The Lost City - Jr. Joseph E. Badger (children's books read aloud txt) 📗

pipe in hand, held

as one might caress an inestimable treasure, a dreamy, almost

blissful expression upon his sun-browned face.

 

“I thank you, sir, more than tongue can tell,” he said, quietly,

as he restored the pipe to its owner. “If you could only realise

what I have suffered through this deprivation! I, an inveterate

smoker; yet suddenly deprived of it, and so kept for ten long

years! If I had had a pipe and tobacco, I believe—but enough.”

 

“I can sympathise with you, at least in part, my friend. Will

you have another smoke, by the way?”

 

“No, no, not now; I feel blessed for the moment, and more might

be worse than none, after so long deprivation. And—may I talk

openly to you, dear, kind friends? May I tell you—am I selfish

in wishing to trouble you thus? Ten years, remember, and not a

soul to speak with!”

 

He laughed, but it was a sorry mirth; and not caring to trust his

tongue just then, uncle Phaeton nodded his head emphatically

while filling his pipe for himself. But Waldo never lacked for

words, and spoke out:

 

“That’s all right, sir; we can listen as long as you can

chin-chin. Tell us all about—well, what’s the matter with that

big Injun?”

 

“Quiet, Waldo. Say what best pleases you, my friend. You can be

sure of one thing,—sympathetic listeners, if nothing better.”

 

With a curious shiver, as though afflicted with a sudden chill,

Edgecombe turned partly away, figure drawn rigidly erect, hands

tightly clasped behind his back. A brief silence, then he spoke

in tones of forced composure.

 

“A balloon was the best, in my day, and I was proud of my

profession, although even then I was dreaming of better

things—of something akin to this marvellous creation of yours,

sir,” casting a fleeting glance at the air-ship, then at the face

of its builder, afterward resuming his former attitude.

 

“Let that pass, though. I wanted to tell you how I met with my

awful loss; how I came to be out here in this modern hell!

 

“I had a wife, a daughter, each of whom felt almost as powerful

an interest in aerostatics as I did myself. And one day—but,

wait!

 

“I had an enemy, too; one who had, years before, sought to win my

love for his own; in vain, the cur! And that day—we were out

here in Washington Territory, living in comparative solitude that

I might the better study out the theory I was slowly shaping in

my brain.

 

“The day was beautiful, but almost oppressively warm, and, as

they so frequently wished, I let my dear ones up in the balloon,

securely fastening it below. And then—God forgive me!—I went

back to town for something; I forget just what, now.

 

“A sudden storm came up. I hurried homeward; home to me was

wherever my dear ones chanced to be; but I was just too late!

That devil of all devils was ahead of me, and I saw him—merciful

God! I saw him—cut the ropes and let the balloon dart away upon

that awful gale!”

 

His voice choked, and for a few minutes silence reigned. Knowing

how vain must be any attempt to offer consolation, the trio of

air-voyagers said nothing, and presently Cooper Edgecombe spoke.

 

“I killed the demon. I nearly tore him limb from limb; I would

have done just that, only for those who came hurrying after me

from town, knowing that I might need help in bringing my balloon

to earth in safety. They dragged me away, but ‘twas too late to

cheat my miserable vengeance. That hound was dead, but—my

darlings were gone, for ever!”

 

Another pause, then quieter, more coherent speech.

 

“God alone knows whither my wife and child were taken. The

general drift was in this direction, but how far they were

carried, or how long they may have lived, I can only guess;

enough that, despite all my inquiries, made far and wide in every

direction, I never heard aught of either balloon or passengers!

 

“After that, I had but one object in life: to follow along the

track of that storm, and either find my loved ones, or—or some

clew which should for ever solve my awful doubts! And for two

long years or more I fought to pierce these horrid

fastnesses,—all in vain. No mortal man could succeed, even when

urged on by such a motive as mine.

 

“Then I determined upon another course. I worked and slaved

until I could procure another balloon, as nearly like the one I

lost as might be constructed. Then I watched and waited for just

such another storm as the one upon whose wings my darlings were

borne away, meaning to take the same course, and so find—”

 

“Why, man, dear, you must have been insane!” impulsively cried

the professor, unable longer to control his tongue.

 

“Perhaps I was; little wonder if so,” admitted Edgecombe, turning

that way, with a wan smile lighting up his visage. “I could no

longer reason. I could only act. I had but that one grim hope,

to eventually discover what time and exposure to the weather

might have left of my lost loves.

 

“Then, after so long waiting, the storm came, blowing in the same

direction as that other. I cut my balloon loose, and let it

drift. I looked and waited, hoping, longing, yet—failing! I was

wrecked, here in this wilderness. My balloon was carried away.

I failed to find—aught!”

 

Cooper Edgecombe turned towards the air-ship, with a sigh of

regret.

 

“If one had something like this then, I might have found

them,—even alive! But now—too late—eternally too late!”

 

CHAPTER XIII. THE LOST CITY OF THE AZTECS.

 

Uncle Phaeton was more than willing to do the honours of his pet

invention, and this afforded a most happy diversion, although the

deepening twilight hindered any very extensive examination.

 

Cooper Edgecombe showed himself in a vastly different light while

thus engaged, his shrewd questions, his apt comments, quite

effectually removing the far from agreeable doubts born of his

earlier words and demeanour.

 

“Well, if he’s looney, it’s only on some points, not as the whole

porker, anyway,” confidentially asserted Waldo, when an

opportunity offered. “Coax him to tell how he knocked the

redskin out, uncle Phaeton.”

 

Little need of recalling that perplexing incident to the worthy

savant, for, try as he might, Featherwit could not keep from

brooding over that wondrous collection of relics pertaining to a

long-since extinct people. Of course, the last one had perished

ages ago; and yet—and yet—

 

Through his half-bewildered brain flashed the accounts given by

the coast tribes, members of which he had so frequently

interviewed concerning this unknown land, one and all of whom had

more or less to say in regard to a strange people, terrible

fighters, mighty hunters, one burning glance from whose eyes

carried death and decay unto all who were foolhardy enough even

to attempt to pass those mighty barriers, built up by a

beneficent nature. Only for that nearly impassable wall, the

entire earth would be overrun and dominated by these monsters in

human guise.

 

Then, after the air-ship was cared for to the best of his

ability, and the night-guard set in place so that an alarm might

give warning of any illegal intrusion, the little party returned

to the cavern home of the exile where, after another refusal on

his part, the professor filled and lighted his beloved pipe.

 

Almost in spite of himself Featherwit was drawn towards those

marvellous articles depending from the wall, and, as he gazed in

silent marvel, Cooper Edgecombe drew nigh, with still other

articles to complete the collection.

 

“You may possibly find something of interest in these, too, dear

sir, although I have given them rather rough usage. This formed

a rather comfortable cap, and—”

 

“A helmet! And sandals! A sash which is—yes! worn about the

waist, mainly to support weapons, and termed a maxtlatl,

which—and all sufficiently well preserved to be readily

recognised as genuine—unless—Surely I am dreaming!”

 

If not precisely that, the worthy professor assuredly was almost

beside himself while examining these articles of warrior’s wear,

one by one, knowing that neither eyes nor memory were at fault,

yet still unable to believe those very senses.

 

Up to this, Cooper Edgecombe had felt but a passing interest in

the matter, forming as it did but a single incident in a more

than ordinarily eventful life; but now he began to divine at

least a portion of the truth, and his face was lighted up with

unusual animation, when Phaeton Featherwit turned that way, to

almost sharply demand:

 

“Where did you gain possession of these weapons and garments,

sir? And how,—from whom?”

 

“I took them from an Indian, nearly two years ago. He caught me

off my guard, and, when I saw that I could neither hide nor flee,

I fought for my life,” explained the exile; then giving a short,

bitter laugh, to add: “Strange, is it not? Although I had long

since grown weary of existence such as this, I fought for it; I

turned wild beast, as it were! Then, after all was over, I took

these things, more because I feared his comrades might suspect—”

 

“His comrades?” echoed the professor. “More than the one, then?

You killed him, but—there were others, still?”

 

“Many of them; far too many for any one man to withstand,”

earnestly declared the exile. “I made all haste in bearing the

redskin here, obliterating all signs as quickly as possible; yet

for days and nights I cowered here in utter darkness, each minute

expecting an attack from too powerful a force for standing

against.”

 

Uncle Phaeton rubbed his hands briskly, shifting his weight

hurriedly from one foot to its mate, then back again, the very

personification of eager interest and growing conviction.

 

“More of them? A strong force? Armed,—and garbed as of old?

The clothing, the footwear, and, above all else, the weapons,

purely Aztecan? And here, only two short years ago?”

 

“Sadly long and hideously dreary years I have found them, sir,”

the exile said, in dejected tones.

 

The professor burst into a shrill, excited laugh, which sounded

almost hysterical, and, not a little to the amazement of his

nephews, broke into a regular dance, jigging it right merrily,

hands on hips, head perked, and chin in air, at the same time

striving to carry the tune in his far from melodious voice.

 

After all, perhaps no better method could have been taken to work

off his almost hysterical excitement, and presently he paused,

panting and heated, chuckling after an abashed fashion as he

encountered the eyes of his nephews.

 

“Not a word, my dear boys,” he hastened to plead. “I had to do

something or—or explode! I feel better, now. I can behave

myself, I hope. I am calm, cool, and composed as—the genuine

Aztecs! And we are the ones to discover that—oh, I forgot!”

 

For Waldo was fairly exploding with mirth, while Bruno smiled,

and even the exile appeared to be amused to a certain extent at

his expense.

 

Little by little, the worthy savant calmed down, and then, almost

forcing the exile to indulge in another delicious smoke, he led

up to the subject in which his interest was fairly intense.

 

Cooper Edgecombe was willing enough to tell all that lay in his

power, although he was only beginning to realise how much that

might mean to the world at large, judging by the actions of the

professor.

 

According to his account, the great lake, or drainage reservoir

of the Olympics, was a sort of semi-yearly rendezvous for a

warlike tribe