Buffalo Bill's death message or, In the face of doom
Bounderby still held his notebook and pencil. The professor’s thirst for
knowledge seemed to make him forget his position and danger.
“Tell me,” he urged, “about this queer dwarf who captured you. Did you
particularly observe his feet?”
“I noticed them—they were gnarled and twisted, as if they had been cut
and subjected to torture. I never saw feet like them.” She closed her
eyes again and shuddered. “But there are others here like him,” she
added. “Another just like him, or nearly like him, brought food to me in
my prison, and when I looked out—there were bars in my prison—I saw
still others.”
“More dwarfs of that kind!” cried Bounderby, so astonished that he
neglected to use his pencil. “Perhaps we have found here a race of queer
dwarfs.”
“I should not call them dwarfs,” she corrected. “They were as large as
any of the other Indians, only they were knotted and twisted, and they
walked bent over. And they were clothed differently from the other
Indians.”
“Re-mark-able!” said Bounderby. “Simply past all belief.”
“Yet it is but the truth.”
“My dear young lady, I do not doubt your word; I mean, it is simply so
strange that it staggers the imagination.” Then he began to write
furiously in his notebook, talking out the words as he set them down.
“Remarkable!” he said, as he concluded. “Re-mark-able!”
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CHAPTER XXVII.
THE AZTEC SLAVES.
While Miss Fernald was still telling her strange story and Professor
Bounderby was indulging in his characteristic comments, there was a
sound of dragging footsteps beyond the closed door.
“One of those strange men, I believe!” said the girl.
“Perhaps if he opens that door we can get out!” suggested Tom Lawler,
and in a moment he drew his revolver.
“No shooting!” said the scout. “The less we do of that, the better, I
think. Our peril is great enough without adding to it.”
“But you mean to get away if you can?”
“Certainly, and we may do some shooting, for the purpose of frightening
these Indians.”
He arose and laid hand on his revolver.
All watched the door, and saw it fly open. The space beyond was crowded
with feathered and painted Indians, but at the door was a strange
man-beast creature, answering to the girl’s description of the man who
had captured her. He had a skin robe cast loosely about his crooked
shoulders, and he bent and shambled as he walked. The Indians behind him
pushed him on into the room, and immediately closed the door after him.
The scout looked curiously at the twisted feet as the man shuffled in.
The hands were as twisted and gnarled as the feet, and his face was
seamed and scarred as if it had been touched by fire or hacked with
knives. He cowered, stopping close by the wall, and looking out under
bushy brows at the prisoners in the room. His eyes were crafty and
bloodshot. He spoke, but in words they could not understand.
Professor Bounderby pushed forward, staring at the man. In his
excitement he had forgotten his pencil and notebook.
“One of those words sounded like a Maya word, used by certain of the
Indians of Yucatan. I spent a year in Yucatan, studying the ruined
cities, and I learned something of the Mayan language at that time.”
He began to speak in queer words to the knotted and bowed man before
him.
The effect was remarkable. The man looked at him, the light of
understanding in his bloodshot eyes, and then he answered.
The professor was so delighted he could have danced. His face flushed
and his eyes glittered.
“He understands Maya, in a manner,” he said. “It seems that these
Indians are a branch of the Mayas, or the Mayas are a branch of this
tribe. All are united with the ancient Aztecs.”
Having stopped long enough to make this explanation, he began again, and
for five minutes he poured out a stream of strange words, receiving
answers. He had set the bowed figure to talking at a great rate. The
professor listened, still forgetful of his precious notebook.
“Well, if this isn’t remarkable!” he said. “The mystery is unraveled.
This will make my lecture a success—a prodigious success. The name of
Professor Felix Bounderby will be known throughout the whole scientific
world because of this. It will——”
“Remember, Professor Bounderby, that we are dying with curiosity to know
what he has been telling you,” the scout reminded.
Bounderby had been fishing for his notebook, but his hand stopped its
fumbling.
“Very true!” he cried. “Let me tell you his remarkable story; and if you
do not say it is wonderful, I am mistaken.
“This poor man”—he pointed at the bowed form—“is the victim, I may say,
of the religion of these people. They are Aztecs, who have never been in
touch with white men; here in this valley they have lived century after
century, practicing their ancient religion. They believe that they are
children of the gods, and their priests trace descent from a great god
whose name was Zataclin. They call themselves Zataclins, and Zataclin is
the name of their city here.
“This poor man, and others here who are like him, are slaves; they are
not of the race of these Aztecs, but belong to a tribe that lives beyond
the mountains, who have had some intercourse with white men. Now and
then that tribe and the Aztecs of this city are at war. Prisoners taken
by these Aztecs are subjected to tortures which transform them into
horrible monsters of the kind you see before you. After that they are
held as slaves, and are treated with great indignity.
“This miserable man tells me that one of his fellow slaves, being out in
the hills, saw the white girl. He was not as ignorant of the existence
of white men as are the Aztecs; he had seen many of them before he was
made a prisoner and held here. When he beheld this girl, it occurred to
him that by capturing her and taking her to the priests he might gain
their favor, and that is why he did it. He tried to make them think she
had been sent here in some miraculous manner.
“As it chanced, the day of her capture fell on the day of a great
religious feast, and there had been a prophecy that at some time the
gods would send for a sacrifice on that feast day a creature so
beautiful that her offering up on the sacrificial stone would be more
acceptable than any ever made before.
“Her capture tallied with that prophecy, and they proceeded to celebrate
it in a manner worthy of so great an event. We chanced to see a part of
that celebration, and fortunately were in time to rescue her.”
“Vat iss?” groaned Henselman, who sat humped against the wall, up to
this time in disconsolate silence. “She vill pe saccervised, eenyhow,
unt ve vill pe saccervised mit her. Ve are all dead men togedder.”
“This poor man tells me” Bounderby continued, “that the Aztecs here
feared to enter this room, because of the fire sticks which make so much
noise and strike men down, and so they forced him to enter. He brings a
message. If we will surrender the young lady, so that she may be
sacrificed in accordance with that old prophecy, we will be permitted to
depart unharmed.”
Henselman rocked eagerly forward. “Bud can ve trusd dem?” he wailed.
“Aber ve do dot voult dey led us go free?”
“I suppose you’d accept such an offer?” cried young Lawler, in scorn.
“By gad, I never saw such a contemptible coward as you, in all my life!”
The young woman had started up.
“It will be best to do as he says,” she declared, her face pale as
death. “You cannot escape from this place. If you do not agree all of
you will be killed, while if you surrender me you can go. My life will
be lost anyway, even if you stay.”
“Never!” cried the scout, with stern determination. “If we must, we will
all die here together.”
“Bud I am nod vanting to die alretty yet!” wailed the unhappy German.
“Tell dose mans for me dot I accept.”
“Tell him,” said the scout, “that we cannot accept the offer. And tell
him that our fire sticks not only make smoke and noise and wound men,
but that they kill them, and that we will fight here to the death, if
they do not let us go. Give him that message.”
“Aye, give it to him straight!” cried Lieutenant Butler. “Tell him they
can have this Dutch pig here, crammed full of bullets, for a burnt
offering!”
“But you cannot escape,” the girl urged, “it is folly to send such a
reply.”
“We will all die here together, before we will do anything of the kind,”
the scout declared.
Young Lawler swung his hat in a species of mad excitement.
“We will!” he shouted. “Tell ’em that!”
Bounderby made the gnarled slave acquainted with the decision of the
prisoners.
“See if it is possible to bribe him,” Buffalo Bill suggested. “Perhaps
he knows a way out.”
Bounderby spoke to him again, and they saw the slave shake his head in a
negative.
“There is no way out, he says,” interrupted Bounderby. “That hole up
there leads only to a gallery that gives access to the shining dome on
the top of the temple, and there is no way to get down, except by some
passages and doors known only to the priests.”
“We will get up there and hunt for those secret passages,” said the
scout.
“What shall I try to bribe him with?” said Bounderby, perplexed.
“Tell him we will give him and some of his comrades fire sticks, and
that with them they can fight their way out to freedom. The thought of
freedom ought to spur him to try anything.”
Bounderby spoke again to the broken slave. But the latter only shook his
head sadly. Not only had his body been broken, but likewise his spirit.
He had no courage left.
Beyond the closed and locked door they heard a gathering roar of voices,
showing that the Aztecs out there were growing impatient and were
demanding the return of their messenger.
The slave cast a frightened look toward the door.
“He’s got to go,” said Bounderby, “they’re calling for him out there. Is
there any other message we can send by him?”
“No other!” said the scout. “Tell them that we will slay them all with
the fire sticks if they do not release us, and that we will fight to the
death to protect the young lady.”
Bounderby delivered the message.
“Ask him, professor, if the slave who captured the young lady was the
one who attacked me in the night?”
“He says it was,” said Bounderby, when he had asked the question. “The
slave thought there must be white men where there was a white woman, and
he went forth to see. He thought if he could capture one of the white
men and present him to the priests he would win greater favor.”
“The scoundrel!” said young Lawler.
“While you are at it, professor, ask him about the elevator and the
stream which we thought gave it power.”
These questions were put and answered.
“He says that the Aztecs are a very wonderful people. They have many
strange things they have made, or that were made by their forefathers.
That elevator run by water power is but one of them.”
The slave turned about and hammered on the door to summon the
doorkeeper.
Henselman groaned when he saw the bowed figure pass through the door and
caught a glimpse of the excited Indians packed densely together beyond.
“Ve iss all dead men togedder!” he declared ominously.
“Shut up!” retorted Butler. “I wish _you_ were dead!”
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CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE ESCAPE.
A howl of rage and disappointment arose when the slave delivered his
message. But the attack which was now expected did not come.
“They intend to starve us out,” was the scout’s conjecture.
Lieutenant Butler glanced at the hole in the roof.
“Yes, I think we’d better try that,” assented the scout. “We can be no