The Lost City [43]
conclusion, but the professor was of more equable temper, for a wonder. He smilingly shook his head, while gazing kindly, then spoke:
"I myself might have made the same error, Waldo, but you surely were in error, for once."
"What! You mean I never saw those white women, uncle Phaeton?"
"No, no, I am not so seriously faulting your eyesight, my dear boy," came the swift assurance. "But even the best of us are open to errors, and there were in olden times not a few Aztecs with fair skins; not exactly white, yet comparatively fair when their race was considered. And, no doubt, Waldo, you saw just such another a bit ago."
But the youngster was not so easily shaken in his own opinion.
"There were a couple of 'em, not just such another, uncle. And they were white,--pure white as ever the Lord made a woman! And--why, didn't I see their hair, long and floating loose? And wasn't that yellow as--as gold, or the sunshine itself?"
"Yellow hair?"
"Yes, indeedy! Yellow hair, white skins,--faces, anyway. Blondes, the couple of 'em; and to that I'll make my davy!"
And so the youngster maintained with even more than usual sturdiness, when questioned more closely, pointing out the very spot upon which the strange beings were standing, the top of a large, tall building, clearly one of the series of temples.
In vain the field-glass was fixed upon that particular point. The partly roofed azotea was wholly devoid of human life, and though watch was maintained in that direction for many minutes thereafter, by one or other of the air-voyagers, naught was seen to confirm the assertion made by the younger Gillespie.
For the moment that fact or fancy dominated all other interests, for, granting that Waldo had not been misled by a naturally fair Indian face, there was room for a truly startling inference.
"Could it actually be they?" muttered Bruno, face pale and eyes glittering with intense interest. "Could they have escaped with life from the balloon, and been here ever since?"
"You mean--"
"The wife and child of Cooper Edgecombe,--yes! Who else could they be, unless--I'd give a pretty penny for one fair squint at them, right now! If there was only some method of--It would hardly do to venture down yonder, uncle Phaeton?"
The professor gave a stern gesture of denial, frowning as though he anticipated an actual break for yonder town, in spite of the odds against them.
"That would be madness, Bruno! Worse than madness, by far! Look at yonder warriors, all thoroughly armed, and eager to drink blood as ever they were in centuries gone by! They are hundreds, if not thousands, while we are but three! Madness, my boy!"
"Four, with Mr. Edgecombe, uncle."
"And that means a complete host so long as we are backed up by the air-ship," declared Waldo, in his turn. "Those fellows!" with a sniff of true boyish scorn for aught that was not fully up to date. "What could they do, if we were to open fire on them just once?"
"Prove our equals, man for man, armed as they assuredly are," just as vigorously affirmed the professor, inclined rather to magnify than diminish the importance of these, his so recently discovered people. "You forget how the Aztecans fought Cortez and his mailed hosts. Yet these are one and identical, so far as valour and training and blood can go."
"Huh! Scared of a runty horse so badly that they prayed to 'em as they did to their own gods!" sniffed Waldo, betraying a lore for which he did not ordinarily receive fair credit. "Why, uncle Phaeton, let you just slam one o' those dynamite shells inside a chief--"
"Nay, Waldo, must I repeat, we are not here for the purpose of conquest, unless by purely amicable methods. There must be no fighting, for or against. Savages though most people would be inclined to pronounce yonder race, they are human, with souls and--"
"But I always thought they were heathens, uncle Phaeton?"
The professor subsided at that, giving over as worse than useless the attempt to enlighten the irrepressible youngster, at least for the time
"I myself might have made the same error, Waldo, but you surely were in error, for once."
"What! You mean I never saw those white women, uncle Phaeton?"
"No, no, I am not so seriously faulting your eyesight, my dear boy," came the swift assurance. "But even the best of us are open to errors, and there were in olden times not a few Aztecs with fair skins; not exactly white, yet comparatively fair when their race was considered. And, no doubt, Waldo, you saw just such another a bit ago."
But the youngster was not so easily shaken in his own opinion.
"There were a couple of 'em, not just such another, uncle. And they were white,--pure white as ever the Lord made a woman! And--why, didn't I see their hair, long and floating loose? And wasn't that yellow as--as gold, or the sunshine itself?"
"Yellow hair?"
"Yes, indeedy! Yellow hair, white skins,--faces, anyway. Blondes, the couple of 'em; and to that I'll make my davy!"
And so the youngster maintained with even more than usual sturdiness, when questioned more closely, pointing out the very spot upon which the strange beings were standing, the top of a large, tall building, clearly one of the series of temples.
In vain the field-glass was fixed upon that particular point. The partly roofed azotea was wholly devoid of human life, and though watch was maintained in that direction for many minutes thereafter, by one or other of the air-voyagers, naught was seen to confirm the assertion made by the younger Gillespie.
For the moment that fact or fancy dominated all other interests, for, granting that Waldo had not been misled by a naturally fair Indian face, there was room for a truly startling inference.
"Could it actually be they?" muttered Bruno, face pale and eyes glittering with intense interest. "Could they have escaped with life from the balloon, and been here ever since?"
"You mean--"
"The wife and child of Cooper Edgecombe,--yes! Who else could they be, unless--I'd give a pretty penny for one fair squint at them, right now! If there was only some method of--It would hardly do to venture down yonder, uncle Phaeton?"
The professor gave a stern gesture of denial, frowning as though he anticipated an actual break for yonder town, in spite of the odds against them.
"That would be madness, Bruno! Worse than madness, by far! Look at yonder warriors, all thoroughly armed, and eager to drink blood as ever they were in centuries gone by! They are hundreds, if not thousands, while we are but three! Madness, my boy!"
"Four, with Mr. Edgecombe, uncle."
"And that means a complete host so long as we are backed up by the air-ship," declared Waldo, in his turn. "Those fellows!" with a sniff of true boyish scorn for aught that was not fully up to date. "What could they do, if we were to open fire on them just once?"
"Prove our equals, man for man, armed as they assuredly are," just as vigorously affirmed the professor, inclined rather to magnify than diminish the importance of these, his so recently discovered people. "You forget how the Aztecans fought Cortez and his mailed hosts. Yet these are one and identical, so far as valour and training and blood can go."
"Huh! Scared of a runty horse so badly that they prayed to 'em as they did to their own gods!" sniffed Waldo, betraying a lore for which he did not ordinarily receive fair credit. "Why, uncle Phaeton, let you just slam one o' those dynamite shells inside a chief--"
"Nay, Waldo, must I repeat, we are not here for the purpose of conquest, unless by purely amicable methods. There must be no fighting, for or against. Savages though most people would be inclined to pronounce yonder race, they are human, with souls and--"
"But I always thought they were heathens, uncle Phaeton?"
The professor subsided at that, giving over as worse than useless the attempt to enlighten the irrepressible youngster, at least for the time