“As he jerked it open, an old woman stumbled into the room.” (See [page 46])

THE BOY SCOUT
EXPLORERS
AT TREASURE MOUNTAIN

BY
DON PALMER

ILLUSTRATED

CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
Publishers New York

CHAPTER PAGE 1. [An Important Assignment] 7 2. [Captain Carter] 17 3. [Path to Adventure] 27 4. [A Mission] 35 5. [An Ancient Manuscript] 46 6. [Earthquake Tremors] 53 7. [Scout Cargo] 61 8. [Contraband] 68 9. [Captain Carter’s Deception] 77 10. [Fury of a Mob] 85 11. [Into the Wilderness] 92 12. [A Mysterious Follower] 105 13. [A Poisoned Arrow] 113 14. [Disaster] 120 15. [Into the Chasm] 132 16. [Capture] 138 17. [Hostile Indians] 145 18. [The Medicine Man] 152 19. [The Tunnel] 162 20. [The Hidden City] 170 21. [Cannibal Fish] 176 22. [Indian Secrets] 181 23. [Beneath the Mask] 190 24. [Captain Carter’s Scheme] 203 25. [Inca Gold] 215

Chapter 1
AN IMPORTANT ASSIGNMENT

“What do you suppose is delaying Mr. Livingston? He should have been here half an hour ago.”

Uneasily, Jack Hartwell glanced at his wristwatch and then toward the entranceway of the Savoy Hotel terrace dining room.

There was no sign of the Scout leader. George (Happy) Livingston, advisor to Explorer Post 21, had invited the four Scouts to meet him promptly at 7:30 p.m. for dinner at the hotel. Now it was pushing eight o’clock, and he’d neither shown up nor sent word.

Three times a waiter had pointedly asked the Scouts if they cared to order. It was getting harder to stall.

“Maybe Mr. Livingston forgot he invited us.”

This remark came from Willie Medaugh, a tow-headed fifteen-year-old with broad, powerful shoulders. He was assistant crew leader, and wore the green Explorers’ uniform.

The others, Jack of the twinkling blue eyes, serious Ken Dougherty and Warwick Washburn, were fellow members of the Rover Crew, Post 21. “War,” a lean, freckled youngster with great enthusiasm and a peppery temper, was the newest recruit, a willing if untried member of the tough, efficient little band.

“Mr. Livingston never would have forgotten his appointment with us,” Ken Dougherty said in answer to Willie’s remark. “Not Hap!”

“No, you can bet something important held him up,” agreed Jack. “He’ll be along, or send word.”

Quiet-spoken, the crew leader had an easy, assured manner which inspired confidence. Next term he would be a senior at Belton High School. He was an outstanding athlete, hard of muscle and ever ready for adventure.

“Hey, Jack’s right!” Willie suddenly warbled. “Here comes Mr. Livingston now!”

A powerfully built man of thirty-eight strode across the dining room to the table by the garden railing. Before becoming a Scout leader, he had spent ten years in FBI work.

“Sorry to be late, fellows,” he apologized, seating himself beside Ken.

After ordering for the group, he explained that an important conference had delayed him. “You wonder why I invited you here tonight?” he remarked, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Is it about our trip to Minnesota?” Jack inquired.

“Yes, Jack. I’m afraid it’s off for this year.”

As the news sank in, every face mirrored disappointment. For months, the Explorers had planned a canoe trip to the Minnesota lakes. And now it was off!

“It’s like this,” Mr. Livingston explained. “I have a chance to head an expedition to Peru. It looks pretty good and I hate to pass it up.”

If a rocket had exploded in their midst, the four Rovers could not have been more astonished.

“Peru?” echoed Willie. “Way off in South America!”

“Right. In many sections, the country still is wild and unexplored. I hate to give up our canoeing trip, but this may be the chance of a lifetime.”

“I don’t blame you,” Jack replied politely. “Peru, gosh!”

“You’ll go by boat?” inquired Ken.

“No, by plane. Our expedition supplies will be sent ahead by freighter. A man named Captain Carter will look after that detail. He’s to meet me here later tonight to discuss the plans.”

“Who’ll go with you?” asked War. “When do you leave? And what’s the purpose of the trip?”

“One question at a time. First of all, I expect to take all the Rovers.”

War dropped his fork. The other Scouts were jolted into rapt attention.

“You’re inviting us all to go to Peru?” Jack demanded in disbelief.

“That’s right.”

“But the Rovers haven’t much folding money.”

“All expenses will be paid.”

“Say, that’s great!” Jack exclaimed. “But it’s fantastic! Who is the easy-mark willing to pay for this pleasure jaunt?”

“I didn’t say the expedition would be a pleasure trip,” Mr. Livingston warned. “The mission will be a tough one—harder than anything we ever attempted before. Mr. Monahan, our backer, is a level-headed business man. He’ll expect results.”

By this time, the waiter had brought chicken and steaks, but the four Rovers were too excited to do full justice to the appetizing food set before them. They fairly bombarded Mr. Livingston with questions.

“Here’s the meat of it,” he said. “For many years—twelve to be exact—Mr. Monahan’s brother, Burton, lived in Peru. Recently, through a meeting with a missionary in a little coastal village, he learned of an unexplored ancient Inca temple where great treasure had supposedly been hidden at the time Spaniards conquered the country.”

“Weren’t the Incas an Indian race?” Willie inquired.

“Correct. They excelled at road building, stone work and in the arts. When the Spaniards looted the country about 400 years ago, the Incas saved some of their vast treasure by dumping it into lakes or burying it in caves.”

“We’re going to Peru to search for lost treasure?” demanded War excitedly.

Mr. Livingston shook his head. “No, the lost treasure concerns us only as it may account for Burton Monahan’s strange disappearance.”

“Tell us more,” urged Jack.

“Burton Monahan learned of the lost Inca temple through a parchment which an old Peruvian missionary translated for him.”

“A parchment?” echoed Willie thoughtfully. “One of those animal skin things the old timers wrote on?”

“Right. It was a curious document, written by a Portuguese explorer in the early eighteenth century.”

“What became of the parchment?” Ken demanded. “Who has it now?”

“Why, I have,” Mr. Livingston replied in an offhand manner. “Accurately speaking, it’s a rough translation. I’ll show it to you in a minute. First, let me tell you more about the expedition.”

As the Scouts listened attentively, he explained that the parchment translation had been given to him only a few minutes earlier by Albert Monahan, brother of the missing explorer.

“Burton Monahan sent the copy to his brother more than a year ago, hoping to get him to finance a treasure search,” Mr. Livingston related. “Albert Monahan considered the tale about hidden gold pure fantasy. He refused the request. Burton undertook the search alone and poorly equipped. He vanished. That was fully six months ago.”

“No one ever heard of him again?” questioned Ken.

“A few half-hearted search parties were organized, but little came of them. Captain Carter, who was the last white man to see Burton after he started into the wilds, seems to have a few clues as to the route the missing man took. He’s persuaded Mr. Monahan to finance an expedition to learn whether or not Burton still is alive.”

“So we owe the trip to Captain Carter?” commented Jack.

“Quite the contrary. Captain Carter expected to control the expedition. He didn’t much like the idea of having me put in charge.”

“Then how did we get accepted?” Jack asked, puzzled.

“Mr. Monahan doesn’t entirely trust Captain Carter, I suspect. At any rate, in financing the trip, he specified that I was to be in charge. I insisted upon having you fellows along. I’ve already cleared with your parents, so if you’re game to tackle a really tough proposition, the expedition is set.”

“Peru, here I come!” Warwick chortled.

“Just lead me to the Inca treasure!” added Willie, his eyes sparkling.

“It’s quite a responsibility,” said Jack soberly. “I hope we’ll be equal to it.”

“You will be. I have full confidence in every member of our little team, and told Mr. Monahan so.”

“The parchment translation should be helpful in tracing Burton’s route,” Ken remarked thoughtfully. “You were going to show it to us, Mr. Livingston.”

The Scout leader nodded and laid several sheets of folded yellow paper upon the table. He picked one at random, and after studying the fine writing, read aloud:

“‘One afternoon we had drawn near unto the blue mountains, and were struck by their strangely jagged peaks—a wild sierra, whose walls gleamed with quartz crystals, betokening the presence of gold.

“‘That evening we stood entranced at the glory of the sunset falling on the jeweled rocks, touching them into splendor until cascades of fire seemed to spring from rock to rock. It was a country of strange and unearthly beauty, but over all there seemed to brood a spirit of mystery, an omen of fear.’”

As if to whet their curiosity, Mr. Livingston deliberately broke off.

Forgetting the manuscript for a moment, he next brought forth from his pocket a bit of multi-colored rope. The cord was tied at intervals with tiny knots.

“Now this,” he explained, “is an ancient Inca quipu or book.”

“Those knots were used by the Incas to record figures, weren’t they?” Ken recalled from his reading.

“Yes, Ken, for our purpose it has no practical value. The parchment translation however, might lead us to Burton Monahan. Particularly if we can find the old missionary who gave it to him originally.”

“Read some more,” urged Jack. “That stuff about ‘a spirit of mystery’ sort of intrigues me.”

Before Mr. Livingston could pick up the manuscript a waiter approached to say that he was wanted on the telephone.

“It may be Mr. Monahan calling,” the Scout leader said, getting up quickly. “Excuse me, fellows. I’ll be right back. Meanwhile, see what you can make of the writing.”

After Mr. Livingston had gone, the four Explorers pored over the translation. They were still trying to puzzle out the difficult writing when the waiter reappeared to tell them that they too were wanted in the lobby.

“Must be Mr. Livingston,” said Jack. “But why does he send for us, instead of coming back?”

“Go and see,” War advised with a shrug. “I’ll wait here.”

The other three went quickly to the hotel lobby. Mr. Livingston was not there, nor did they find him in the telephone booth. After trying vainly to learn who had summoned them, they started back to the terrace dining room.

“Where’s War?” Ken demanded, noticing that their table was now deserted.

Just at that moment, they caught a glimpse of the freckle-faced boy, coming from the opposite direction.

“I was looking for you,” War greeted them cheerfully. “Took you an awful long time—say, why that dead-pan look, Jack? What’s wrong?”

“The parchment! You didn’t go off and leave it lying unguarded on the table?”

“Why, just for a minute,” War admitted, looking scared. “But no one would touch it. Take it easy, Jack! I can see that bundle of colored cord still there.”

Without replying, Jack went quickly to the deserted table. True, the quipu lay on the tablecloth beside Ken’s half-empty water glass. But the parchment translation was nowhere visible.

Could a breeze have blown the manuscript to the floor? Jack was convinced otherwise, but to make certain he searched under the table and along the terrace railing.

“War,” he said, keeping his voice low, “you’re sure you didn’t take those papers with you?”

Miserably, the boy shook his head. “I left ’em lying right here on the table. They can’t be gone!”

“But they are,” Jack said, his voice grim with worry. “That call to the lobby was a trick by someone to get us away from this table. Mr. Livingston trusted that translation to us, and now it’s been stolen!”

Chapter 2
CAPTAIN CARTER

“A fine Scout I prove to be!” Warwick berated himself. “Why, I’ve messed up the expedition to Peru! Without that translation, there may be no trip.”

The other three Rovers knew that War might be right about the expedition. However, careless as he had been in leaving the manuscript unguarded, they did not blame him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ken said, to make him feel better. “We all fell for that telephone gag.”

“Whoever took that translation can’t be far from here,” Warwick muttered. “Why, I wasn’t away from this table five minutes, if that long.”

As the four Explorers searched the terrace floor, a waiter came over to inquire if anything had been lost. Jack told him about the missing papers and asked if anyone had visited the table during their absence. The waiter recalled that a man had stopped there for a moment and then had left the terrace.

“Can you describe him?” Willie asked eagerly.

“He was heavy set, deeply tanned. Why, there he is now—leaving the hotel grounds.”

The waiter indicated the retreating figure of a stockily built man, dimly outlined against the dark shrubbery. The stranger moved swiftly, away from the terrace.

“He’s the one who snatched the parchment!” War exclaimed with instant conviction. “Let’s nail him!”

To the dismay of the waiter, the four Explorers leaped nimbly over the terrace railing onto the lawn below.

By this time the man they pursued was midway across the hotel grounds. Unaware that anyone followed, he paused beside a tall evergreen and bent over as if to place something at its base. Now that the stranger was beyond the reflection of the terrace lights, the Scouts could not discern his movements clearly.

“He’s pitching that manuscript!” Warwick whispered. “Let’s grab him quick!”

“We can circle in from behind,” Ken advised. “Be quiet and careful.”

“We might be making a mistake,” Jack advised uneasily, but the others did not heed.

Moving softly through the darkness, they suddenly surrounded the stranger. War grabbed him firmly by the arm.

“We got you, mister!” he asserted. “Hand over that manuscript!”

The man pulled angrily away. He was powerfully built, with a close-cropped head of chestnut colored hair. Ken and Willie moved in close, cutting off all possible escape.

“Manuscript!” the stranger exclaimed. “What are you blubbering about anyhow? What’s the big idea?”

“You know well enough!” War accused. “You took that translation from our hotel table just now!”

“Say, are you kids crazy?”

“We want those papers,” War insisted. “Hand ’em over!”

“You little hoodlum, you!” the man snarled. “If you don’t stop pawing in my pants pocket, I’ll sock you! I’ve had enough of this!”

“Maybe you can explain what you were hiding by this evergreen,” Willie suggested pointedly.

“Well, jar my rigging! You kids have got bats in the belfry! I was looking for my wristwatch.”

“Your wristwatch!” War said scornfully, “That’s good!”

“The strap unfastened and it slipped off. It’s here somewhere.”

Taking no part in the conversation, Jack had devoted himself to inspecting the ground beneath the evergreen.

“Is this your watch, sir?” he inquired, holding up the shiny object.

“It is! I hope you realize now that you’ve made a blasted mistake.”

“But—I was sure—” Warwick stammered, completely deflated. “The waiter said he saw you at our table on the terrace. Maybe you’ll explain what you were doing there.”

“I went to the terrace to see a guy named George Livingston. They told me that was his table. No one there. Only empty dishes. So I left.”

“You were to see Mr. Livingston?” Jack repeated. “Then you must be—”

“Captain Carter. Captain Edmund Carter, skipper of the Shark.”

“Jumping hop toads!” War muttered. “I—I guess I’ve made another bad mistake.”

The captain’s laugh was unpleasant. “I should complain to the police,” he said. “But forget it. No use getting one’s wind up over trifles.”

“That’s very decent of you,” Jack replied. “We apologize, Captain Carter.”

“It was an unfortunate mistake,” added Ken. “Happy—Mr. Livingston had shown us the parchment translation. We left it on the table when we were called away, and it disappeared.”

“So you tag me?”

“It was a mistake,” Jack said patiently. “By the way, when you stopped at our table, did you see the manuscript?”

“Oh, so now you want to put me through the third degree! It’s not enough that you grab me from behind and maul me?”

“We’re only trying to learn what became of a very valuable property,” Jack answered, carefully holding his temper in check.

“Son, I didn’t see your papers or whatever it was you lost. Get that straight?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, that’s settled. Now do you know where I’ll find this character, Livingston?”

Jack resented the captain’s manner of referring to the Scout leader. He answered briefly. “He’s at the hotel.”

“Can you take me to him?”

“I guess so.”

“Then cast off,” Captain Carter ordered. “We’ll forget that you tried to manhandle me. Lucky for you I got a milk-and-honey disposition.”

Unconcerned by the Scouts’ loss of the manuscript, the seaman strode down the path toward the hotel.

In the darkness, he could not see the faces of the four Rovers which all too plainly mirrored their private thoughts as to the captain’s “milk-and-honey” temperament.

At the hotel once more, the boys could not find Mr. Livingston in the lobby. Somewhat puzzled by his prolonged absence, they returned to their original table with the captain.

As he studied the menu, the Explorers were able to examine his ruddy, unfriendly face. A jagged scar marred his left cheek. As for his dark eyes, they had a quick trick of shifting, and never seemed to return a steady, even gaze.

Willie, trying hard to make conversation, said: “You must know a lot about Peru, Captain Carter.”

“I’m wondering—” Jack began, and broke off.

“Have you been there often?”

“Too often.”

“It must be an interesting country.”

“Lousy,” the captain growled. “Three areas—coastal, the sierra region and the heavily forested slopes that lead to the Amazonian plains. Rain, heat, freezing cold. Lima, the capital, ain’t so bad. They ought to chuck the rest of the country into the Pacific.”

“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” Ken protested. “I hope not, because we’re going there with Mr. Livingston.”

Captain Carter laid aside his menu and stared directly at Ken. In that unguarded moment, concern and hostility were reflected in his lined face.

“You mean I got to nursemaid a bunch of kids?” he demanded.

“That’s an unflattering way of putting it,” Ken replied. “We’ve never been to Peru, but we’re not softies.”

“I’ll vouch for that,” said a voice directly behind the captain.

Unnoticed, Mr. Livingston had crossed the terrace to the table.

“Oh, here you are!” exclaimed Jack in relief. “We couldn’t find you anywhere, Mr. Livingston.”

“I see you’re in good company,” replied the Scout leader, shaking hands with Captain Carter. “Sorry to have been held up. Anything wrong?”

“Plenty,” Warwick answered. Without mentioning the unfortunate episode with Captain Carter, he told of the manuscript’s disappearance.

The loss plainly startled the Scout leader. Nevertheless, he said very little and did not blame Warwick.

“Don’t worry about it,” he advised the Scouts. “I’m mighty sorry to lose the translation, but if we’re lucky enough to find that old missionary who made it, we should be able to duplicate the information.”

As Captain Carter ate his dinner, the Scouts listened attentively to his talk with Mr. Livingston. The seaman ignored them entirely as he discussed details of the proposed trip.

“According to the arrangement, I’ll be off for Peru next week,” he growled. “See to it that all your heavy supplies are at the dock ready for loading on the Shark by noon of the sixth.”

“Everything will be there,” Mr. Livingston promised. “We’ll follow next month by plane and meet your boat at the coastal port of Cuertos. Right?”

“Right,” the captain scowled. “I’m warning you though, this is no expedition for a bunch o’ kids.”

“The Explorers are well seasoned,” Mr. Livingston returned. “They’re tough and efficient. I know I can depend on them. That’s why I told Mr. Monahan I wouldn’t attempt the search for his brother without their help.”

“That’s a laugh! If you run afoul of a tribe of wild Indians, you figure to hold ’em at bay with your Scout knives?”

“I doubt that would be our way, captain. There are methods of handling a situation that do not involve force.”

“Yeah? Well, give me my two fists or a round of ammunition!” Captain Carter had finished his dinner. He shoved back his chair. “I’ll be going now,” he announced. “My job is to get your supplies through to Cuertos on time. The Shark will be there. Just don’t come cryin’ to me when the going gets rough!”

With barely a nod to the four Scouts, the seaman left the terrace. Without comment, Mr. Livingston settled the bill for all the dinners.

“Pleasant character,” Jack remarked. “Tough as an old lanyard knot!”

“I wonder where Mr. Monahan found him?” speculated Ken.

“Captain Carter introduced himself—sold the expedition, so to speak. He knows Peru thoroughly.”

“He certainly took a dislike to us,” Jack commented. “Not that I blame him too much.”

War himself related to Mr. Livingston how he had mistaken the captain for a thief.

“I sure am sorry I jumped him the way I did,” he said contritely. “I guess I’m in the doghouse now.”

“No such thing,” the Scout leader smiled. “You acted a bit impulsively, without thinking through the situation. Next time you’ll react more wisely.”

“You still want me to make the trip?”

“I certainly do.”

“Thanks,” War said, his eyes shining. “I’ll do my best to prove worthy. I’m going to try to find out what became of that missing manuscript.”

“That’s a job for all of us,” Jack amended. “We’re all equally responsible for the loss.”

Before leaving the hotel, Mr. Livingston and the Rovers talked to several of the waiters and other diners. No one had seen any person except Captain Carter visit their table.

“I’m wondering—” Jack began, and broke off.

“Wondering what, Jack?” prompted Mr. Livingston.

“Well, maybe my suspicions are unfounded. But it hit me that maybe we made a mistake not to search Captain Carter.”

“We got into enough trouble as it was,” Warwick muttered.

“Supposing—just for speculation—that Captain Carter knew we were following him and dropped that watch into the shrubbery.”

“So that when we found it we’d assume we’d made a terrible mistake!” Willie exclaimed. “Maybe he had the translation in his pocket all the time!”

“We were chumps not to have searched him,” asserted War.

Mr. Livingston smiled. “An interesting speculation,” he commented. “Off hand though, I can’t imagine why Captain Carter would want the translation. For that matter, had he asked to see it, I certainly would have shown it to him. We’re all supposed to be working together to find Burton Monahan. So a motive for the theft seems to be lacking.”

“I guess so,” Jack admitted reluctantly.

“Bear in mind that we’re saddled with Captain Carter for the duration of the trip.”

“And it’s poor policy to stir up bad feeling before we’re even on our way.”

“Exactly, Jack,” the Scout leader agreed. “We must do our level best to get along with the captain. He’s not the man of my choice. But if he once gets the idea that we’re unfriendly or watching him, he could cause us a peck of trouble.”

Chapter 3
PATH TO ADVENTURE

During the next few weeks, the entire Scout organization buzzed with the news that Ken, Jack, Willie and War were to set off on a great adventure.

Younger Scouts eyed them enviously. Belatedly, there was a rush by boys over 14 to join the Rovers. Applications readily were accepted, but the newcomers quickly learned that the trip to Peru was a closed expedition except for those who had proven their ability to endure real hardships.

As for the fortunate four, they scarcely could believe their own good luck. It seemed a miracle that they had been selected, that all expenses would be paid, and that their parents had given consent.

Their enthusiasm boundless, the young Explorers spent hours at the public library, reading about South America. Jack, in particular, studied Spanish grammar, trying out phrases on his friends.

According to a carefully worked out plan, Captain Carter was scheduled to sail without delay for Cuertos, an almost unknown dog-hole port on the Peruvian coast.

The trip through the Canal would take many weeks, while the Rovers, by clipper, would reach their destination speedily. Captain Carter’s Shark was expected to arrive at Cuertos well ahead of Mr. Livingston’s party. A meeting date was set for the following month.

As preparations rapidly went forward for the sailing, the four Explorers saw little of Captain Carter. Occasionally, they ran into him at Mr. Livingston’s home, but always he shunned them. Though they tried to be friendly, he would not respond.

“He won’t get over his grudge,” Willie remarked. “A nice way to start a long trip!”

“It’s not our fault,” Jack returned. “We’ve done everything we can to make amends. He distrusts us, and between you and me and the gatepost, I feel the same about him!”

The Explorers consoled themselves with the thought that once their equipment and stores had been delivered at Cuertos, they would be done with Captain Carter. Few freighters, they were told, ever visited the out-of-the-way port.

“Don’t underestimate Captain Carter,” Mr. Livingston advised the Rovers. “He can be very useful to us if we win him over. He knows the ropes and can put us in touch with the right people.”

“You’re not expecting trouble on this trip?” Jack asked quietly.

“It’s well to be prepared. Our expedition may end at Cuertos. If we learn that Burton Monahan is dead and can establish it, that terminates our mission. On the other hand, if we discover that he went into the old Inca country, it will be our duty to trace him as far as we can. That’s why we’re sending plenty of supplies ahead.”

“I sure wish we hadn’t lost that translation,” War said gloomily.

“Forget it,” the Scout leader advised. “It’s gone, and we may as well stop worrying about it.”

Equipped with lists Mr. Livingston supplied, the Explorers packed carefully for the trip. Nothing was left to chance. Informed that they might expect extremes of weather in Peru, sweltering heat in the lowlands and frigid temperatures if their journey took them high into the mountains, they chose each item with great care.

Mr. Livingston personally inspected all luggage that was to go by boat. Every unnecessary item was discarded.

Finally, the last box was labeled and sent to the dock for shipment. On the day of sailing, the Rovers drove to the waterfront to see the Shark on her way. Mr. Livingston, having important duties elsewhere, was unable to accompany the group.

The vessel proved to be a small, rather filthy-looking schooner, which regularly carried cargo through the Panama Canal.

Bent upon exploring the vessel from stem to stern, the four Rovers started up the gangplank. A sailor stopped them.

“Sorry,” he said curtly. “No visitors.”

“But we came to see our stuff loaded,” Willie replied. “Captain Carter knows us. He won’t object.”

“There’s the Captain now!” cried War, spying the officer on deck. “Hi, Captain! May we come aboard?”

“We sail in thirty minutes,” the Captain returned shortly. “You’d only be in the way.”

War would have pressed the matter, but Jack gave him a quick nudge.

“Let it slide,” he advised. “No use getting the Captain’s goat again. Come on, we can watch the loading from shore.”

Hiding their annoyance, the Explorers sought a patch of shade in the lee of a large warehouse. Stevedores trundled boxes and barrels of cargo aboard. Captain Carter remained on deck personally supervising the job.

The boxes marked for the Scout expedition were raised in a great net and swung down into the hold. The stevedores then moved the overflow up the gangplank.

In an ugly temper, Captain Carter berated the men for being slow. One fellow, who carried an especially heavy load, stumbled on the uneven planking. Either by accident or design, he permitted a box to slip from his shoulder into the water.

“Stupid idiot!” Captain Carter shouted. “Brainless! Can’t you watch what you’re doing?”

Jack and Ken instantly leaped to their feet. Seizing a grappling hook, they tried to raise the sunken box from the shallow water.

“Lay off that!” Captain Carter shouted, even more furiously.

Startled by the violence of the outburst, Jack gazed up into the enraged face of the Captain. In that instant, he fancied that the surly, pouch-like face mirrored not only anger but fear. What reason might the Captain have for not wanting the Explorers to help retrieve the lost cargo?

“Ken and I were only trying to help,” he said quietly.

“When I want your assistance, I’ll tell you so!” the Captain growled. “Aboard the Shark, I’m in command. Now get away from the gangplank!”

“Okay,” Jack muttered, eyes blazing. He’d learned in early Scouting days that it nearly always paid to hold one’s tongue.

War, however, could not resist making a muttered comment.

“What was that?” Captain Carter bellowed at him.

“Oh, peddle your fish!” War exclaimed. “I’m glad we’re not passengers on your old tub!”

“A sentiment shared, young man. When I see you in Peru, it will be soon enough!”

“Just be sure you deliver our stuff safely!” War shouted back. “Don’t be dumping any more of it!”

To break up the useless repartee, the other Explorers pulled War away from the dock.

One and all, they smarted under the Captain’s rude treatment. He was being well paid to transport the expedition supplies to Peru. Why then, should he have taken such a dislike to them?

“It’s because of that parchment translation incident,” Willie declared as the four stepped back to watch two sailors recover the sunken box. “The old boy won’t forget or forgive.”

Later that afternoon, after the Shark had sailed, Jack and Ken related the unfortunate loading affair to Mr. Livingston.

“Captain Carter is a surly fellow, I’m afraid,” the Scout leader commented. “Fortunately, we won’t run into him again until we hit Peru. And we shouldn’t have too close an association after that.”

“I sure wish we were leaving tomorrow,” Jack declared with a grin. “How’ll we wait?”

“The days will pass fast enough,” Mr. Livingston assured him.

He was right. Almost before the Explorers realized it, the long weeks had slipped by.

On the night before the party was scheduled to board the clipper for Peru, the Scout organization held a final meeting.

For the four Rovers, the occasion was a solemn, impressive one. Well they knew that weeks, perhaps months, might elapse before they would meet again in formal session. Even so, they had no inkling of the exciting adventures that lay ahead or of the part that Captain Carter was to play in their lives.

During the early part of the evening, movie slides were shown on Peru. Jack, as crew leader, thanked the committee for the fine program presented, and then, with regret, announced that it was time to end the meeting by closing the log.

A hush fell upon the throng. War arose, and soberly closed the big book in which were recorded minutes of the organization.

Never had the simple ceremony been more impressive than on this night. On the table beside Jack was the Explorer’s Emblem—wings, anchor and compass—symbolic of air, sea and land activities. In front of it were two glowing candles. To the left stood the American flag, and on the right, the unit banner.

Jack himself turned to extinguish the candles, symbolic of the ideals lighting the way of all Explorers.

“This emblem is to remind us that we are part of a great organization,” he said soberly. “An organization made up of thousands of fellows in troop, crew and post everywhere.”

Normally, the ceremony would have ended there, but Jack went on. With deep feeling, he added the words of the Scout oath:

“‘On my honor, I will do my best

To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;

To help other people at all times;

To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.’”

The other Explorers joined in, speaking each word with sincerity. All eyes were glued upon Jack, Ken, Willie and Warwick.

At that impressive moment, knowing that on the morrow they would be speeding far from America, the four felt their responsibility keenly.

Hadn’t they been singled out for an important mission? They must try hard to make Mr. Livingston and the other Scouts proud of them! Come what would, they dared not fail or falter.

Chapter 4
A MISSION

“Six days overdue, and no sign of the Shark! What a help Captain Carter proved to be!”

Jack delivered the remark as he lay on the steep hillside overlooking Cuertos harbor in Peru. His sentiment was shared by the other Explorers, Willie, Ken and War. Six days of waiting in a desolate coastal town had left the four Rovers decidedly restless and impatient.

Behind them now were a thrilling plane journey from the States, exciting days in Lima. But nearly a week had elapsed since they had registered at the little Cuertos Hotel in this sleepy town seldom visited by tourists.

To the annoyance of Mr. Livingston and the Scouts, the Shark had not yet made port. What, they wondered, had delayed Captain Carter and their supplies?

On this sunny morning, while Mr. Livingston conferred with government officials, Jack and his friends had decided to watch the harbor for a possible glimpse of the long overdue vessel.

“Maybe Carter never will show up,” War remarked, tossing a stone into the waves which broke gently on the shore below. “I don’t trust him.”

“The Shark may have run into bad storms,” Jack replied. “It’s hard waiting, though—especially when we can’t pick up any information about Burton Monahan.”

“Apparently the only one who knows anything about him is that old missionary who lives on the hill,” Ken said thoughtfully. “And he won’t see us.”

A week ago, the day of their arrival, the Scouts and Mr. Livingston had called at the crumbling old mission overlooking the sea. Politely but firmly, a servant had informed them that Father Francisco Manoel was ill and would receive no visitors. For five straight days, the answer always had been the same.

“It’s an excuse not to see us!” Willie asserted, getting up from the rocks. “Father Francisco just does not want to tell what he knows about Burton Monahan or that old parchment!”

“Oh, we can’t be sure,” Jack drawled. “Father Francisco may be sick. We didn’t expect this job to be an easy one. Or did we think Burton Monahan would be sitting conveniently on a rock pile waiting for us?”

“I’m getting tired of perching on this one!” War announced. “Let’s move!”

“Where?”

“We might amble into the village again.”

“Okay,” Jack agreed. “We’re not to meet Hap for a couple of hours. Plenty of time.”

Slowly, the Rovers climbed a crooked path which twisted up the steep hillside. Midway to the summit they met an old woman with a brilliantly colored parrot perched on her shoulder.

“Buenos dias,” croaked the bird.

“Good day, yourself!” Jack responded.

He halted, intending to inspect the saucy parrot. But the bent old native woman glared angrily at him and shuffled hurriedly on.

“Guess she didn’t like the way I spoke to her pet,” Jack said with a shrug. “Or was she suspicious of our Explorers’ uniforms?”

At the top of the hill, the four Scouts paused to breathe deeply of the salt air. Willie snapped several pictures of the old mission, and then he and War wandered on.

Left behind, Jack and Ken watched the sea for a while before starting in the direction their companions had taken. In passing the old mission door, Jack impulsively paused to knock.

“No use,” Ken discouraged him. “There’s never any answer.”

But even as he spoke, they heard footsteps. Surprisingly, the massive door swung open and a servant peered out at them.

“Father Francisco see you now,” she informed them in broken English. “Enter!”

“Well, what d’ you know!” Ken murmured startled. “We must have pressed the magic button!”

The servant motioned for the two Scouts to follow her down a tiled corridor. Eventually, they came to a pleasant half-underground library whose long, wide window provided a view of the ocean. On three sides, the walls were lined with books.

Father Francisco sat facing the sea, but he turned slowly as the Scouts entered. He was a small, bent old man in a black dressing robe and sandals. Pillows braced his back.

Motioning Ken and Jack into well-worn leather chairs, he said in precise but perfect English: “I regret I have been ill and could not see you when first you called. My arthritis has been most painful. Mr. Livingston did not accompany you?”

Jack replied that their leader was in conference with government officials. He and Ken both were uncomfortably aware of the old missionary’s intent scrutiny. They had an odd feeling that he not only knew everything about them and their party, but could read their innermost thoughts.

“How do you like Peru?” Father Francisco inquired politely.

“We haven’t seen very much of it,” Jack confessed. “Cuertos though, isn’t exactly as we pictured it.”

“The coastal area is very dry,” the missionary said, fingering a long, gold neck chain. “Here at Cuertos we have a good rain at least once a century. Earthquakes, I regret to say, are more frequent.”

An awkward silence fell. Father Francisco broke it by inquiring: “You are Scouts from America?”

“Explorers,” Ken said proudly. “I guess you already know why we are here.”

Father Francisco eyed the pair quizzically. “You are searching for Burton Monahan? Or is it the treasure which intrigues you?”

“We’re trying to find Mr. Monahan,” Jack replied earnestly.

“One must be very brave or very foolhardy to venture far into the wilds. A mule-back trip across Peru consumes weeks.”

Ken and Jack nodded, remaining silent.

“Many of our mountain roads are mere tracks,” Father Francisco continued. “Only caves or stone huts offer shelter. To venture far one must have a trusted arriero or muleteer to act as guide. A dependable man is not easy to find.”

To Jack and Ken it was clear that the missionary deliberately was trying to discourage them. They listened attentively as he mentioned the many dangers that might beset a traveler. When he had finished, Jack said quietly:

“We realize, Father, that our mission won’t be easy. All the same, a few hardships won’t bother us. You knew Burton Monahan?”

“Very well. Ah, he was a reckless one! But with the courage of a lion! From the first, the old tale of treasure fascinated him. Yet in fairness, I must say it was not lust for Inca gold that spurred him on, as it does so many adventurers who come to this country. No, it was the lure of the unknown that drew him irresistibly to his fate.”

“His fate?” Ken repeated, startled. “Then you believe that Burton Monahan is dead?”

Father Francisco shrugged his thin shoulder. “Quien sabe?” he murmured in Spanish. “Who knows? There is one who might provide the answer, if he would. I fear however, that the truth will never pass his lips. Not if it profits him to remain silent.”

“Who is this man?” questioned Jack.

The missionary did not answer. The Explorers were certain he heard and that deliberately he withheld his reply.

“I would assist you if I could,” Father Francisco resumed after a moment. “Unfortunately, I can do nothing.”

“Tell us everything you know about Mr. Monahan’s disappearance,” Jack urged.

“For many weeks he studied the ancient parchment which I have here—taking notes, trying to figure out the route of the Portuguese explorers who so faithfully recounted their discovery of the hidden pre-Inca city. Finally, disregarding all advice, he organized a party and set off into the most desolate section of the mountains. That was many months ago.”

“And that was the last you ever heard of him?” Ken inquired.

“Word filtered back. As the journey became more difficult, his natives began to desert. Finally, even Captain Carter abandoned him.”

“Captain Carter!” exclaimed Jack, startled. “The skipper of the Shark?”

“The same.”

“Why, we didn’t know he had a close association with Mr. Monahan,” Ken declared. “Captain Carter is bringing our equipment here on the Shark. In fact, he promoted the expedition.”

Father Francisco eyed the two Scouts with a fixed rigid smile. “So Captain Carter is to be a member of your party?” he asked softly.

“Mr. Monahan—Burton’s brother—thought he could be helpful to us,” Ken explained.

“Ah, yes, Captain Carter could be of assistance, if he chose,” murmured the old missionary. “I regret to say he is not known in Cuertos for his cooperative qualities. Captain Carter—”

Abruptly, the missionary broke off, as if he had been on the verge of making an unintended disclosure.

“You must excuse me now,” he said apologetically. “It is the hour of my siesta. As for the temple treasure and Burton Monahan, I advise you for your own safety, to banish all thought of an expedition.”

Disappointed by the dismissal, Ken turned to leave. Jack, however, was unwilling to be discharged so easily.

He sensed that mention of Captain Carter’s name somehow had been unfortunate. Seemingly, Father Francisco had become distrustful of their association with the skipper of the Shark.

“Captain Carter was assigned to our expedition by Burton Monahan’s brother,” he informed the missionary. “We have no liking for him. Right now we’re annoyed because the Shark hasn’t made port with our cargo.”

“We’ve counted on your help,” Ken added earnestly. “If we don’t get it, the expedition will bog down right here at Cuertos.”

“I believe that you are sincere,” the old missionary said after a long silence. “This much I will tell you. Captain Carter has an ugly reputation among our people.”

“Because of the Monahan affair?” interposed Jack.

“There were whispers that after Monahan left here, he fell in with Carter,” the missionary explained reluctantly. “Some believe that together they came upon the hidden city and that for lust of gold, Carter removed Monahan from the picture.”

“But the captain has claimed to be working to save Monahan!” Jack exclaimed.

“I cannot vouch for the truth of the tale. I do know that Captain Carter has unsavory connections, both here and inland. As master of the Shark he has many profitable lines only indirectly connected with the transportation of cargo.”

“But why would Carter ask financial assistance from Burton Monahan’s brother?” Jack asked in perplexity. “If he did away with Burton, why pretend to be seeking him?”

“Who can fathom the depths of a twisted mind?” murmured Father Francisco. “I cannot vouch for the truth of the rumors. Possibly, Captain Carter has been misunderstood and misjudged.”

Seeking to gain information, Jack and Ken asked other questions. The missionary politely evaded them. Abruptly changing the subject, he offered to show the Scouts the ancient Portuguese manuscript which long had been in his possession.

Painfully pulling himself from the pillows, he hobbled to a walnut cabinet.

“I spent many years translating the manuscript which is written in Portuguese,” he informed the Explorers as he unlocked the heavy double doors. “You are familiar with the history of Peru?”

“We’ve read a lot lately,” Jack returned. “Especially about how the Spanish general Pizarro conquered the country in 1532.”

“Peru then was under Inca domination,” the missionary said, warming to his subject. “The Inca ruler, you know, was regarded as a representative of the Sun God, head of the priesthood and the army.

“When Pizarro took the country, he forced the Indians to turn over vast amounts of treasure to ransom their king, who had been made a captive. But the Incas were betrayed, for their ruler was put to death. Angered, they dumped much of their gold into lakes and streams or hid it in caves. One such treasure lake, so this ancient manuscript discloses, lies hidden ‘inside a mountain.’ The phrase has been variously interpreted. According to ancient belief, the treasure mountain is visible from here.”

“From this mission?” Jack asked incredulously.

“Yes, but as I presently will show you, the clue has little value.”

Almost reverently, Father Francisco spread the parchment on a table before the Scouts. Eagerly, they peered at the fine-grained skin which had been scraped and rubbed with pumice to permit writing on either side.

“Imagine being able to read that!” Ken said in awe.

“The manuscript begins thus,” the missionary translated. “‘We wandered ten years in the wilds, seeking gold. Little did we find until in the year—’”

Abruptly, Father Francisco broke off, his attention diverted toward the door of the library. The Scouts had heard no unusual sound, but the missionary seemed disturbed.

“Someone, I believe, loiters in the passageway!” he whispered. “Be quick! See who it is that listens by the door!”

Chapter 5
AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT

Following Father Francisco’s direction, Jack darted swiftly to the library door.

As he jerked it open, an old woman with a parrot on her shoulder, stumbled forward into the room. Obviously, she had been listening at the keyhole. Jack recognized her at once as the same unfriendly native he and Ken had met earlier on the path.

In a torrent of Spanish, the woman apologized to Father Francisco. He scolded her soundly for her behavior and bade her be gone.

Still chattering, the woman backed out of the room and vanished into the corridor.

“Do you suppose she followed us here?” Ken speculated. “Our presence in the village seems to be stirring plenty of excitement.”

“Lolita has ears like a sponge,” said Father Francisco. “She is a friend of Captain Carter’s. One of his few supporters in the village.”

Forgetting the parrot woman, the Scouts once more examined the ancient Portuguese manuscript. At their request, Father Francisco read aloud a passage in which the Portuguese adventurers described their first glimpse of the treasure area.

“‘Our native Indians said it was a country whose Gods did not wish it to be known,’” he recited, “‘and that they would visit wrath and terror upon all intruders.’”

Skipping through the manuscript, the missionary read several beautiful passages, including one in which the writer told of making camp near the treasure mountain.

“‘Darkness made terrifying the unearthly landscape of chasm, precipice and gorge,’” Father Francisco quoted. “‘At dawn, the sun lit up frightful precipices which none could scale, and in the bush-strewn and craggy path we took at the foot of these weird mountains, we had to step warily because of lurking rattlesnakes. Had we been bitten, of antidote there was none.’”

Glancing up from his reading, the missionary smiled at the two Scouts.

“There is more, much more. This, however, gives you a faint idea of what you might expect to encounter should you decide to try to follow the route taken by Burton Monahan.”

“Does the manuscript give directions for reaching the hidden city?” Ken asked, undaunted.

“In a vague way. My thought is that the Portuguese deliberately gave incorrect information so that others could not find the treasure.”

“Why didn’t they go back themselves?” questioned Jack.

“According to legend, the few men who survived the expedition, did attempt to return many years later, but could not retrace their way. Many men since have tried and failed.”

“I’d like to read every word of the manuscript!” Ken declared.

“If you linger awhile in Cuertos, I gladly will translate it for you,” offered the missionary. “The tale is most absorbing. The Portuguese adventurer relates that the secret entrance to the city was discovered by an Indian. While gathering wood for the camp, he suddenly saw a cleft by means of which the rocks could be scaled.”

“Do you believe that the ancient Inca city exists?” Jack asked.

Father Francisco hesitated and then answered: “There is considerable evidence that this manuscript was based on fact. The city herein described might be such a one as Cuzco, the ancient capital of the Incas. The Portuguese’s account of ruins tallies in all respects with those which have come to light in recent years.”

“Strange that the city never has been spotted from the air,” remarked Ken thoughtfully.

“Planes seldom fly in that area. In any case, the ruins would be well-hidden by centuries of vegetation.”

“You doubt though, that Burton Monahan reached his objective?” Ken persisted.

“If he did, he either lost his life or is being held captive by hostile Indians.” Father Francisco frowned and added as a question: “You noticed the mantilla Lolita wore? The fastening—a gold pin in the form of a fish?”

Ken and Jack admitted that they had failed to note the ornament.

“That pin disturbs me,” the missionary said. “The workmanship is unusually fine. I should judge that the ornament is of Inca or pre-Inca origin.”

“How did the woman get it?” Jack speculated.

“Ah, if I knew the answer to your question, I might know also what became of Burton Monahan. Lolita has worn the pin for many months now, ever since Captain Carter returned here from the unsuccessful expedition.”

“Then you think he gave it to her!” Jack exclaimed. “Perhaps for some service?”

“I would not know,” Father Francisco returned. “It has occurred to me that Captain Carter may have reached the hidden city, or contacted natives who have had access to its treasures. This he has denied. As for Lolita, she has told me repeatedly that she bought the pin at a native market.”

“If Captain Carter reached the ancient Inca city, he must know what became of Burton Monahan,” Jack asserted, lost in thought. “Wait until we see him again!”

“You will not have long to wait, I think,” the missionary predicted with a smile.

At Jack’s look of astonishment, he inclined his head toward the expanse of window overlooking his area. In the distance, a small freighter could be seen plying its way toward the harbor.

“The Shark, I believe,” Father Francisco identified the vessel. “Captain Carter should drop anchor within the hour. But I advise that you refrain from questioning him about Lolita’s pin.”

Jack and Ken were troubled by the information the old missionary had given them. Distrust of Captain Carter which had been kept in close check, now flared anew. Yet they realized that without specific facts and proof, they dared not accuse the seaman. To hint even, that they thought he had withheld vital information about Burton Monahan, would be to invite a quarrel which might wreck the expedition before it was well underway.

“If the Shark is coming in, we ought to find Willie and War,” Ken suggested, eager to get back to the waterfront. “Maybe they’ve already sighted her.”

“May we come here later to go over the parchment with you in detail?” Jack asked the missionary. “Mr. Livingston will want to see it too.”

“I will give you what help I can,” Father Francisco promised.

“You mentioned that the treasure lake supposedly lies within a mountain,” Ken reminded him as he and Jack were ready to leave. “Does that mean it is hidden behind a mountain chain?”

“The phrase has been variously interpreted. Burton Monahan believed, as do I, that the lake and the secret city are hemmed in by high mountains.”

“Yet this treasure mountain is visible from the mission?” Jack probed.

“So the manuscript reports. Come, I will show you.”

Leaving the parchment on the table, the old missionary moved with tottering steps to an arched doorway which opened upon the street. With a bony hand, he indicated the rim of mountains visible in the far distance.

“Yonder you see the highest, most inaccessible ranges of the Andes,” he said. “Even intrepid travelers have found many of the chasms and valleys impassable.”

“Which is the secret mountain?” Ken asked eagerly.

Father Francisco pointed out one of the ranges, which in the sunlight seemed afire with spears of red and gold.

“Have explorers never reached those peaks?” Jack questioned. “In all these years, it seems impossible that no one would have gone there.”

“Many have attained the heights, my son. But little gold has been found. As for the lost city, it remains as elusive as in the sixteenth century when the Portuguese first set eyes upon it.”

“Mr. Monahan took a direct route to yonder mountain?” Ken asked, his eyes on the rim of blue.

“No, it was his belief that the directions given in the parchment were incorrect. Either the Portuguese were mistaken in their bearings, or deliberately misleading.”

“You know the route he took?”

“To a certain point, yes. Beyond that, there is no definite information. We have only Captain Carter’s word—”

A startled expression came upon the missionary’s kindly face. The two Scouts followed his gaze upward to the expanse of adobe wall where an ugly, jagged crack had appeared.

Even as they stared in astonishment, the crack widened. Plaster began to fall. They felt the floor tremble beneath them.

“An earth tremor!” Father Francisco announced calmly, grasping the doorway for support. “Quickly! Seek the safety of the street!”

Chapter 6
EARTHQUAKE TREMORS

A second, harder tremor jarred the room, nearly knocking Jack and Ken off their feet.

“This mission is soundly built,” the old missionary said in a quiet voice. “These ancient walls have sustained a dozen severe quakes. But you will feel safer outside.”

The two Scouts were reluctant to leave Father Francisco, who scarcely seemed able to maintain his balance.

“Come with us,” Jack urged, taking his arm.

“No, I must toll the bell. When my people hear the bell, they know that the quake is not a hard one. It reassures them and prevents panic. I must ring it now.”

Painfully, the missionary moved toward the long corridor. Another shock came, knocking a small statue from a niche in the wall. Plaster dust filled the air.

“Where is the bell?” Jack demanded. “We’ll ring it for you.”

“Across the patio,” Father Francisco directed. “The bell tower is to the right, beyond the kitchens.”

The very walls seemed to weave as Jack and Ken raced for the tower. Outside the mission, all was confusion. The Scouts could hear the frightened screams of terrified natives who sought the streets.

Reaching the bell tower, they seized the long rope. A dozen times they tolled the bell.

Another heavy tremor shook the mission. For a moment, Jack and Ken feared that the bell tower would come toppling down upon their heads. But the danger passed and even to their ears, the steady, clear clang of the bell was reassuring.

Minutes passed and there were no further quakes. Jack dropped the bell rope.

“The worst is over now, I think,” he said. “Let’s see what has happened to the village.”

Outside, natives were milling in the streets and running toward the mission. In two places the cobblestones had heaved up, leaving a wide, deep crevass. Faces mirrored fear and anxiety, but there was no panic.

Heavy dust hung over the street. Some distance away, a house was on fire. Already the villagers were fighting the flames with buckets of water. Jack and Ken helped, and then, when the blaze was out, looked about for Warwick and Willie.

“I guess they must have gone back to the waterfront,” Ken said. “Or maybe to our hotel. We ought to find ’em.”

“Think we should make certain Father Francisco is all right before we go?”

“A good idea,” Ken nodded. “Quakes are old stuff to him, I guess. But at his age a little excitement might bring on a heart attack. Let’s go back to say goodbye.”

The outside mission door stood wide open. Meeting no one, the two Scouts went down the deserted corridor to pause hesitantly at the entrance to the library.

Evidently, the elderly missionary had not expected them to return. His back was toward them. He was searching rapidly through the miscellaneous papers which cluttered the table.

“It’s over, I guess,” Jack remarked in a purposely loud voice. “No great damage done.”

Startled, Father Francisco turned around quickly. “Oh, yes, yes,” he said, almost vaguely.

“Is anything wrong, Father?” Ken inquired, aware that the missionary seemed gravely disturbed.

“The old Portuguese manuscript,” Father Francisco muttered. “Did either of you pick it up when you went to ring the bell?”

“Why, no,” answered Ken.

“It was lying on the table when we left,” Jack added.

“So I thought,” declared Father Francisco in a troubled voice. “I went to the street for a few minutes to quiet my people. When I returned a moment ago, I could not find the parchment.”

“Might your housekeeper have taken it?” suggested Ken.

“Impossible. My servants are trained never to touch any of my papers.”

“Has anyone else been in the library?” Jack questioned. “For instance, that parrot woman we caught listening at the door?”

“Lolita would have no use for the manuscript. She has no schooling and can neither read nor write.”

The Scouts became aware that Father Francisco was regarding them with a peculiar, thoughtful expression. Belatedly, it dawned upon them that they might be under suspicion.

“I hope you don’t think we took that parchment!” Jack blurted out. “We’re Scouts. It’s part of our creed to be honest and trustworthy.”

“I believe you,” the missionary said. “Give the matter no further thought. True, I value the parchment highly, but sooner or later, the culprit will reveal himself.”

“There’s something mighty queer about that manuscript taking wings,” Ken remarked. “First, we lose the translation. Now the original is gone—just when we need it too.”

“We can’t blame this on Captain Carter,” Jack pointed out. “His boat is probably making harbor about now.”

“That parchment might have helped us find Burton Monahan.”

Father Francisco told the Scouts that although he had no copy of the Portuguese manuscript, he had pored over it so often he could recall countless passages from memory. He promised that he would write as much as he could remember in English and have it for the boys if they came again.

“We’ll return,” Jack assured him. “Having a copy of that manuscript means a lot to us.”

Taking leave of the missionary, Ken and Jack went directly to the beach. Father Francisco had made no mistake in identifying the Shark. The familiar schooner was anchored some distance from shore. Even now, a small boat was plying its way across the harbor.

“There’s Captain Carter!” Jack cried, recognizing the man in the bow. “Let’s head him off.”

At the dogtrot, the Scouts started down shore. But they were too far away to hail the Captain. His boat touched the beach some distance away, and without seeing them he started off alone in the opposite direction.

Determined to overtake him, Ken and Jack followed. Captain Carter was still some yards away when abruptly he halted to talk to a woman at an open-air vegetable stall.

“The parrot woman!” Ken exclaimed, stopping short. “Father Francisco was right! They’re old friends.”

The two Explorers were too far away to hear the conversation, even if they could have understood the rapid flow of Spanish. But they noted that the two spoke most earnestly together.

And then Lolita, with a movement so swift that Ken and Jack nearly missed it, whipped something from her dress front. She handed the bulky object to Captain Carter, who thrust it under his coat.

“What was that?” Jack demanded alertly.

“It looked like the missing parchment to me!”

“I thought so too! But why would she have snatched it for Captain Carter? He couldn’t have told her to do it, because he only now made port.”

“You got me,” Ken responded. “But she certainly slipped him something. Shall we buzz ’em?”

“Let’s wait,” Jack decided after a moment of thought. “No use tipping our hand.”

Unnoticed, they watched the two talk together for a few minutes longer. Captain Carter took money from his billfold, giving it to the parrot woman. She then slipped away behind the vegetable stall.

Ken and Jack made no attempt to intercept the Captain until he had started on. As they came up behind him, he whirled suddenly and reached toward his hip as if for a weapon.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said relaxing. “Well! Well! I just came ashore to tell Livingston his cargo is here safe and sound.”

“Six days late,” Jack remarked.

“We were delayed by a gale. Where’s Livingston?”

Jack explained that the Scout leader was in conference with government officials.

“Still set on going inland?”

“That’s the plan,” Ken told him.

“It’s a mistake,” Captain Carter said gruffly. “If anyone goes off on a wild chase looking for Monahan, I’m the man to do it, because I know this country. Now if Livingston could see it that way, you could park yourselves comfortably—like at Lima. I’d take the expedition in and either find Monahan or learn what became of him.”

“You know then where he disappeared?” Jack asked, watching the seaman closely.

Captain Carter shot a quick, suspicious glance at him. “No such thing,” he denied. “I know where he made his last camp before he started into hostile Indian territory. I tried to get him to turn back, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Ken and Jack remained silent. Nevertheless, they were convinced that the master of the Shark was lying. More than ever they were of the opinion that he knew more about Burton Monahan’s disappearance than he had revealed. Why, they wondered, was he eager to head an expedition and yet unwilling to have them go along?

“I was hired to haul your cargo here, and the job’s done,” the Captain continued. “If you’re asking for advice, though, I’m telling you to forget the expedition.”

“That’s what Father Francisco said, too,” Ken replied.

“Father Francisco?” Carter’s face twisted with dislike. “What did that old fossil tell you about me?”

“Not very much,” Jack answered. “It may interest you to know that while we were at the mission, Father Francisco lost the Portuguese parchment which described the secret mountain and the lost Inca city. It was stolen from the library during the earthquake.”

“So?”

“We saw Lolita at the mission,” Ken took over. “In fact, she listened at the door. Weren’t you talking to her just now?”

“What if I was? You want to make something of it?”

“We were wondering—”

“Well, don’t!” Captain Carter cut in belligerently. “Keep out of my affairs, or I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t find in the Boy Scout manual! Lolita’s an old friend of mine. I got a lot of friends in this port.”

With that, the master of the Shark swaggered away, to disappear in a water-front tavern.

Chapter 7
SCOUT CARGO

“How we got ourselves hooked with a guy like Captain Carter I’ll never know,” Jack commented in disgust. “But if he figures we’re going to back out on the expedition, or let him take over, he can guess again.”

“I wonder when he’ll get our gear ashore?” Ken speculated.

“Probably when he’s good and ready to ask clearance from the port inspectors. He won’t hurry. You can be sure of that.”

The Scouts turned once more toward the sea. Before they had walked far, they spied Warwick and Willie and hailed them.

“Hi!” War greeted the pair. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you two. Hap sent a message.”

“Where is he?” Jack asked quickly. “Still with those government men?”

Willie nodded. “He figures on being tied up half the day. Our little party may stall right here at Cuertos.”

“How come?”

“Well, the authorities aren’t keen on having us start for the high sierras. Captain Carter’s name seems to be poison here. We’re under a cloud because of our association with him.”

“He’s here, by the way,” Ken informed the pair. “As unco-operative as ever, too.”

“When did the boat get in?” Willie demanded eagerly.

“Only a few minutes ago,” Ken answered. “Captain Carter’s visiting his ‘friends’ around town. After he’s talked out, maybe he’ll get around to moving our stuff ashore.”

The sun by this time was high overhead. Bored by inactivity, the Scouts returned to their hotel for lunch.

Throughout the afternoon, they waited for Mr. Livingston. Twice he sent word that he had been delayed longer than expected.

“The expedition’s run into a snag,” Willie remarked in discouragement. “We may never get out of this hole!”

By dinner time, the Explorers were thoroughly disturbed by Mr. Livingston’s long absence. A note assured them that he would be at the hotel without fail by nine o’clock.

“I’ve run into unexpected difficulties,” he wrote. “Hope to have everything ironed out so we can leave Cuertos within forty-eight hours.”

After eating, the Scouts strolled to the market, and then to the water front. In the fast gathering shadows, they could dimly make out the Shark riding at anchor.

“Let’s go aboard,” Willie suddenly proposed.

“How’ll we get there?” Ken asked. “Swim? No, thanks! I’m not offering myself as shark bait.”

Willie, however, had sighted a fisherman whose motorboat was tied up nearby. “Let’s make a deal with him to take us out there,” he suggested.

“Captain Carter may not like it,” Jack reminded him. “He wouldn’t let us go aboard once before.”

“We can try,” Willie insisted. “Come on! Anything’s better than just standing around.”

The others followed willingly enough. By means of Jack’s Spanish and a dollar from Ken, they were able to persuade the fisherman to take them out to the Shark.

As the craft came alongside, Jack loudly hailed the vessel. At first there was no answer. Finally, a lone sailor thrust his head over the railing to peer suspiciously down at the visitors.

In Spanish he demanded to know what they wanted.

Jack asked for Captain Carter, only to be told that he was not aboard.

“I can’t make out all he’s saying,” the Scout crew leader reported to his chums. “I gather though, that he’s alone. The others must have been given shore leave.”

“Let’s go aboard,” War urged.

Before the others could deter him, he seized a rope, and went up hand over hand. Oblivious to a torrent of Spanish which poured from the lips of the Shark’s watch, he then lowered a ladder for his friends.

Ken and Willie quickly climbed aboard. Jack hesitated. Before reluctantly following, he instructed the boatman to wait.

“I feel like a pirate coming here while Captain Carter is gone,” he admitted, leaping lightly down on the gently rolling deck. “He has it in for us now. If he finds us here, he’ll have just cause for complaint.”

“We have a right to find out about our cargo,” Willie insisted. “Haven’t we waited all day? I need some of my stuff.”

“We can’t take anything,” Jack pointed out. “Every box will have to pass customs.”

“Inspection doesn’t amount to much in this port,” Willie scoffed. “Let’s see if we can locate our boxes.”

“Even if we do, we’re not taking any of them from the Shark,” Jack said firmly.

“Okay,” Willie agreed. “It won’t do any harm to look around though.”

Descending to the hole, the Scouts quickly found a compartment where a pile of boxes had been stored. All were marked in the name of the Scout organization.

“Say, this one is water-stained,” War observed, pointing to a box on the top of the stack. “It’s the one that went overboard when Captain Carter loaded for the trip.”

“Hope nothing was ruined,” War said anxiously. “Let’s have a look.”

“Better not,” Ken advised.

“It’s our stuff, isn’t it?” War demanded, taking out his Scout knife.

He began to pry off the top boards. Finally, one came loose. Willie focused the beam of his flashlight on the opening.

“Say! What’s this?” he exclaimed. “We must have broken into the wrong box.”

“This isn’t our stuff,” War confirmed. “But the box is marked with our name! How do you figure it?”

His curiosity piqued, the boy went to work energetically prying loose another board. As he ripped it loose, the others obtained their first clear view of what was inside the box.

In amazement and silence, they beheld the contents. Then War burst out indignantly: “Well, I’m a jumping horn toad! That two-timing, double-crossing Captain Carter!”

The box contained several sawed off shot guns and ammunition.

“This can’t be our equipment!” Jack declared. “How’d it get into boxes marked in the Scout name?”

“We didn’t bring in a single weapon,” Ken said soberly. “I know, because I helped Hap check every box.”

“This looks bad—mighty bad,” Jack murmured.

“No wonder Captain Carter wouldn’t let me help pull this box out of the water,” Willie asserted. “He was afraid we’d find out what it held.”

“Maybe these other boxes don’t contain what they’re supposed to, either!” War said suspiciously. “I’ll bet Captain Carter has been using us to promote some scheme of his own!”

“This may explain those unsavory rumors that have been floating around Cuertos,” Jack added thoughtfully. “Captain Carter must be mixed up in some dirty business, just as Father Francisco hinted.”

“And we’re tied up with him,” Ken declared. “No wonder Hap is having such a tough time getting clearance for our expedition. If the authorities find this ammunition in Scout boxes, we’ll be finished here!”

Quickly, he pulled another box out where it could be opened. With War’s help, he pried the top boards wide enough apart so he could run a hand inside.

“More guns,” he announced grimly.

A third and a fourth box likewise were inspected. One contained ammunition and the other, hand grenades. No longer could the Scouts have the slightest doubt. Unquestionably, under cover of the Scout name, Captain Carter was bringing illegal cargo into the country!

The discovery of guns and ammunition in the Shark’s hold, thoroughly alarmed the Explorers.

“No wonder we’re in bad here!” Willie burst forth. “It’s because of our hook-up with the captain! I’ll bet he’s smuggling this stuff in to help Revolutionists!”

“If officials find these boxes with the Scout name on ’em, we’ll be pulled into this ugly business too!” added War.

“Another thing,” contributed Ken grimly. “Once Captain Carter discovers we’ve opened this ammunition, he may not let us have our stuff. He’ll be nasty.”

“I sure wish Hap were here,” Jack said uneasily. “I wish—”

He stiffened. A small boat had grated against the Shark’s hull.

“Must be our boatman,” War muttered. “We told him to stay.”

The Scouts waited rather tensely, listening. A moment later they heard heavy steps on the deck above them.

Motioning for the others to remain where they were, Jack moved noiselessly to the companionway.

Cautiously, he peered out on deck. His worst fears were confirmed. It was not their boatman who had come aboard, but Captain Carter!

Chapter 8
CONTRABAND

Jack slipped back into the hold to report to his companions.

“It’s the old boy himself,” he whispered. “We’re in a pickle!”

“What do we do now?” War asked. “Hide?”

“Captain Carter must know someone is aboard, if our boatman waited,” Jack reasoned. “He’ll find us here quickly enough.”

“He’ll make hash of us!”

“Relax!” Jack advised. “Captain Carter seems to be alone. There are four of us.”

“Anyway, he’s the one to do the explaining—not us,” Ken pointed out. “Our gear is aboard the Shark, or it’s supposed to be. We’ve got a right to be here.”

“He may be armed,” Jack warned. “We’ll have to be on the alert. Now let’s go on deck before he comes down here.”

Quickly, they all went up the companionway. As they emerged into the cool evening air, Captain Carter loomed in front of them.

“Well, blister my timbers!” he exclaimed wrathfully. “It didn’t take you long to get out here after you thought I was away! What were you doing in the hole?”

“Looking for our cargo,” Ken told him coldly.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay off this vessel?”

“You did,” Ken replied, “but I think we have a right to be here. Especially as you spent the day at a tavern instead of getting our stuff ashore.”

“You’ll get your cargo in good time.”

“We found some of the boxes in the hold,” Jack said. “They were marked for our expedition. But they didn’t contain our equipment.”

“So you opened ’em?”

“We certainly did,” War cut in, enjoying the captain’s consternation. “They contained guns and ammunition—that’s what!”

“Why, you blithering little sneaks!” the captain muttered.

“Maybe you can explain it,” Jack said quietly.

“I’ll explain nothing! Get off this vessel and stay clear! You hear me! Get off!”

“We want our equipment. Mr. Livingston—”

“Mr. Livingston—” Captain Carter mocked. “Mr. Livingston! I’m so sick of that name I could vomit! I’m sick of all you meddling, stupid little boys. You call yourselves Rovers—Explorers! One night in the hills and you’ll be whimpering for your mothers. One flurry of poisoned Indian arrows and you’ll come flying back to Cuertos crying for your morning milk!”

The seaman’s words infuriated the Scouts. War’s fists clenched tightly and he began to stammer: “Why, you-y-you—”

Jack placed a restraining hand on the younger boy’s arm. It was evident that Captain Carter deliberately had made the personal remarks, hoping to distract them from asking further questions.

“Suppose you tell us why those boxes were marked in the name of the Scout organization?” he persisted.

“Because Mr. Livingston ordered it.”

Jack eyed the captain steadily. “That’s not so,” he replied quietly. “Ken and I helped check every box that went aboard the Shark. There were no guns or ammunition.”

“Those particular boxes were picked up in the Canal Zone—at Mr. Livingston’s orders.”

One and all the Explorers showed by their expressions that they did not believe the captain.

“I’m getting your stuff off this vessel right now,” the seaman announced. “Then I don’t want to hear any more squawks!”

Shoving Willie aside, he went down into the forecastle hold.

Soon, with the aid of the watch, all cargo stamped with the Scout name, had been brought on deck. Jack counted twelve boxes which he was certain had not been in the original shipment.

“What are you doing with our stuff?” he demanded.

Captain Carter did not answer. Ignoring the Scouts, he started to supervise the loading of a small motor tender.

“Shake it up!” he ordered his helper. “We got to move this stuff fast. First, those boxes of grenades.”

The Scouts witnessed the loading with increasing misgiving. They were firmly convinced that Mr. Livingston never had ordered guns or grenades for the expedition. But without him there to confirm it, they hesitated to tangle with Captain Carter.

“How will this stuff go through customs?” Ken muttered, watching as another box was lowered to the tender. “It doesn’t make sense to me!”

“Nor to me,” Jack agreed. “I’m sure Hap had no hand in this business. You notice the captain isn’t moving the regular Scout boxes—only the guns and ammunition.”

“He’s in a mighty big hurry too! Say, maybe he’s scared of custom officials, and is trying to get rid of the stuff while it’s dark!”

“We could stop him.”

“Maybe,” Ken conceded. “He’s armed though, and someone would be likely to get hurt.”

“I’m going for Mr. Livingston,” Jack announced with sudden decision.

“How?” Ken drawled. “You aim to swim?”

“Our boatman—”

“Gone. Either he went off while we were below, or more likely, Captain Carter dismissed him.”

“We’re stranded here then!”

“We are, unless we can ride in on the tender. So maybe we should wait a bit and pretend to play along.”

The Scouts clustered together, silently watching. Approximately half of the boxes containing weapons had been lowered onto the tender, when Willie heard the splash of oars.

“What was that?” he demanded in an undertone. “Our boatman coming back maybe?”

Peering out across the rail into the darkness, the Scouts at first could see no one. Then, they made out a small rowboat coming directly toward the Shark.

“Ahoy!” called a cheery voice. “Anyone aboard?”

“That sounds like Hap’s voice!” War cried excitedly.

Captain Carter also had heard the approaching boat. Speaking rapidly in Spanish, he ordered the sailor in the tender to shove off.

The Scouts shouted to Mr. Livingston, urging him to hurry. Eagerly, they helped him aboard.

“I’m relieved to find you fellows here,” the Scout leader asserted. “What a day I’ve had with government officials! Our troubles aren’t over either, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Ken said, looking directly at Captain Carter.

He waited for the master of the Shark to take the initiative in mentioning the boxes of ammunition. The captain however, smiled arrogantly, and remained silent.

Unaware of the tense situation, Mr. Livingston remarked casually:

“I’m mighty glad the Shark finally made port. We should get our expedition on its way within a few days, providing government officials give us clearance. So far, they’ve refused.”

“Refused?” Willie demanded. “Why?”

“Well, it’s ridiculous. But a lot of nasty rumors seem to have circulated about our party. We’re under suspicion of aiding a group of would-be revolutionists, who have taken refuge in the back country. I think I finally managed to convince them of our good intentions. At any rate, port inspectors are coming aboard in a few minutes to make sure we’re not bringing in any contraband. Once our personal cargo passes inspection, the way should be cleared for us to leave Cuertos.”

“Jumping hop toads!” exclaimed War in dismay. “You mean if those government men should find guns or ammunition aboard, they’d hold up our trip?”

“If they came upon anything of that sort, they’d probably toss us in jail,” Mr. Livingston chuckled.

The Scouts could not share their leader’s amusement. Even Captain Carter had been jarred by Mr. Livingston’s casual announcement.

“The port authorities are coming here?” he demanded harshly. “Tonight?”

“Why, yes, that’s my understanding. I told them we’d welcome a thorough check.”

“You babbling idiot! You’ve done it now!”

“Done what?” Mr. Livingston coldly inquired.

“Ruined all my plans. The authorities haven’t inspected my vessel in four voyages! Now you bring ’em down on me!”

Amazed by the seaman’s blast of anger, Mr. Livingston demanded: “Any reason why inspectors shouldn’t check the cargo?”

“Any reason?” Carter mocked savagely. “If I’m caught, so are you!”

“Kindly explain.”

“Take a fast look at some of those boxes and you’ll have your answer,” Jack grimly informed the Scout leader, indicating the cargo which remained on deck.

“What’s wrong, Jack?”

“Plenty. These boxes are marked for our expedition. They’re loaded with hand grenades, sawed-off shotguns and the like. Captain Carter has moved one load to shore already.”

“Guns!” Mr. Livingston turned coldly toward the seaman. “So it’s true, Captain Carter—you’re aiding Revolutionists!”

“No, it’s not!” the captain denied.

“Then explain these boxes.”

“I have use for those grenades. You’ll hear about it in good time. Now if you’ll climb down the mast, I might cut you in on a good deal.”

“We want no deal with you, Captain Carter.”

“Figure you’re above me, eh? You and your high ideals!”

“We believe in honesty.”

“Yeah!” the captain sneered. “Well, let me tell you this—you got a lot to learn!”

“We’ll be no shield for a revolutionist.”

“You got me all wrong, I tell you!” Captain Carter shouted. “I’m not denying I used your boxes to haul in a little ammunition. I need it for a special purpose. What’s the harm? Your stuff is all here. I’ll set it ashore and no questions asked.”

“You can’t get by with it, Captain Carter.”

“I can if you’ll keep your mouth shut. You and your nice little boys!”

“The answer is no.”

“Oh, so you aim to turn me in, eh?” the captain sneered. “Don’t forget, Scoutmaster, you’re tarred with the same stick!”

“We’ll have no part in this ugly mess. From the start, your name and reputation have been a drag to the expedition.”

“The guns are in your name,” Captain Carter reminded him. “If they’re found aboard the Shark, your expedition is finished. You’ll never set foot inland—not one step. You’ll find yourself under suspicion, bound head and foot with government red tape!”

Ken had been peering intently over the railing. Not only had his keen ears picked up the sound of a fast-approaching motor launch, but he could see its outline some distance to starboard.

Jack too, heard the sound, and joined Ken at the railing.

“That boat’s heading straight for the Shark,” he observed uneasily.

“A government launch too,” added Ken. “It looks very much as if the red tape is on its way!”

Chapter 9
CAPTAIN CARTER’S DECEPTION

Captain Carter moved swiftly to the rail to ascertain that Ken spoke the truth.

“It’s the customs boat all right!” he exclaimed. “They’ll search the Shark from stem to stern. If any of these boxes are found, I’m a dead duck!”

“You admit you’ve been helping the Revolutionists?” Mr. Livingston demanded.

“I admit nothing! What’s more, if you have any thought of trying to find Burton Monahan, you’ll keep clear of this. Help me get these boxes overboard!”

“Overboard?”

“You don’t want the government men to find ’em, do you?” Captain Carter snarled. “They’re your boxes, remember! Come on, there’s not a second to lose.”

“You’ll get no help from me.”

“Then you’re cooking your own goose! Either you lay hold and help heave the guns overboard, or I’ll deny all knowledge of the cargo.”

“That lie wouldn’t get you far.”

“You think not? I’m afraid, my dear Livingston, that you don’t know Peruvian officials as I do. They’ll believe me all right.”

Seizing a fire ax, the captain smashed open a box bearing the Scout name. Hauling out dynamite and other explosives, he dropped them overboard.

By this time, the government boat was drawing close to the schooner.

Abandoning the axe, Captain Carter dragged the filled boxes to the port railing. One by one he shoved them overboard. The heavily laden containers fell with loud splashes, sinking slowly out of sight into the dark water.

Silently, Mr. Livingston and the four Explorers witnessed the disposal of the contraband cargo. Once, as the Scout leader tried to halt the dumping, Captain Carter drew his revolver.

“Keep back!” he warned. “Move out of my way!”

He dropped the last telltale box into the water, letting it fall carefully to avoid a heavy splash.

The government boat emerged from the dark a moment later, pulling alongside the Shark.

“Shark, ahoy!”

“Ahoy, there!” Captain Carter returned the shout.

“We’re coming aboard for inspection!”

“Come ahead,” the captain jovially invited.

The government boat made fast and three men came smartly aboard. Suspiciously, they looked about the deck.

“We heard a splash as we came up,” their spokesman commented.

“Some refuse we were getting rid of,” the captain replied easily. “You’ll find everything in order here.”

“We’ll have a look below.”

“Go right ahead, gentlemen,” invited the captain with elaborate courtesy.

At this point, Mr. Livingston quietly informed the officials that the seaman had dumped ammunition only a few moments before the government boat had arrived.

“That’s a blasted lie!” Captain Carter exclaimed wrathfully. “Gentlemen, this pest has it in for me, because I’ve refused to help him start on a wild hunt for Burton Monahan! He swore he’d get even, and this is the way he’s trying to do it!”

The Scouts gathered beside their leader, staunchly supporting his story.

“This is a frame up, gentlemen,” Captain Carter said smoothly to the officials. “You know me—I wouldn’t try to pull the wool over your eyes. Search the vessel and see if you can find any contraband!”

“We know you very well, Captain Carter,” was the grim response.

While Mr. Livingston and the Scouts waited, the customs men made a thorough check of the vessel. Coming upon equipment marked for the Scout expedition, they dragged the boxes out into the open.

As the first one was smashed apart, the Explorers squirmed uneasily, wondering what might be brought to light. They need have had no misgiving. The box contained only tents and sleeping bags.

Another box held heavy clothing for high altitudes. A third was filled with dehydrated foods and tinned goods.

“You see!” Captain Carter said triumphantly. “Everything in order, just as I said. These Boy Scouts are a bunch of trouble makers. They got it in for me!”

“That’s not so!” War cried hotly. “You dumped six boxes and you can’t deny it!”

“It’s not so. Even if it was, you got no proof. You can’t tie up my boat on the say-so of these irresponsible kids and their Scoutmaster!”

The government officials conferred privately. At the end of their conference, they politely informed the captain that no charge would be placed against him. They also told Mr. Livingston that he might move the Scout cargo ashore. The government boat then pulled away.

No word was spoken until the craft was well beyond the point at which voices would carry.

Captain Carter then slapped his thigh and laughed boisterously.

“Well, Scoutmaster, how’d I do? Anyone who gets ahead of Captain Carter has to get up mighty early in the morning.”

“You may hear from those government men again,” Mr. Livingston warned.

“Oh, sure! They’ve been watching me for a year, but they know they got to have proof! They’ll keep an eye on me, but they ain’t makin’ any false moves.”

“You managed to get a tender load of grenades and other stuff ashore,” Jack said coldly. “What do you aim to do with that contraband? Sell it to the Revolutionists hiding out in the hills?”

“You’re crazy!” Captain Carter’s eyes smoldered angrily. “I told you I’m not helping any Revolutionists.”

“Then what are you doing with the stuff?”

“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?” the captain sneered. “Well, let me tell you this, young man. I was the one person who could have helped you find Burton Monahan. But would you play along? You would not! So now you’re on your own, and bad luck to you!”

“What do you mean, you’re the one person who could have helped us find Mr. Monahan?” the Scout leader asked quickly. “You have information you’ve withheld?”

“No such thing,” the captain denied. “I was the last white man to see him alive, and I know the country. But you and me can never get along.”

“A true observation,” Mr. Livingston returned. “We want no association with a man who would aid revolutionists.”

“High and mighty, ain’t you?” Captain Carter sneered. “Without me, you got no chance of ever finding Burton Monahan.”

“You know what became of him?”

“Maybe I got an idea,” the seaman returned, his eyes glinting. “Maybe if you’d play along my way—forget all your grand and glorious ideals, we could work together.”

“Just what do you propose? That we help you get your contraband cargo to a Revolutionist leader?”

“Oh, stow that talk, will you? You jar my compass! Can’t you get it through your thick skull that I’m not tied up with any revolutionists? Maybe in the old days, I picked up a dollar here and there bringing in stuff for Carlos Vandetti, but that’s behind me.”

“Then why were you bringing in grenades and ammunition?”

“I got a good use for ’em. One tender load made shore before you brought those sneakin’ officials down on my back. It ain’t enough for my purpose, but I’ll make it do.”

“You’re not making yourself clear, Captain,” Mr. Livingston said coldly. “Why not come to the point?”

“It’s like this,” the seaman replied. “I got a reason for wanting to go along on this expedition into the mountains.”

“We figured so.”

“All this loose talk about me helping the Revolutionists has made government officials suspicious. They watch me like a hawk. If I team up with your expedition, no questions will be asked.”

“Only a few minutes ago, you were trying to wreck the expedition by accusing us!”

“I was in a hank. A trigger temper’s one of my weaknesses. Now, if we can make a deal—”

“You’re proposing to trade on the Scout name. You want to move your hand grenades and what ammunition you have left under our banner?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that. I’ll go along with the expedition and give you the benefit of my experience. As I said, I got mighty good use for those grenades. If you help me, maybe I’ll help you.”

“You’ve betrayed Mr. Monahan by pretending you were sincere in trying to find his brother!”

“Who says I double-crossed him? Maybe, if you play along, I’ll lead you to Burton.”

“You do know what became of Burton Monahan,” Mr. Livingston accused. “I’ve suspected it for a long while.”

“Hold on, I didn’t say that!”

“Nevertheless, I think it may be so. Because Mr. Monahan wanted me to co-operate with you, I’ve tried in every way to obey his wishes. But this is the end, Captain. Even if you were able to guide us to Burton Monahan, I know you would do it only for your own profit!”

“Then it’s no deal?”

“No deal,” Mr. Livingston repeated firmly. “From this hour on, the Scouts go it alone. We’re severing all connection with you.”

Captain Carter’s amused smile implied that the decision was of no great moment.

“Okay, if that’s the way you want it,” he replied with a shrug. “Your cargo will be set ashore tomorrow morning. Now get off the Shark and keep out of my sight! Because I’m warning you that next time we meet, I’ll do you no favors!”

Chapter 10
FURY OF A MOB

True to his word, Captain Carter set all the Scout equipment ashore before dawn the next morning. The various boxes were delivered to the hotel, and a careful inspection satisfied Mr. Livingston and the Explorers that nothing was missing.

Of the captain, no more was seen. Following the unfortunate affair aboard the Shark, the officer carefully avoided the party.

“But don’t think we’ve heard the last of him,” Mr. Livingston predicted. “He’ll pop up when we least expect him and make trouble! I’ll be glad when we’re well away from this village.”

Intent upon making a start on the trip inland, the Scout leader absented himself from the hotel most of the morning. He conferred for several hours with Father Francisco, obtaining maps and a great deal of useful information.

As for the Explorers, they whiled away their time at the village and the waterfront. Always, the Shark drew their eyes like a magnet. The vessel remained at anchor, rolling in the swells, but there was no evidence of activity aboard.

“Wonder what Captain Carter will do now that we’ve turned down a deal with him?” Willie speculated.

No one answered. In fact, the attention of the others had been diverted to the narrow strip of beach. The tide was very nearly at its high point, coming in strong.

Jack halted abruptly, staring at a pile of debris which had been washed up some distance away.

“Wow! Are we in a jam!” he exclaimed in dismay. “See what’s lying on the beach!”

“Where?” demanded Warwick, squinting into the bright sunlight.

Jack pointed up shore to a pile of rocks, against which giant greenish-blue waves were smashing.

“I still don’t see anything.”

“Then you sure need glasses! If that isn’t a box, I’m losing my own eyesight!”

“Jack’s right!” Ken exclaimed. “It is a box, and what’s worse, it looks like one of ours. Or rather, one of Carter’s that was stamped with the Scout name.”

“Golly, gee!” War cried. “How could it be? All of those boxes with ammunition and guns were sunk to the bottom of the bay!”

“The bay is shallow at this point,” Jack reminded him. “And the tide is coming in strong.”

“Ye fishes!” Willie muttered in consternation. “Suppose that is one of the boxes with the Scout name on it! Then what?”

“Captain Carter will get his!” War chortled. “Those custom officials will have proof that he was lying when he denied dumping the stuff last night!”

“They’ll also see our name printed on the boxes,” Jack reminded the group. “We’re almost certain to be involved.”

“And that would mean we can’t get out of Cuertos tomorrow,” added Ken. “As things stand now, Mr. Livingston practically has everything arranged.”

“We’d better find out if that is one of our boxes,” Jack declared, starting off across the beach. “Come on!”

Walking fast and dodging waves which washed high on the pebbles, they reached the rock pile. A water-soaked, battered box lay partially buried in wet sand.

“It’s one that Captain Carter dumped last night!” Jack asserted, turning it over. “What wretched luck that it had to wash up here!”

“And another is coming in!” War exclaimed, sighting a container which was rolling and twisting in the heavy sea.

The wave broke on the sand, leaving its telltale debris behind. War waded through ankle-deep water to drag the second box high on the beach.

“What’ll we do with ’em?” he asked.

“If these boxes are found here, custom officials are certain to hear about it,” Ken declared in a worried voice. “We don’t dare let the stuff lie.”

Quickly he scanned the deserted beach. No one was in sight.

“We could hide ’em—” he suggested slowly.

“Hap might not approve,” Jack replied. “On the other hand, he told the customs men the truth and they accepted his word. Now if we produce this evidence to nail Captain Carter, there’s no telling what wild story he’ll come up with to save his skin.”

“We know he’ll try to involve us deeply,” Ken asserted. “He warned us he’ll make trouble if he can. I’m in favor of hiding the boxes. We can tell Hap later, and if he wants us to dig them up, we’ll have to do it.”

“Okay, let’s get at it!” jack consented. “No time to lose.”

Quickly the four Rovers dragged the two boxes to a small dune which rose in front of the dark cliff. Working fast, they dug deep holes and buried the ammunition. Then they smoothed out their own footprints left on the sand.

“Well, that’s done!” Willie said, wiping perspiration from his forehead. “Think anyone saw us?”

“I dunno,” War returned, scanning the cliffs above the beach. “A native woman has been standing there for a minute or two.”

“It’s that old gal with the parrot,” Ken recognized her. “She’s watching us all right!”

“Think she saw us bury the boxes?” Jack asked uneasily.

“It’s hard to tell.”

“Even if she did, she wouldn’t know what was in ’em,” Willie said, taking the cheerful view. “Let’s move off before she gets suspicious.”

Accepting his advice, the others sauntered casually along the shore. However, as they walked, they kept an alert gaze upon the cliff, and they also watched the sea for evidence of other boxes.

“That native woman is leaving,” Ken presently reported in an undertone. “We won’t need to be so careful now.”

Selecting a spot not far from the dune where the contraband cargo had been buried, the four Rovers sat down to watch the sea.

By this time, the tide definitely had turned. While Ken, Willie and War rested, Jack made a quick tour of the beach. He returned shortly to report that the other boxes apparently had not washed ashore.

“They may roll up tomorrow, or maybe never,” he declared.

“Captain Carter sure would get a big kick out of this,” Willie remarked. “He’d consider it a huge joke on us. It certainly goes against my grain to do him a favor.”

“We’re doing ourselves a bigger one,” Ken pointed out. “If we don’t get out of Cuertos soon, I have a hunch our expedition will stall for good!”

“Maybe Father Francisco is right,” War remarked thoughtfully. “Maybe it is foolish for us to try to find Burton Monahan. If he’s been gone so many months, he must be dead.”

“Hey, listen!” Willie suddenly exclaimed.

The others became silent. A peculiar sound, distinguishable as the hum of many angry voices, plainly could be heard.

“What’s up?” Jack muttered, scrambling to his feet.

At first the Explorers could see no one. Then they sighted at least thirty villagers armed with clubs, coming down a steep cliff trail.

“A regular mob!” War observed nervously. “Heading this way too!”

“Toward us,” added Willie. “Say, they mean business!”

“There’s that parrot woman who was watching us,” Jack said, recognizing her amid the angry throng. “She’s stirred up the natives against us!”

“But why?” Ken demanded. “Did she see us bury the boxes?”

“She may have,” Jack replied. “Anyway, she’s Carter’s friend. He may be behind this!”

“We’ll have some tall explaining to do in a minute or so,” Ken said. “How’s you’re Spanish, Jack?”

“Not equal to that gang! They’re out for blood!”

Even as he spoke, a stone was hurled from above. It clattered down over the cliff, barely missing Willie’s head.

“Let’s get out of here fast!” he proposed.

A shower of stones now was falling on the beach. To remain was to invite injury.

“Hey, I don’t want to run,” War protested, holding back. “We’ve done nothing wrong. We can explain—”

“Listen, brother!” Jack said, grasping him by the arm. “You can’t explain anything to a crazy mob.”

“Especially when you can’t speak the language decently,” Ken added urgently.

The villagers now were very close, led by the chattering parrot woman. Shaking their sticks, the natives shouted ugly threats.

“Come on!” urged Jack, leading the flight. “We’ve got to move out of here fast! Unless we do, our escape will be cut off!”

Chapter 11
INTO THE WILDERNESS

The route to the hotel already had been blocked by the approaching villagers. Moving hurriedly down the beach, the Explorers climbed a steep path which wound up a high hill to the rear of the mission.

If the Scouts had hoped so easily to elude their pursuers, they learned otherwise. The villagers kept coming on, shouting angry threats, only the general import of which the boys understood.

“They’re plenty mad, and I don’t think it’s about those buried boxes either,” Jack said, looking back. “Something has stirred ’em up. If they try to lay hands on us, it could end in a bloody free-for-all.”

“Let’s make a stand and face ’em,” pleaded War, halting.

Ken pulled him along. “We’d come off badly against so many,” he advised. “Besides, if we get into a fight, we’ll be finished in this village. The Scouts would get a bad name.”

“That’s right,” Jack supported him. “But we’ll have to think of something quick! We can’t make it back to our hotel this way. Some of that wild bunch are coming up the street now to head us off!”

By this time, the group had reached the mission on the hilltop. Ken studied the high rear wall. “Father Francisco is about to have four uninvited guests!” he announced with a grin. “Over we go!”

Quickly, he boosted Willie to the top of the sturdy stone barrier. The latter then helped Jack and War, who in turn, pulled Ken to the safety of the ledge.

Just as a group of villagers came pounding up the path, they leaped lightly down into the enclosed garden.

At a table beside an under-nourished, stunted tree sat Father Francisco. The missionary calmly was sipping a cup of tea. He seemed more amused than annoyed by the unexpected intrusion.

“Excuse us, Father,” Jack apologized, brushing dust from his uniform. “We were a little pressed for time or we would have used the door.”

“A mob is after us!” War burst out. “We don’t know why, but the whole village is ready to tear us apart. Hear ’em yell? Any minute, they’ll try to break in here!”

“I think not,” smiled the missionary. “You are quite safe within these walls.”

Summoning his servant, he ordered the woman to bar the mission door. “And bring four cups and a fresh pot of tea,” he added.

The Explorers sat down and tried to relax. As casual as if he were utterly unaware of the shouting crowd on the other side of the wall, Father Francisco told the boys that Mr. Livingston had left the mission only a half hour earlier.

“I tried to dissuade him from starting in search of Burton Monahan and the lost city,” he informed the group. “His mind is made up. So I have agreed to give him what assistance I can. All arrangements have been made for you to leave on the morrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Willie repeated. “Say, that’s great!”

“We’ve worn out our welcome in this village, that’s sure,” Jack added ruefully. “I wonder what stirred everyone against us?”

“Drink your tea,” the missionary urged, “and I will seek the answer.”

Moving painfully with the aid of a cane, Father Francisco went through the patio and thence to the front entranceway where the mob had gathered. When he rejoined the Scouts fifteen minutes later, his face was grave.

“This is more serious than I thought,” he reported. “Lolita has turned the villagers against you.”

“We suspected she was at the bottom of it,” Ken nodded. “What’s it all about?”

“Lolita has convinced the villagers that your expedition is for the sole purpose of obtaining sacred Inca treasure from the ancient temples.”

“But that isn’t so,” Jack denied instantly. “Can’t we explain to them?”

“I tried, and I believe my words carried some weight. Nevertheless, my advice is to leave Cuertos as soon as you can. Tonight if possible. Or at the very latest, early tomorrow morning.”

“We don’t know much about Mr. Livingston’s plans,” Jack replied, rather worried. “We’ve scarcely seen him all day.”

“He is arranging for you to leave here by car,” the missionary disclosed. “At Cuya you will pick up a reliable guide, who will assist in hiring natives to accompany you. That part will be easy. Later steps of the journey will become increasingly hard.”

“We’re not expecting an easy time,” Jack replied quietly.

“Wherever you are, my prayers will go with you. I must admit that I am greatly relieved that Captain Carter is not to be a member of your party.”

Before anyone could reply, the servant woman came hurriedly to the garden. She addressed Father Francisco rapidly in Spanish.

“This is most annoying,” the missionary said to the Scouts. “The throng becomes unruly again. Lolita has stirred them up once more. The villagers demand that I turn you over to them.”

“We didn’t mean to cause you trouble by coming here,” Ken apologized. “If only we could make them understand—”

“That, at the moment, is doubtful. But do not be disturbed. We will retire to the library, and presently they will go away.”

“They’re making a worse clatter every minute,” Jack remarked with a shake of his head. “They may try to break down the door.”

Unmindful of the noise from outside, Father Francisco guided his visitors to the library. There, he produced a half dozen sheets of beautifully written manuscript.

“This is the translation I promised to make for you,” he said, placing the script in Jack’s hand. “Some of the passages are missing because my memory grows faulty with advancing years. I must confess too, that all portions of the manuscript are not strictly accurate. You may have this copy, and I sincerely hope it will be of use to you.”

“You never recovered the original parchment?” Jack inquired after he had thanked the missionary for the laborious work.

Father Francisco shook his head. “Lolita may have stolen it,” he remarked. “On a number of occasions I have scolded her for her behavior.”

Jack skimmed through the closely written pages.

“Say, this is rich stuff!” he asserted. “Listen, fellows! ‘Around the camp fire which we lit that night, we held council and decided that next morning all of us would set off cautiously down the trail to the city of the dead....’”

“There is a break at that point,” Father Francisco apologized. “My memory failed me completely.”

Jack read on:

“‘We came into the open from the trail, approached towering walls and passed under a gigantic entrance of three lofty arches. These were built of colossal stones, the center arch dominating the others.’”

“That’s an account of the Portuguese explorers’ first view of the ancient city?” War asked in awe.

The missionary nodded. “The original offers a most graphic description of ‘an ethereal region that served as a throne for the wind and stars.’ My translation is not the best, and my recollection of it, even poorer. It should, nevertheless, serve your purpose.”

“Is the city’s location given?” Ken asked hopefully.

“Yes, but the directions are too general to be of much help. Briefly told, the manuscript relates how the explorers, after many hardships came to the mountains, whose sides seemed aflame. This they took to be an omen of good fortune.

“Finding the mountains almost impossible to scale, the explorers made camp. Next day, in a search for fire wood, an opening was found between the cliffs. Upon investigating the cleft, they discovered they could climb to the summit.

“When finally they emerged, they beheld the hidden city stretched before them. Now, the tale might have been discredited, save for one thing.”

“What was that?” War prompted.

“Bear in mind that the manuscript was written in the sixteenth century. The description given by the explorers of the ancient Inca city might fit any number of ruins which since have been discovered. Yet at the time the manuscript was written, they were utterly unknown. Uneducated adventurers scarcely could have invented such vivid detail as the manuscript contained.”

“So Burton Monahan and other explorers who went before him believe that the city actually existed?” Ken remarked. “That it was never discovered after the Portuguese left it?”

“True. Remember that the way is difficult and that cargo animals cannot be taken far on the trail. The climate ranges from cold to extreme heat, so that a considerable amount of equipment must be carried. Few are willing to undertake such a venture.”

“What happened after the Portuguese reached the hidden city?” inquired War, eager to hear more of the story.

“Here’s a hint,” declared Jack, reading at random from the manuscript.

“‘The grandeur of these mighty remains awed every man’s tongue into silence. We tiptoed in the shadow of the ruins. The stones were black with age. No one spoke above a whisper and orders were given in a low voice. High above the crown of the middle arch, strange and unknown characters were engraved.’”

The reading at this point was interrupted by loud shouting and pounding on the outer mission door.

“They’re going to break in here!” Willie asserted, getting to his feet.

“Do not be disturbed,” said Father Francisco. “There is a secret way out. I will show you.”

He beckoned for the Scouts to follow him. Crossing the library, he pressed a hidden spring. To the amazement of the Scouts, one of the wide bookshelves swung inward.

Behind it was revealed a low, arched-over tunnel.

“This escape was very useful in the early days of the mission,” Father Francisco observed cheerfully. “Today it has little practical value, save on a rare occasion such as this.”

“Where does it lead?” War asked, peering into the tunnel’s dark interior. He could not see its end.

“It twists through the hillside to emerge in a small cave overlooking the sea. Once there, you will be near your hotel. I suggest that you go directly there and remain until your departure from Cuertos.”

“We will,” Ken promised gratefully.

“Wait,” Father Francisco bade the Scouts as they would have started into the tunnel. “You will need a light to guide you. A candle—”

“No need,” Jack said. “I have my pocket flashlight. Thanks for everything.”

Switching on the light, he started ahead of the others into the low, narrow passageway. A half dozen wide, well-worn stone steps led downward to a lower level.

Moving fast, the Scouts followed an uneven dirt floor in a crazy pattern of turns and zigzags. Soon they had lost all sense of direction.

“Shouldn’t this thing be coming to an end?” Willie presently demanded. “We’ve gone a mile.”

“Not even half that far,” Jack corrected, pausing to look back.

“Anyone behind us?” Willie asked.

“Nope. Father Francisco will look after that detail for us. You know, he’s a mighty good egg!”

“He pulled us out of a tight spot,” Ken agreed. “When we find the hidden city, we can send him some Inca gold as a token of our gratitude!”

“Let’s get out of here,” Willie urged impatiently. “This place makes me feel like a trapped rat.”

Jack went on again, closely followed by the other three Scouts. The tunnel widened for a short distance, then became so narrow that they scarcely had space to squeeze through.

“We’re coming to steps,” Jack advised those behind him. “I can see daylight too.”

A few yards farther on, and the beam of his flashlight focused upon large slabs of rock imbedded in the hillside. The Scouts climbed at a sharp angle. Then, just as the missionary had promised, they found themselves in a cave with ceiling so low that they could not stand upright.

The exit to the cave was blocked by stones which at first seemed firmly fixed. But after Willie and Ken had worked a while, they were able to roll them aside and crawl out onto a narrow rock shelf overlooking the sea.

“Come on out!” Willie called jubilantly to the others. “The view’s great!”

“Any sign of the villagers?” Jack asked, switching off his flashlight.

“Nary a sign,” chuckled Willie. “I guess we outwitted ’em.”

Before crawling down from the ledge, the Explorers carefully replaced the pile of stones at the exit to the cave.

The task accomplished, they cautiously descended the steep slope, took their bearings, and returned to the hotel without encountering anyone.

There they learned that Mr. Livingston anxiously had awaited them for nearly an hour.

“I’m glad you came,” he told the four. “How soon can you be ready to leave here?”

“We can’t pull out too fast to suit us,” Jack replied for the group. “Not after what just happened.”

He then related the unfortunate incident of the beach and mission, and their close call with the unruly mob.

“That settles it,” Mr. Livingston said tersely. “Captain Carter is behind this, I’m convinced! Once we shake him, I’ll breathe easier. Pack your duds, fellows, and we’ll be off.”

“You mean we’re leaving right now?” Ken asked.

“Just as soon as we can get off. I’ve already arranged for two cars to take us to Cuya where the road ends. All our equipment, medicines and trading goods have been loaded. So throw your personal stuff together, and we’ll be on our way.”

Thrilled that the long period of inactivity at last was to come to an end, the Scouts soon had their gear ready. Within an hour, the hotel bill had been settled and two wretched-looking touring cars were at the door.

“Not too modern, boys,” Mr. Livingston said with a smile as the Scouts piled in. “But the tires are sound. With luck, we’ll reach Cuya by late tonight.”

Without incident, the two cars chugged through the crooked village streets and out into open country. Mr. Livingston, Willie and War rode in the lead automobile, while Ken and Jack ate dust in the vehicle behind.

Speed was impossible. Sections of the highway had been paved, but the many rough patches made driving hazardous.

After awhile, the pavement, such as it was, gave way to a road of hard surface clay. Vegetation was scanty, scarcely more than a few tufts of grass and an occasional twisted algarroba tree.

The two cars were about an hour out of Cuertos when Jack noticed that a gray car was following some distance behind.

At first, he gave it only casual attention. However, when his own driver slowed to a standstill before attempting to cross a narrow log bridge, he was surprised to see the other automobile pull up some distance back.

“That’s funny,” he remarked aloud.

“What is?” Ken demanded. Half asleep, he pulled himself upright to look back down the road.

“No matter how slow we travel, that car behind never tries to pass us.”

“The road’s narrow.”

“Even so, Ken, not many drivers would eat dust for fifty miles. He’s had several chances to pass.”

Now that his attention had been drawn to the vehicle behind the two Scout cars, Ken kept watch. Not until their own automobile had crossed the log bridge, did the following car start up.

As the road presently widened, Jack directed the driver to slow down and give the car behind every chance to pass. Instead of doing so, it too, slackened speed.

“You were right, Jack!” Ken asserted, completely convinced. “We’re being trailed!”

Chapter 12
A MYSTERIOUS FOLLOWER

Dusk came on, and still the mysterious automobile kept behind the two Scout touring cars. At times the vehicle was lost to view, but when the Explorers thought they had seen the last of it, they glimpsed it once more far down the highway.

“Maybe Captain Carter is trailing us,” speculated Jack. “That driver stays just far enough back so we can’t see who is in the car.”

“I can’t figure out why Carter’s so keen on going along on our expedition,” Ken responded, slapping a mosquito which had made a three-point landing on his arm. “Not because of any tender feeling for Burton Monahan!”

“Maybe he’s learned the location of the old Inca city, Ken.”

“I’ve thought that for quite a while. Gold would lure him from his ship, all right. If he tags along, we’re in for real trouble!”

“No use borrowing it ahead of time,” Jack shrugged, peering once more at the darkening road behind them. “I can’t even see the car now. No headlights either.”

Five minutes later, the lead automobile in which Mr. Livingston rode, pulled up to change a tire. Taking advantage of the delay, the Scouts opened up some of their rations and prepared a quick but tasty supper along the highway. Nearly an hour elapsed before the two cars again were ready to proceed.

During this time, no other automobile passed.

“Either we were wrong about that car trailing us, or the driver pulled up somewhere,” Ken declared as he climbed into the back seat beside Jack.

“Quit worrying about it,” the other advised with a laugh. “If Captain Carter is following us, we’ll find out all too soon!”

By nine o’clock the Scout party had reached Cuya, nestled pleasantly in a valley below a range of snow-capped peaks. On Mr. Livingston’s map, the village had been marked as the first stop.

Here the Scouts were to pick up a guide with whom arrangements had been made. The next stage of the journey would be undertaken by burro.

At the Peru Hotel, a dingy structure, the boys were shown to their rooms. While the others rested, Mr. Livingston and Jack went downstairs to talk to the hotel clerk and check on details for the next morning’s departure.

“Where will I find a guide named Miquel?” the Scout leader inquired.

The clerk spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Senor, I deeply regret, you not find him. Miquel leave Cuya three hours ago.”

“He left?” Mr. Livingston repeated in dismay. “But he had orders from Father Francisco to meet us here! He was paid in advance to have everything ready for our departure.”

“Miquel say he go to visit grandmother in another village.”

“When will he return?”

“Two weeks—two months. Quien sabe?”

“The rascal disappeared on purpose with our money!” Mr. Livingston exclaimed. “Are other guides to be had?”

“Si, Senor, for a price. But they do not know the mountain country as does Miquel. He is very good guide, but muy perezoso—very lazy.”

“There may be more to it than that,” Mr. Livingston replied. “He may be afraid of the trip, or possibly he was bought off.”

The Scout leader obtained the names of other guides and, with Jack, started making the rounds. After hours of dickering, they finally were able to engage a stubby little man named Pedro, who for twice the amount that Miquel had been paid agreed to accompany the party.

“We’ve made a poor start,” Mr. Livingston admitted as he and Jack returned to the hotel after midnight. “I hope we can depend on Pedro, but I have my doubts.”

On one point only, the Scout leader was encouraged. Conversation with the hotel man confirmed that months before, Burton Monahan’s party had passed through Cuya. Natives later had returned with reports of great hardship encountered on the trail. Many had deserted after only a few days travel. Miquel had kept on to the second base camp, there refusing to go further.

Jack and Mr. Livingston were abroad most of the night, checking equipment and arranging for burros.

By dawn however, all was in readiness for the departure into the mountains. Fortified by a hearty breakfast, the Scouts set off single-file on the start of a tortuous trail.

Pedro, his olive skin glistening in the bright sunlight, led the expedition. Behind followed Ken and Mr. Livingston. War, Willie and Jack brought up the rear, the latter astride a sturdy but temperamental burro he had nicknamed “High Hat.”

On the first day, the route took them into a great valley, fed by streams which during the wet season gushed down the ravines with great force. Well-seasoned, the Scouts found the going no test of their endurance.

The trail became increasingly difficult on the second day. Before the Scouts had attained much altitude, Ken, who was leading, let out a yelp: “Rock slide ahead!”

There was no way around the barrier. Rocks had to be laboriously lifted and moved.

“This little jaunt may not be quite the breeze we pictured it,” Willie puffed, looking ruefully at his blistered hands. “It’s worth while though, if we learn what became of Burton Monahan.”

After hours of hard, tedious work, a path was cleared. Once more the expedition started on. Jack, however, could not get High Hat to budge. He coaxed the stubborn animal, prodded him with a stick and finally, in desperation, whacked him hard. The animal still refused to move.

“High Hat have bad habit—very bad,” Pedro informed him cheerfully. “When you make stop on trail, High Hat think time come to make camp.”

“Yeah! So I gathered!” Jack muttered in disgust. “How do I convince him otherwise?”

“Have to unload him, Senor. No other way.”

“For crying out loud!” Jack exploded. “I spent a long while this morning getting everything packed on his stupid back just the way I wanted it!”

“Spend much longer time here, unless Senor unpack.”

Submitting to the inevitable, Jack removed the duffle bags, one by one. High Hat then permitted himself to be led. Jack laboriously repacked him, and the burro went on again without complaint.

“Keep going, you fellows ahead!” he advised good naturedly. “I don’t want to have another brush-to with High Hat.”

Three times though, when the party was halted by minor rock slides, Jack was compelled to go through the same tedious procedure of unpacking and repacking the burro. His patience sorely tried, he was glad when Mr. Livingston called an early halt for the day.

Camp was made by a stream, a rugged cliff wall serving as windbreak. Nearby, the party saw considerable evidence of earlier Inca life. Mr. Livingston pointed out the ruins of an ancient bath where clear water still flowed. The Scouts themselves came upon niches in the wall where idols once had been placed.

According to pre-arranged plan, Jack and Ken put up the tents, while Mr. Livingston and Willie started a fire and prepared the evening meal. War set off to search for additional firewood.

Twenty minutes later he hastened back, his arms laden. He was breathing hard and laboring under great excitement.

“What’s the matter, War?” Jack teased, driving in the last tent stake. “Did you see an Inca priest lurking behind a rock? Or maybe you’ve already found the secret entrance to the hidden city!”

War dropped his firewood. “You needn’t be funny!” he retorted. “I saw something else that gave me the jim-jams.”

“A llama?” Ken asked with a grin. “Maybe a caravan of ’em?”

“Aw, cut it out, fellows! I’m serious. I was standing at the edge of the cliff, looking down, when I saw a flash of light.”

“The setting sun?” Jack chuckled. “Reflected on a rock?”

“It was a flash of sunlight all right. But I’m sure it was a signal.”

The grins had faded from the faces of the other two Scouts. By this time, Mr. Livingston, and Willie also had joined the group.

“What’s that about a signal, War?” the Scout leader asked soberly.

“I’ve been trying to tell these two know-it-alls! It was as if someone were flashing a mirror. The signals came like dots and dashes. Only I don’t think it was in Morse code.”

“Sure you didn’t imagine it, War? We’ve had a pretty exhausting day—”

“I saw those signals, Mr. Livingston,” War insisted. “They came from the trail below us. Come and I’ll show you.”

He led them along the trail to an open space through which they could obtain a view of the valley and the deep gorges below.

“I was standing right here when a flash of light hit me squarely in the face. It was as if someone had done it deliberately!”

Ken carefully adjusted his powerful field glass to study the terrain below.

“See anything?” Mr. Livingston asked him.

For a moment, Ken did not answer. Then he nodded.

“Someone has made camp down there. I can see two or three men—one of them doesn’t look like a native either. He looks a lot like—”

Breaking off, Ken offered the glass to Jack, who quickly raised it to his eyes.

“You tell me who it is,” he directed.

“It’s Captain Carter!” Jack exclaimed, stunned by his observation. “We all know what that means!”

“That bird must be trailing us deliberately!” burst out War. “He’s put out because we wouldn’t include him in the expedition. Now he’s following us just to be ornery!”

Chapter 13
A POISONED ARROW

It was bitterly cold when Jack, still drugged by sleep, forced himself to roll out of his eiderdown sleeping bag.

The fire, kept up during the night, had dwindled to glowing embers.

He quickly fed the coals fresh wood, noticing that the pile of fuel was low.

Once the fire was going well, he stretched his stiff legs by taking a brisk hike down trail to where the burros had been left for the night.

Mabel, Jude, Babe and the others were there, looking fresh and willing. But High Hat was nowhere to be seen.

The reason was readily apparent. During the night, the animal had slipped her ropes and wandered off.

A second look convinced Jack that High Hat had not accomplished her escape without help. Someone deliberately had stolen or set the animal free.

“It must have been done for sheer meanness!” he told himself. “Who would pull such a trick?”

His gaze swept the circle of humans near the fire. Pedro was sleeping peaceful as a baby in his blankets and the other bearers were stretched out around him. It was highly improbable that any of them had released the animal, Jack decided.

Below the Scout camp, a thin column of smoke was rising lazily through the early morning mists.

“Captain Carter or one of his men may have been sneaking around here last night,” Jack thought. “I’d like to catch him at it!”

Loss of High Hat would be a serious matter, though not necessarily fatal. But he didn’t look with enthusiasm upon the prospect of toting High Hat’s load over the steep, narrow trails.

Jack estimated the distance to the camp below as not more than three-quarters of a mile. He knew he could make it easily going down, but the climb back would consume time and energy. Still, he might be lucky enough to recover High Hat, and at the same time pick up important information.

War, Willie, Ken and Mr. Livingston were sleeping snugly in their warm bags. No need to awaken them, he decided. They’d need their energy later for the day’s journey. Better to go quickly, and get back before breakfast was ready.

His mind made up, Jack scribbled a note and swung off down the mountainside. A mist hung over the valley, blocking his view of the snow-capped peaks above.

Boulders and stones littered the path, such as it was, delaying him more than he had expected. When finally he approached the camp below, there was no one about. The fire had been put out and the campers had departed.

Disgusted that his trip had been a waste of time, Jack nevertheless looked carefully about. He noted evidence that four or five men had slept there during the night. Footprints clearly showed the direction in which the party had gone.

“This must have been Captain Carter’s camp,” Jack reflected. “Furthermore, he’s taking our same route. Only he probably figures on getting out ahead of us.”

Unable to find any trace of High Hat, the Scout retraced his way. It was hard going, and when he finally reached camp, his heart was pounding from too fast a climb.

The other Scouts had delayed breakfast because of his absence.

“Hey! What was the idea of wandering off?” Willie greeted him. “You gave us a bad scare.”

“Didn’t you get my note?”

“Sure,” Willie answered, pouring hot chocolate. “But you’ve been gone a long while. Look at the sun.”

“Did you find the burro?” Ken questioned.

Jack disgustedly admitted his failure.

“I guess I didn’t use my head,” he confessed ruefully. “I thought I could find High Hat and at the same time learn if Captain Carter has been following us.”

“We’ll have to worry along without the burro,” Mr. Livingston said. “I know you went after the animal with the best of intentions, Jack, but it was a risky thing to do.”

“I realize that now.”

“Henceforth, the rule must be that no one is to leave camp alone or without permission.”

“I’ll remember,” Jack promised. “Since we’re not in hostile Indian country yet, I didn’t think there would be any danger.”

“On these trails anything can happen. You might take a bad fall and have no one to help you. Or you might have run into trouble with those campers below. Also, we can’t tell how the natives will treat us, even in this area.”

“We’ve scarcely seen a native since we left Cuya,” remarked War.

“Nevertheless, we’ll be coming to villages before long. Even though we see no one, take my word that news of our expedition precedes us.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “You may be sure it won’t happen again.”

The Scouts finished breakfast and quickly broke camp. All morning they struggled over the trails, at times looking down into chasms that brought their hearts into their throats.

On either side of sharp, razor-back ridges, the path descended into a deep, terrifying abyss. Occasionally, the Scouts saw the bleaching bones of dead animals, and vultures hovered overhead.

Shortly before dusk they came to a village where they had hoped to recruit extra bearers to replace two who had deserted. None could be hired.

However, they were made welcome at the home of a missionary doctor, who told them that Burton Monahan’s party had passed that way many months before, never to return. It was the doctor’s opinion that the explorer had been killed by hostile Indians.

“Beyond this village you will have rough, unfrequented trail,” he advised the Scout leader. “Your map will be useless to you. Better roll it up and return.”

Mr. Livingston’s smile gave reply.

For two comparatively pleasant days, the Scouts rested and relaxed in the doctor’s home. A blister on War’s foot healed, and good food and plenty of sleep revived the spirits of everyone.

On the trail once more, the Explorers found the doctor’s prediction all too true. Hours were required to travel even a short distance. The path they pursued became no more than a narrow ledge high above a valley floor. A single mis-step would mean certain death.

THE BOY SCOUTEXPLORERSAT TREASURE MOUNTAIN

CONTENTS

Chapter 1AN IMPORTANT ASSIGNMENT

Chapter 2CAPTAIN CARTER

Chapter 3PATH TO ADVENTURE

Chapter 4A MISSION

Chapter 5AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT

Chapter 6EARTHQUAKE TREMORS

Chapter 7SCOUT CARGO

Chapter 8CONTRABAND

Chapter 9CAPTAIN CARTER’S DECEPTION

Chapter 10FURY OF A MOB

Chapter 11INTO THE WILDERNESS

Chapter 12A MYSTERIOUS FOLLOWER

Chapter 13A POISONED ARROW