All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

64 senor,” came the quick response. “ It is sufficient for me to know that you do wish to go so far as the Rio Ucayli. And I tell you, Sefior Jones, that strong'as your reason may be, ,it can be no Stronger than mine for wishing to accompany you.’ They had reached the gallery leading to the shaft. De Ulloa stooped and picked up the blood-stained copper ax of the stranger, which still lay on the floor where Jones had left it. | “This at least is of the Incas, patron,” he said, his tones indicating that he wel- comed the change of subject. ‘‘ Never have I seen a finer specimen. Tomas shall clean it, and you will keep it as a souvenir.” ‘““T guess we are quits, old chap, so far as holding out on each other is concerned,” thought Jones, and he felt no further qualms on that score. De Ulloa preceded him up the spiral stair, and they left the temple. As they were crossing the outer court, Jones asked casually: “Senor de Ulloa, have you ever heard that any of the natives have found an occa- sional emerald among the hills?” Don Castro started like a man touched by heated iron, and let fall the copper ax. “* Esmeralda: y The single word burst from the man’s throat in a hoarse cry of anguish. He whirled to face Jones, who had pulled up in surprise at the result of his simply query. The little Peruvian’s lined face had sud- denly become haggard; his black eyes glared, and his mustaches fairly bristled. ‘* Dios mio!” he groaned, and again, “‘ Dios mio!” His features slowly composed them- selves; but he breathed like one who has run a hard race. Jones, feeling that he never should be- come used to the explosiveness of the Latin temperament, eyed him disapprovingly. ‘““Vour pardon—pairon,” the don gasped, and it was evident that the words cost him an effort. ‘‘ You startled me—you cannot understand—how much. Some day—I will —explain. No, patron; I never have heard of such a thing. Does the patron then—”’ He checked himself, recovered the hatchet, and strode hurriedly on. Al! the way back to camp he was silent, gazing ALL-STORY WEEKLY. steadfastly between the ears of his plod- ding mule. For the first time Jones began to regret his choice of guide. Was the don crazed? Why else should a casual interrogation so affect him? The word “ esmeralda,” which De Utloa had . shrieked at him, Jones knew to be merety the Spanish for ‘‘ emerald.” Was the little don, too, a seeker after the green gems? Was he an honest but de- luded man, or was he a trickster? _ CHAPTER XI. THROUGH THE CORDILLERA. AMP was being broken when Jones and the don returned; and the start was made at onee down the valley of Chavin.. Jones, riding near the head of the little caravan, reined in alongside of Arnold and related to him the sequel to the adventure at the castle of Chavin, and the inexplicable behavior of Don Castro. ‘Looks as though we were heading into the unknown under the guidance of a lunatic—or worse,” he concluded. “ Pleas- ant prospect. Mysteries are great things— in books; but when it comes to a-man’s daily diet, they’re a bit too highly flavored for comfort. 1 think we’re getting more than our share.” “Our Castor Oil may be a trifle touched m the head, but I'll wager that he’s an honest man just the same,” responded Ar- nold. ‘‘ Why, he even has scruples against telling a lie to an Indian. And I doubt, Bob, if in the whole of Peru you could have found a better guide. Everybody says so. ‘“‘ David, the Cholo who went back into the hills with me last night, declares that the don has made more trips into the Mon- tana than he has fingers and toes. There is some sort of a queer yarn connected with his journeys into the wilderness; but David doesn’t know what it is—or won't tell, which amounts to the same thing. He looks at the don as something more than human. “By the way, I tried to pump David discreetly as to whether he’d ever heard of a strange white girl living here in the moun- cCoOmiclbooks C©