Chapter XXIII: An Amazing Disclosure

They crawled away from the hole that had given them entrance into the beautiful and mysterious valley, sheltering their movements from possible observers by the screen of the trees.

When they approached the trees they found a broad highway, which seemed to be much traveled. The trees were on each side of it, and made a shade.

Beyond the highway rose the thin mist mentioned by the boy, and as they came nearer to it they heard the sound of water. They found also that the tree-fringed highway skirted the edge of a high bluff, this bluff forming on that side the rim of the valley which held the village and the shining temple.

As they drew near this bluff and looked down over its upper rim, they beheld a fascinating sight.

The valley more than ever resembled a cup—a cup of emerald, with its rim represented by low, clifflike walls that ran almost wholly around it. The center of the valley was occupied by a sparkling lake, and the stream which they had heard, and which now they saw, flowed into this lake and apparently flowed out again on the opposite side. As strange as anything connected with the stream was that it seemed to issue from under the highway; in fact, they could fancy that they were directly over it at certain points in their journey thither.

“I think that stream explains one thing that has puzzled me,” said Buffalo Bill.

“And what is that?” asked Bounderby.

“The elevator. I have wondered what ran it—where the power came from. It must come from that stream, which seems to flow under the rock walls at about the point where that elevator stands.”

“I see! Nevertheless, it was a remarkable piece of work for Indians. Yet not half so remarkable as the rearing of that temple.” He stared off at the shining dome of the building they called the temple. “Can it be possible, Cody, that the people who constructed that are Indians?”

“I think there is no doubt of it.”

“I wonder,” said Lieutenant Butler, “if Miss Fernald can be alive and down in that village?”

“I’m wondering if the beast that Professor Bounderby says is an orang-utan can be down there?” remarked Tom Lawler.

Buffalo Bill’s hand fell on the arm of Lieutenant Butler, to call his attention.

“Hark!”

All listened. Then the silence was broken by the shrill scream of fifelike instruments, with heavier, reedy notes, and the thump of drums.

The sounds came from the upper end of the valley, to which, until this moment, they had not given much attention. Lifting their heads and craning their necks, they soon saw the front of a strange procession come into view.

Just below the rim of the valley on which they rested, and between it and the waters of the lake, was another highway, even more beaten than the upper one, and it was on that highway the procession had appeared.

At the head of the procession were the fifers and drum-beaters and a group of fantastic figures that danced and leaped, waving their arms wildly, and now and then shouting singular cries.

“It is a religious procession of some sort,” said Bounderby.

Behind the musicians and dancers came other figures as fantastic, some carrying fluttering banners. And now a great chanting chorus rose on the air, which changed occasionally to a wailing song that had a peculiarly heartrending intonation.

“One would think they are mourning for the dead,” said the scout, when he heard it.

More and more Indians came into view, as the procession began to stretch out along the highway.

It was observed now that the end of this highway appeared to be at or near the glittering temple which had attracted so much attention. All around the temple and within its doors people were gathered.

Bounderby had his pencil and notebook out and was scribbling furiously. As usual, he spoke the words aloud as he set them down:

“Having penetrated to the hidden valley by the strange manner already recorded, and viewed the shining temple and the snow-white huts, we heard sounds of strange music, and beheld at the valley’s farther end a singular procession. It appeared on the road that led by the beautiful, tree-shaded lakelet which is in the center of the valley. Many of the villagers were grouped within and close by the great temple. Toward it the procession was moving, thus declaring to us that what we saw and heard concerned the temple and had a religious significance. It is well known that the ancient Aztecs were a highly religious people, and we concluded that we had here found a remnant of that ancient race, hidden in these distant hills, still untouched and uncontaminated by civilization, and practicing all their ancient rites and customs.”

He held the book and the pencil between his fingers and stared at the moving body of people, the head of which was now near the lake and almost in front of their post of observation.

“Cody,” he said, “this is really the most remarkable thing I ever met in all my varied experience! We are no doubt watching a religious ceremonial of the ancient Aztecs, and if we could but penetrate to that temple and see the people there after this procession has reached it, I have no doubt we should behold things so strange that they would astonish us and the world. I wish it were possible to get there.”

“It would be at the sacrifice of our lives, if we tried it,” was the declaration of the experienced scout.

“No doubt it would, but one could almost be willing to die, to witness a scene such as that.”

A sort of fervor inspired the words of the professor. When the scout glanced at him he saw that Bounderby’s face was flushed to a deep red and that his eyes held a strange and far-away gaze of anxious desire. The professor was eccentric, loved the sound of his own voice, was quite boastful, and possessed an unwarranted opinion of himself, yet he was also learned in his way, and an honest delver after obscure and stray bits of knowledge lying along the lines of his specialty.

Again the scout, looking at the procession, touched the arm of Lieutenant Butler.

“Yes, I see!” said Butler, in answer.

A silken pavilion, partly inclosed, had come into view in the center of that long line of marching men, a pavilion borne on men’s shoulders, and so constructed that it was hoisted high over their heads and was in full view of all the people. As the pavilion was thus carried past certain groups that stood on the sides of the highway these latter lifted their voices in mighty shouting.

“Some conquering hero comes!” said Lieutenant Butler.

“I should say it is the high priest borne thus aloft,” said Professor Bounderby, whose interest and excitement were constantly growing. He snatched up his pencil and notebook and began again to set down what he saw.

“The chief priest, or the chief of the tribe, or the king,” said the scout, venturing a guess. “Hear the people shout as he passes them!”

The watchers were so eager to see all that they nearly forgot the danger they might be in, as they thrust up their heads and craned their necks, trying to get good views of everything. They had crawled forth to the very limit of the trees, so that they were close upon the edge of the cliff there, and at times, as they thus poked forth their heads, they might have been seen if any of the people below had chanced to look in that direction. But the excited inhabitants of the valley were too much interested in what they were themselves doing to give a thought, apparently, to anything else.

That silken pavilion continued to attract attention and comment. As it came nearer the watchers on the cliff were able to see that the one who occupied it was in a reclining position. When it swung around at a bend in the highway, giving a view of its open side, Buffalo Bill turned upon it his binoculars, which he had already been using, though to small purpose so far. An involuntary cry was drawn from his lips.

“What is it?” said Butler.

Without a word the binoculars were passed to the lieutenant. The scout’s face had suddenly paled. When Lieutenant Butler took a look through those powerful glasses he not only echoed the cry of the great scout, but he let the glasses fall out of his hands, so startled was he by what he beheld.

Young Lawler caught up the glasses and trained them on the pavilion.

“Great heavens!” he said. “It’s Miss Fernald!”

That was the sight beheld by Buffalo Bill and the lieutenant—Miss Emily Fernald, the missing girl, in that pavilion, in a reclining position, and with thick ropes upon her, showing that she was bound.

The knowledge that the girl whom they had been so long and laboriously seeking was in the pavilion thrilled the whole party.

“You say it is Miss Fernald. As soon as the glass revealed her I judged that.”

Professor Bounderby snatched the binoculars out of the hands of Tom Lawler and turned them on the young woman.

“This is—terrible, Cody—terrible!” he whispered. “She is a prisoner, without doubt—a helpless prisoner. Ah! now I understand the mystery of that procession, of that music, of that shouting; the girl is to be sacrificed in that temple, by those Indians!”

“We’ve _got_ to rescue her!” said Tom Lawler, almost shouting the words. “We can’t permit that, you know!”

Lieutenant Butler seemed too dazed to speak for the moment. But finally he found his voice.

“What can we do, Cody?” he asked helplessly. “I don’t doubt she is to be sacrificed. But what can we do? I’m ready for anything, if a way of rescuing her can be found.”

“We are but a small handful,” said Bounderby, “and down there are hundreds of Indians, who are worked up to a great pitch of religious enthusiasm. If we should go down there we would but meet the fate that is to be the portion of the poor girl.”

“If we had a hundred men,” said Lieutenant Butler; “if we had but fifty, we could charge into their midst, and perhaps accomplish something. But, as it is!”

His face was pale as death, and his eyes, when he turned them helplessly on the scout, were seen to be bloodshot. His agony was piteous to see. He had known and admired Emily Fernald, and even some warmer feeling stirred in his heart of hearts. So that it was like death to him to see what he now witnessed.

“But what can we do?” he wailed.

“I don’t know just what we can do,” said Buffalo Bill, “but we’ve got to do something.”

“That’s right!” cried Tom Lawler, his face flaming. “We’ve got to do something.”

He clutched his revolver with a feverish grip, and the fire of recklessness burned in his fine face.

Yet, truly, they seemed powerless to do anything.

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