All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 73: what you’re looking at

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LAND OF THE body, eying it from all angles, but not touching it. At its head he paused again and shot a glance at the Aymara, accom- panyjng the ‘look with the sharply intoned question: “What is it, Tomas?” “ Maestro, it is a momia—the dead ghost of a Gentile,”’. replied the big Indian, who stood at a discreet distance. “ Cdspita! I believe that it is so,” said De Ulloa. ‘“ Now go you, Tomas, and stay with the mules. The patron and I would talk.” Tomas went gladly. -Over his shoulder he cast Jones a glance that registered “I told you so” as plainly as though he had uttered the words. So soberly had the little don spoken. in confirming the belief of the Aymara that for a moment Jones was deceived, and wondered if De Ulloa, too, was the prey of childish superstitions. No sooner was Tomas out of ear-shot than the manner of the Peruvian changed. He smiled faintly at Jones, went’ down on his knees and examined the body closely, even eagerly. % “It is af course a man, sefior,” he said at length; ‘‘ and a white man, even as the senor and myself—but carramba! how strange!” He mused for a moment. “ Shall we bury it, senor, or shall we carry it below and leave it in one of the chambers there? That would be simplest.” ‘“ But the authorities,” objected the sur- prised American. ‘Shall you not notify them? Will there not be an investigation?” -“ What would be the purpose, senor? Tomas has told his tale, and it is a good one. To alter it, would but be the begin- ning of endless trouble. Enrique, que Dios haya,” and he crossed himself piously, ‘‘ will sleep as soundly without it—and we much more so. You are in haste to go on, senor, are you not?” ‘You mean that we should be much delayed?” “ Crertamente. To change the story of Tomas, would be to bring a visit of the alcaldes of San Marcos with their silver- trimmed staves and their ignorarice; then an inquiry before the gobernadore of the town, who is hardly less ignorant. SHADOW PEOPLE. 63 “In time the corregidor of Huantar would hear of the matter and, though he is an honest man and not like some of the miserable caudillos in office, he would be forced to notify the government at Lima. There would be a fine funcidén (row) over one poor Cholo; and many weeks, perhaps months, of the patron’s time would be wasted.” ‘We will leave the body in the vaults,” said Jones, setting a match to one of the torches. In one of the narrow chambers in the rock beyond the great underground court of the temple with its carven altar they left ‘the mysterious stranger to sleep out his ‘long sleep. As the gloomy crypts seemed to hold no terrors for Don Castro, the two men pene- trated them for a considerable distance. Nowhere did they find trace of occupancy, or any clue to an explanation of why the grim-visaged white man should have lurked there and slain the guide. When they had given up the search and turned once more toward the shaft, Jones asked his companion if he had formed any theory on the occurrence. “No, patron, I have nothing of what you name theory,” was the ambiguous reply; “but strange things sometimes have hap- pened in the Cordillera—and in the Mon- tana.” It was too dark to see the Peruvian’s face; but his voice broke queerly: and he had not stumbled. ‘Tt is best that this matter should rest where it is, patron,” he continued. ‘“ At the present moment wild tales are being whis- pered in the mountain villages. Tomas told you truly: should a breath of what has happened here reach the ears of our Indians, brave as they are in the face of things which they can comprehend, they would desert like rats. Neither your gold nor my words would hold them. I advise you to let it rest, patron, lest it interfere with the larger matters which are to come.” ‘“T never have told you my object in wishing to reach the Ucayli,” began Jones, in the thought that now would be as good a time as any to inform the don. ‘“ Nor do I seek to know that reason, cCoOmiclbooks C©