Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 285: what you’re looking at

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

276 Our beautiful guide turned into a dark passageway and I saw her lay hold on a shining handle, apparently fastened to the floor. “Tt leads to the prison! ”’ she gasped. Her own strength was insufficient to lift the door. I helped her, and a yawn- ing hole gaped at our feet, showing stone steps leading downward. “ Descend!”’ she said, in a tone of entreaty. “I will close the door.” “ But the others!” I cried. “‘ I can- not leave them.” ‘* Descend!”’ The needs of the moment were too vivid tl permit hesitation. I darted down the stairs with Desklit and Lottie at my heels. Then I heard the door bang after us, and I felt a sickening sen- sation as I thought that Isisora and the four Englishmen had been left outside. But by the time I had gone the length of the staircase, not only Desklit and Lottie, but Isisora herself joined me. “ The others!” I gasped. * They were too slow,” replied Isi- sora. “ They were captured by the priests. I had barely time to close the door and draw the great bolt.” ‘“ My uncle!” cried Lottie. “ He is in the hands of Jadispiato and Forresto. From Jadispiato, fanatic though he is, we may expect some mercy, but none from Forresto. But the anger of the priests is not so much against those men. The blow that felled Forresto turned all their venom toward the one who struck it. Follow me.” We were in a dimly lighted under- eround apartment, bare of all furniture. Lottie was weeping and Desklit curs- ing under his breath. I felt as if I was in a tomb from which I was never to escape alive. The beautiful priestess again led the way, and from that bare apartment we entered another but little lighter, which, however, contained certain rude furniture and gave evidence of being inhabited. Yet we could see no one. THE ARGOSY. A rough table stood in the center of this room, and three chairs were ranged at the sides. ‘“ Altama!”’ called Isisora. ‘*Altama, where are you? It is J, Isisora.” “T come,” replied a quavering old voice in a sort of patois half Spanish and half something else. “ I come, but slowly, for I am old.” From some darkened recess there appeared an aged crone, black and wrinkled and withered. How old she was I could not guess, and never found one who knew. At least a hundred years must have been her account with time. Her frame, bent and attenuated, shook tremulously as she advanced. She was dressed in some old faded gar- ments, and her feet were bare. “You visit me?” she said, quer- ulously. “I am still alive.” ‘““T hope you will live long, Altama,”’ said Isisora. ‘“ But who are these? ” demanded the aged hag, glancing sharply at Lottie, Desklit and myself. ‘They are friends,” replied Isisora. “ Listen, Altama. When, months ago, Jadispiato condemned you to a horrible Geath because you cursed him for his crimes against you, I, instead of allow- ing the cruelty to be a fact, had you secretly brought here and fed by my own househald slaves. You told me then that if at any time the priests turned against me you would help me if it lay within your power. I am come now to bee that assistance.” “So those mad priests have turned their poisoned fangs on the beautiful one they swore to obey!” hissed the old woman. “ I warned you, and knew I spoke the truth. Curses upon them! They live in madness. But these are not people of Ameza. I know that, but do not know what they are.” ‘“Thev are travelers, Altama, who were captured by the priests and brought to Ameza to be sacrificed. They came to find the great flower the priests call the Moon Figwer 55 a9 <S CO