inca.
“I fear to show my magic,” he said. “It is too powerful——”
“He has none,” Bill cried, then whirled toward Huamachaco. “Let your high priest show his magic, then.”
But apparently the high priest still had some fear that the young fellow with the bright and flowing locks might be truly a messenger from the skies. He backed away, frowning, shaking his head. “It is not good to show my magic to the ones who are not in the sacred order,” he muttered.
“What? No magic? Yet Chasca can show some! Chasca—oh, Inca, take from the youth of the skies that which he offers.”
The Inca turned, gazing in surprise as did all the Peruvians, as Cliff produced the revolver. “The safety catch is on,” Bill murmured. “Let him have it, Cliff.”
The Inca took the glittering steel object gingerly, awed by it. He examined it while the others stared, but kept at a safe distance. Pizzara began to skulk away but soldiers stopped him.
“Point it—so!” suggested Bill, showing the ruler how to direct the muzzle in the general direction of Pizzara’s stomach.