All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 68: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ps sockets; and he changed his admonition to a sharp “ What now?” “ P-patron,” stammered Tomas, “ p-pa- tron, where is the machete of Enrique?” This was a question indeed. Jones picked up his pistol and arose. The flooring of the passage was smooth and free of débris. No machete was to be seen upon it. ‘‘ Perhaps he threw it somewhere,” Jones suggested doubtfully. “He fell like a stone, patron. With such a wound, a man would nof move again,” declared Tomas with finality. ‘“‘ He fell upon his face here where I am standing, patron. See; his blood is here. His ma- chete is gone.” Jones turned hopefully to the body of the strange man and moved it with his foot. Still no machete. The inference was un- avoidable and disquieting: Enrique had met more than one assailant. One of them had carried off the machete. | ‘“‘ Give me a torch,” said Jones, making one of his characteristically quick decisions. He moved on down the gallery toward the square patch of darkness where it termi- nated. Tomas edged circumspectly around the prostrate body and followed. Jones made mental note of a debt to Tomas in the sum of one golden J/ibra, in reward of the most extraordinary bravery he ever had known an aboriginal to display when facing what he so firmly believed to be the terrors of the supernatural. At the end of the passage a flight of a dozen steps led down to the flooring of a large court, hewn entirely from the solid rock. It was more than thirty feet high. By the feeble light of the torches, Jones could no more ‘than guess at its other dimensions. In its center a group of col- umns ascended to the roof and’ surrounded an immense altar, carved from a single stone and omamented with all manner of arabesques, in which -the favorite Inca symbols—the serpent and the shell-like scroll—predominated. A shaft at one end of the altar connected with a second corridor below; but as the torch-flare was reflected back from stagnant water, Jones did not venture down. All around the circumference of the great court narrow doorways opened into series ALL-STORY WEEKLY. of cell-like chambers, connected one with another by cramped tunnels or passages. A glance around him showed Jones the futility of further search unless he should have at his disposal a large party of men well acquainted with the ruins. In such a maze a score of fugitives could play him hide-and-seek at will. To the manifest relief of his companion, he gave the word to turn back. Tomas, who hall followed, now preceded. As they neared the upper end of the corri- dor, the Aymara shrank against the wall with lifted torch, and groaned with terror. “Virgen Santisima! The momia! the momia! It is coming to life, patron!” and ‘Tomas, who dared not go on, sank to his knees and began to patter his prayers; though he still had the presence of mind to retain his torch and keep it right side up. Racked nerves had put Jones in a frame of mind that, had the dead man sat up and demanded a cigar, it would have surprised him little. But so far as he could %e, the corpse was behaving like the general run of corpses. ‘What ails you, Tomas?” he asked im- patiently. Tomas pointed a _ shaking finger. ‘It is turning white. It is coming to life, patron. It is of los demonios. Soon it will stand up, and we shall be dead men. it will eat us. Ditos mio!” Tomas made the sign of the cross and redoubled his supplications. Jones stepped past him. Then he in turn halted. The corpse had not stirred, it was true; but it kad changed. When he had left it, its lowér limbs only were white. Now, before his astonished eyes a broad band of slowly creeping pallor appeared above its loin-cloth. It was turning white. For a moment Jones regarded the phe- nomenon. Then he shook his shoulders. ‘‘ Hell!” he breathed to himself; ‘‘ I’m get- _ting as bad as Tomas.” ° The Aymara’s big white sombrero had fallen on the floor of the corridor. Jones sternly ordered him to pick it up, take the other torch, and go ahead. Conquering by an effort of will the instinctive repugnance which forbade him to touch the body, he CO DOO AMC S C©