The Lost City
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Joseph E. Badger, Jr. >> The Lost City
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14 THE LOST CITY BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. NATURE IN TRAVAIL
II. PROFESSOR FEATHERWIT TAKING NOTES
III. RIDING THE TORNADO
IV. THE PROFESSOR'S LITTLE EXPERIMENT
V. THE PROFESSOR'S UNKNOWN LAND
VI. A BRACE OF UNWELCOME VISITORS
VII. THE PROFESSOR'S GREAT ANTICIPATIONS
VIII. A DUEL TO THE DEATH
IX. GRAPPLING A QUEER FISH
X. RESCUED AND RESCUERS
XI. ANOTHER SURPRISE FOR THE PROFESSOR
XII. THE STORY OF A BROKEN LIFE
XIII. THE LOST CITY OF THE AZTECS
XIV. A MARVELLOUS VISION
XV. ASTOUNDING, YET TRUE
XVI. CAN IT BE TRUE?
XVII. AN ENIGMA FOR THE BROTHERS
XVIII. SOMETHING LIKE A WHITE ELEPHANT
XIX. THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN GOD
XX. THE PROFESSOR AND THE AZTEC
XXI. DISCUSSING WAYS AND MEANS
XXII. A DARING UNDERTAKING
XXIII. A FLIGHT UNDERGROUND
XXIV. THE SUN CHILDREN'S PERIL
XXV. WALDO GOES FISHING
XXVI. DOWN AMONG THE DEAD
XXVII. PENETRATING GRIM SECRETS
XXVIII. BROUGHT BEFORE THE GODS
XXIX. BENEATH THE SACRIFICIAL STONE
XXX. AGAINST OVERWHELMING ODDS
XXXI. DEFENDING THE SUN CHILDREN
XXXII. ADIEU TO THE LOST CITY
THE LOST CITY.
CHAPTER I.
NATURE IN TRAVAIL.
"I say, professor?"
"Very well, Waldo; proceed."
"Wonder if this isn't a portion of the glorious climate, broken
loose from its native California, and drifting up this way on a
lark?"
"If so, said lark must be roasted to a turn," declared the third
(and last) member of that little party, drawing a curved
forefinger across his forehead, then flirting aside sundry drops
of moisture. "I can't recall such another muggy afternoon, and
if we were only back in what the scientists term the cyclone
belt--"
"We would be all at sea," quickly interposed the professor, the
fingers of one hand vigorously stirring his gray pompadour, while
the other was lifted in a deprecatory manner. "At sea, literally
as well as metaphorically, my dear Bruno; for, correctly
speaking, the ocean alone can give birth to the cyclone."
"Why can't you remember anything, boy?" sternly cut in the
roguish-eyed youngster, with admonitory forefinger, coming to the
front. "How many times have I told you never to say blue when
you mean green? Why don't you say Kansas zephyr? Or
windy-auger? Or twister? Or whirly-gust on a corkscrew
wiggle-waggle? Or--well, almost any other old thing that you
can't think of at the right time? W-h-e-w! Who mentioned
sitting on a snowdrift, and sucking at an icicle? Hot? Well,
now, if this isn't a genuine old cyclone breeder, then I wouldn't
ask a cent!"
Waldo Gillespie let his feet slip from beneath him, sitting down
with greater force than grace, back supported against a gnarled
juniper, loosening the clothes at his neck while using his other
hand to ply his crumpled hat as a fan.
Bruno laughed outright at this characteristic anticlimax, while
Professor Featherwit was obliged to smile, even while compelled
to correct.
"Tornado, please, nephew; not cyclone."
"Well, uncle Phaeton, have it your own way. Under either name, I
fancy the thing-a-ma-jig would kick up a high old bobbery with a
man's political economy should it chance to go bu'st right there!
And, besides, when I was a weenty little fellow I was taught
never to call a man a fool or a liar--"
"Waldo!" sharply warned his brother, turning again.
"So long as I knew myself to be in the wrong," coolly finished
the youngster, face grave, but eyes twinkling, as they turned
towards his mistaken mentor. "What is it, my dear Bruno?"
"There is one thing neither cyclone nor tornado could ever
deprive you of, Kid, and that is--"
"My beauty, wit, and good sense,--thanks, awfully! Nor you, my
dear Bruno, although my inbred politeness forbids my explaining
just why."
There was a queer-sounding chuckle as Professor Featherwit turned
away, busying himself about that rude-built shed and shanty which
sheltered the pride of his brain and the pet of his heart, while
Bruno smiled indulgently as he took a few steps away from those
stunted trees in order to gain a fairer view of the stormy
heavens.
Far away towards the northeast, rising above the distant hill,
now showed an ugly-looking cloud-bank which almost certainly
portended a storm of no ordinary dimensions.
Had it first appeared in the opposite quarter of the horizon,
Bruno would have felt a stronger interest in the clouds, knowing
as he did that the miscalled "cyclone" almost invariably finds
birth in the southwest. Then, too, nearly all the other symptoms
were noticeable,--the close, "muggy" atmosphere; the deathlike
stillness; the lack of oxygen in the air, causing one to breathe
more rapidly, yet with far less satisfying results than usual.
Even as Bruno gazed, those heavy cloud-banks changed, both in
shape and in colour, taking on a peculiar greenish lustre which
only too accurately forebodes hail of no ordinary force.
His cry to this effect brought the professor forth from the
shed-like shanty, while Waldo roused up sufficiently to speak:
"To say nothing of yonder formation way out over the salty drink,
my worthy friends, who intimated that a cyclone was born at sea?"
Professor Featherwit frowned a bit as his keen little rat-like
eyes turned towards that quarter of the heavens; but the frown
was not for Waldo, nor for his slightly irreverent speech.
Where but a few minutes before there had been only a few light
clouds in sight, was now a heavy bank of remarkable shape, its
crest a straight line as though marked by an enormous ruler,
while the lower edge was broken into sharp points and irregular
sections, the whole seeming to float upon a low sea of grayish
copper.
"Well, well, that looks ugly, decidedly ugly, I must confess,"
the wiry little professor spoke, after that keen scrutiny.
"Really, now?" drawled Waldo, who was nothing if not contrary on
the surface. "Barring a certain little topsy-turvyness which is
something out of the ordinary, I'd call that a charming bit
of--Great guns and little cannon-balls!"
For just then there came a shrieking blast of wind from out the
northeast, bringing upon its wings a brief shower of hail,
intermingled with great drops of rain which pelted all things
with scarcely less force than did those frozen particles.
"Hurrah!" shrilly screamed Waldo, as he dashed out into the
storm, fairly revelling in the sudden change. "Who says this
isn't 'way up in G?' Who says--out of the way, Bruno! Shut that
trap-door in your face, so another fellow may get at least a
share of the good things coming straight down from--ow--wow!"
Through the now driving rain came flashing larger particles, and
one of more than ordinary size rebounded from that curly pate,
sending its owner hurriedly to shelter beneath the scrubby trees,
one hand ruefully rubbing the injured part.
Faster fell the drops, both of rain and of ice, clattering
against the shanty and its adjoining shed with an uproar audible
even above the sullenly rolling peals of heavy thunder.
The rain descended in perfect sheets for a few minutes, while the
hailstones fell thicker and faster, growing in size as the storm
raged, already beginning to lend those red sands a pearly tinge
with their dancing particles. Now and then an aerial monster
would fall, to draw a wondering cry from the brothers, and on
more than one occasion Waldo risked a cracked crown by dashing
forth from shelter to snatch up a remarkable specimen.
"Talk about your California fruit! what's the matter with good
old Washington Territory?" he cried, tightly clenching one fist
and holding a hailstone alongside by way of comparison. "Look at
that, will you? Isn't it a beauty? See the different shaded
rings of white and clear ice. See--brother, it is as large as my
fist!"
But for once Professor Phaeton Featherwit was fairly deaf to the
claims of this, in some respects his favourite nephew, having
scuttled back beneath the shed, where he was busily stowing away
sundry articles of importance into a queerly shaped machine which
those rough planks fairly shielded from the driving storm.
Having performed this duty to his own satisfaction, the professor
came back to where the brothers were standing, viewing with them
such of the storm as could be itemised. That was but little,
thanks to the driving rain, which cut one's vision short at but a
few rods, while the deafening peals of thunder prevented any
connected conversation during those first few minutes.
"Good thing we've got a shelter!" cried Waldo, involuntarily
shrinking as the plank roof was hammered by several mammoth
stones of ice. "One of those chunks of ice would crack a
fellow's skull just as easy!"
Yet the next instant he was out in the driving storm, eagerly
snatching at a brace of those frozen marvels, heedless of his own
risk or of the warning shouts sent after him by those
cooler-brained comrades.
Thunder crashed in wildest unison with almost blinding sheets of
lightning, the rain and hail falling thicker and heavier than
ever for a few moments; but then, as suddenly as it had come, the
storm passed on, leaving but a few scattered drops to fetch up
the rear.
"Isn't that pretty nearly what people call a cloudburst, uncle
Phaeton?" asked Bruno, curiously watching that receding mass of
what from their present standpoint looked like vapour.
"Those wholly ignorant of meteorological phenomena might so
pronounce, perhaps, but never one who has given the matter either
thought or study," promptly responded the professor, in no wise
loth to give a free lecture, no matter how brief it might be,
perforce. "It is merely nature seeking to restore a disturbed
equilibrium; a current of colder air, in search of a temporary
vacuum, caused by--"
"But isn't that just what produces cy--tornadoes, though?"
interrupted Waldo, with scant politeness.
"Precisely, my dear boy," blandly agreed their mentor, rubbing
his hands briskly, while peering through rain-dampened glasses,
after that departing storm. "And I have scarcely a doubt but
that a tornado of no ordinary magnitude will be the final outcome
of this remarkable display. For, as the record will amply prove,
the most destructive windstorms are invariably heralded by a fall
of hail, heavy in proportion to the--"
"Then I'd rather be excused, thank you, sir!" again interrupted
the younger of the brothers, shrugging his shoulders as he
stepped forth from shelter to win a fairer view of the space
stretching away towards the south and the west. "I always
laughed at tales of hailstones large as hen's eggs, but now I
know better. If I was a hen, and had to match such a pattern as
these, I'd petition the legislature to change my name to that of
ostrich,--I just would, now!"
Bruno proved to be a little more amenable to the law of
politeness, and to him Professor Featherwit confined his sapient
remarks for the time being, giving no slight amount of valuable
information anent these strange phenomena of nature in travail.
He spoke of the different varieties of land-storms, showing how a
tornado varied from a hurricane or a gale, then again brought to
the front the vital difference between a cyclone, as such, and
the miscalled "twister," which has wrought such dire destruction
throughout a large portion of our own land during more recent
years.
While that little lecture would make interesting reading for
those who take an interest in such matters, it need scarcely be
reproduced in this connection, more particularly as, just when
the professor was getting fairly warmed up to his work, an
interruption came in the shape of a sharp, eager shout from the
lips of Waldo Gillespie.
"Look--look yonder! What a funny looking cloud that is!"
A small clump of trees growing upon a rising bit of ground
interfered with the view of his brother and uncle, for Waldo was
pointing almost due southeast; yet his excitement was so
pronounced that both the professor and Bruno hastened in that
direction, stopping short as they caught a fair sight of the
object indicated.
A mighty mass of wildly disturbed clouds, black and green and
white and yellow all blending together and constantly shifting
positions, out of which was suddenly formed a still more ominous
shape.
A mass of lurid vapour shot downwards, taking on the general
semblance of a balloon, as it swayed madly back and forth, an
elongating trunk or tongue reaching still nearer the earth, with
fierce gyrations, as though seeking to fasten upon some support.
Not one of that trio had ever before gazed upon just such another
creation, yet one and all recognised the truth,--this was a
veritable tornado, just such as they had read in awed wonder
about, time and time again.
Neither one of the brothers Gillespie were cravens, in any sense
of the word, but now their cheeks grew paler, and they seemed to
shrink from yonder airy monster, even while watching it grow into
shape and awful power.
Professor Featherwit was no less absorbed in this wondrous
spectacle, but his was the interest of a scientist, and his pulse
beat as ordinary, his brain remaining as clear and calm as ever.
"I hardly believe we have anything to fear from this tornado, my
lads," he said, taking note of their uneasiness. "According to
both rule and precedent, yonder tornado will pass to the east of
our present position, and we will be as safe right here as though
we were a thousand miles away."
"But,--do they always move towards the northeast, uncle Phaeton?"
"As a rule, yes; but there are exceptions, of course. And unless
this should prove to be one of those rare ex--er--"
"Look!" cried Waldo, with swift gesticulation. "It's coming this
way, or I never--ISN'T it coming this way?"
"Unless this should prove to be one of those rare exceptions, my
dear boy, I can promise you that--Upon my soul!" with an abrupt
change of both tone and manner, "I really believe it IS coming
this way!"
"It is--it is coming! Get a move on, or we'll never know--hunt a
hole and pull it in after you!" fairly screamed Waldo, turning in
flight.
CHAPTER II.
PROFESSOR FEATHERWIT TAKING NOTES.
"To the house!" cried the professor, raising his voice to
overcome yonder sullen roar, which was now beginning to come
their way. "Trust all to the aeromotor, and 'twill be well with
us!"
The wiry little man of science himself fell to work with an
energy which told how serious he regarded the emergency, and,
acting under his lead, the brothers manfully played their part.
Just as had been done many times before this day, a queer-looking
machine was shoved out from the shed, gliding along the wooden
ways prepared for that express purpose, while Professor
Featherwit hurried aboard a few articles which past experience
warned him might prove of service in the hours to come, then
sharply cried to his nephews:
"Get aboard, lads! Time enough, yet none to spare in idle
motions. See! The storm is drifting our way in deadly earnest!"
And so it seemed, in good sooth.
Now fairly at its dread work of destruction, tearing up the rain
dampened dirt and playing with mighty boulders, tossing them here
and there, as a giant of olden tales might play with jackstones,
snapping off sturdy trees and whipping them to splinters even
while hurling them as a farmer sows his grain.
Just the one brief look at that aerial monster, then both lads
hung fast to the hand-rail of rope, while the professor put that
cunning machinery in motion, causing the air-ship to rise from
its ways with a sudden swooping movement, then soaring upward and
onward, in a fair curve, as graceful and steady as a bird on
wing.
All this took some little time, even while the trio were working
as men only can when dear life is at stake; but the
flying-machine was afloat and fairly off upon the most marvellous
journey mortals ever accomplished, and that ere yonder
death-balloon could cover half the distance between.
"Grand! Glorious! Magnificent!" fairly exploded the professor,
when he could risk a more comprehensive look, right hand tightly
gripping the polished lever through which he controlled that
admirable mechanism. "I have longed for just such an
opportunity, and now--the camera, Bruno! We must never neglect
to improve such a marvellous chance for--get out the camera,
lad!"
"Get out of the road, rather!" bluntly shouted Waldo, face
unusually pale, as he stared at yonder awful force in action. "Of
course I'm not scared, or anything like that, uncle Phaeton,
but--I want to rack out o' this just about the quickest the law
allows! Yes, I DO, now!"
"Wonderful! Marvellous! Incredible! That rara avis, an
exception to all exceptions!" declared the professor, more deeply
stirred than either of his nephews had ever seen him before. "A
genuine tornado which has no eastern drift; which heads as
directly as possible towards the northwest, and at the same
time--incredible!"
Only ears of his own caught these sentences in their entirety,
for now the storm was fairly bellowing in its might, formed of a
variety of sounds which baffles all description, but which, in
itself, was more than sufficient to chill the blood of even a
brave man. Yet, almost as though magnetised by that frightful
force, the professor was holding his air-ship steady, loitering
there in its direct path, rather than fleeing from what surely
would prove utter destruction to man and machine alike.
For a few moments Bruno withstood the temptation, but then leaned
far enough to grasp both hand and tiller, forcing them in the
requisite direction, causing the aeromotor to swing easily around
and dart away almost at right angles to the track of the tornado.
That roar was now as of a thousand heavily laden trains rumbling
over hollow bridges, and the professor could only nod his
approval when thus aroused from the dangerous fascination.
Another minute, and the air-ship was floating towards the rear of
the balloon-shaped cloud itself, each second granting the
passengers a varying view of the wonder.
True to the firm hand which set its machinery in motion, the
flying-machine maintained that gentle curve until it swung around
well to the rear of the cloud, where again Professor Featherwit
broke out in ecstatic praises of their marvellous good fortune.
" 'Tis worth a life's ransom, for never until now hath mortal
being been blessed with such a magnificent opportunity for taking
notes and drawing deductions which--"
The professor nimbly ducked his head to dodge a ragged splinter
of freshly torn wood which came whistling past, cast far away
from the tornado proper by those erratic winds. And at the same
instant the machine itself recoiled, shivering and creaking in
all its cunning joints under a gust of wind which seemed composed
of both ice and fire.
"Oh, I say!" gasped Waldo, when he could rally from the sudden
blow. "Turn the old thing the other way, uncle Phaeton, and
let's go look for--well, almost anything's better than this old
cyclone!"
"Tornado, lad," swiftly corrected the man of precision, leaning
far forward, and gazing enthralled upon the vision which fairly
thrilled his heart to its very centre. "Never again may we have
such another opportunity for making--"
They were now directly in the rear of the storm, and as the
air-ship headed across that track of destruction, it gave a
drunken stagger, casting down its inmates, from whose parching
lips burst cries of varying import.
"Air! I'm choking!" gasped Bruno, tearing open his shirt-collar
with a spasmodic motion.
"Hold me fast!" echoed Waldo, clinging desperately to the
life-line. "It's drawing me--into the--ah!"
Even the professor gave certain symptoms of alarm for that
moment, but then the danger seemed past as the ship darted fairly
across the storm-trail, hovering to the east of that aerial
phantom.
There was no difficulty in filling their lungs now, and once more
Professor Featherwit headed the flying-machine directly for the
balloon-shaped cloud, modulating its pace so as to maintain their
relative position fairly well.
"Take note how it progresses,--by fits and starts, as it were,"
observed Featherwit, now in his glory, eyes asparkle and muscles
aquiver, hair bristling as though full of electricity, face
glowing with almost painful interest, as those shifting scenes
were for ever imprinted upon his brain.
"Sort of a hop, step, and jump, and that's a fact," agreed Waldo,
now a bit more at his ease since that awful sense of suffocation
was lacking. "I thought all cyclones--"
"Tornado, my DEAR boy!" expostulated the professor.
"I thought they all went in holy hurry, like they were sent for
and had mighty little time in which to get there. But this
one,--see how it stops to dance a jig and bore holes in the
earth!"
"Another exception to the general rule, which is as you say,"
admitted the professor. "Different tornadoes have been timed as
moving from twelve to seventy miles an hour, one passing a given
point in half a score of seconds, at another time being
registered as fully half an hour in clearing a single section.
"Take the destructive storm at Mount Carmel, Illinois, in June of
'77. That made progress at the rate of thirty-four miles an
hour, yet its force was so mighty that it tore away the spire,
vane, and heavy gilded ball of the Methodist church, and kept it
in air over a distance of fifteen miles.
"Still later was the Texas tornado, doing its awful work at the
rate of more than sixty miles an hour; while that which swept
through Frankfort, Kansas, on May 17, 1896, was fully a half-hour
in crossing a half-mile stretch of bottom-land adjoining the
Vermillion River, pausing in its dizzy waltz upon a single spot
for long minutes at a time."
"Couldn't have been much left when it got through dancing, if
that storm was anything like this one," declared Waldo, shivering
a bit as he watched the awful destruction being wrought right
before their fascinated eyes.
Trees were twisted off and doubled up like blades of dry grass.
Mighty rocks were torn apart from the rugged hills, and huge
boulders were tossed into air as though composed of paper. And
over all ascended the horrid roar of ruin beyond description,
while from that misshapen balloon-cloud, with its flattened top,
the electric fluid shone and flashed, now in great sheets as of
flame, then in vicious spurts and darts as though innumerable
snakes of fire had been turned loose by the winds.
Still the aerial demon bored its almost sluggish course straight
towards the northwest, in this, as in all else, seemingly bent on
proving itself the exception to all exceptions as Professor
Featherwit declared.
The savant himself was now in his glory, holding the tiller
between arm and side, the better to manipulate his hand-camera,
with which he was taking repeated snap-shots for future
development and reference.
Truly, as he more than once declared, mortal man never had, nor
mortal man ever would have, such a glorious opportunity for
recording the varying phases of nature in travail as was now
vouchsafed themselves.
"Just think of it, lads!" he cried, almost beside himself with
enthusiasm. "This alone will be sufficient to carry our names
ringing through all time down the corridors of undying fame! This
alone would be more than enough to--Look pleasant, please!"
In spite of that awful vision so perilously close before them,
and the natural uncertainty which attended such a reckless
venture, Waldo could not repress a chuckle at that comical
conclusion, so frequently used towards himself when their uncle
was coaxing them to pose before his pet camera.
"Is it--surely this is not safe, uncle Phaeton?" ventured Bruno,
as another retrograde gust of air smote their apparently frail
conveyance with sudden force.
"Let's call it a day's work, and knock off," chimed in Waldo. "If
the blamed thing should take a notion to balk, and rear back
on its haunches, where'd we come out at?"
Professor Featherwit made an impatient gesture by way of answer.
Speech just then would have been worse than useless, for that
tremendous roaring, crashing, thundering of all sounds, seemed to
fall back and envelop the air-ship as with a pall.
A shower of sand and fine debris poured over and around them,
filling ears and mouths, and blinding eyes for the moment,
forcing the brothers closer to the floor of the aerostat, and
even compelling the eager professor to remit his taking of notes
for future generations.
Then, thin and reed-like, yet serving to pierce that temporary
obscurity and horrible jangle of outer sounds, came the voice of
their relative:
"Fear not, my children! The Lord is our shield, and so long as
he willeth, just so long shall we--Ha! didn't I tell ye so?"
For the blinding veil was torn away, and once again the trio of
adventurers might watch yonder grandly awesome march of
devastation.
"Heading direct for the Olympics!" declared Professor Featherwit,
digging the sand out of his eyes and striving to clean his
glasses without removing them, clinging to tiller and camera
through all. "What a grand and glorious guide 'twould be for
us!"
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