The Greatest Works of Fergus Hume - 22 Mystery Novels in One Edition. Fergus Hume

and his guard. All night long the electric light flashed its beams on the camp, so as to guard against an unexpected attack by the Indians.

      At dawn, the savages were up and doing before sunrise. They gathered together in groups, and talked of how they were to attack this formidable city, whose colossal walls bid defiance to their puny weapons. They could see soldiers moving along the ramparts, the black muzzles of the guns frowning fiercely down, and wondered at the absolute indifference of the Republic, who thus permitted her hereditary enemies to camp before the gates of her principal city. Everything within the town was quiet, the gates were firmly closed, no peons were to be seen moving about the suburbs, and the Indians, blackening the plain with their thousands of men and horses stood perplexed before this intensely silent town.

      The east was flaming redly over the ocean waves. The Indians could see the long line of battlements black against the clear crimson sky. No wind blew across the desert, and the great banner of the opal hung motionless from its tall staff. Suddenly, in the red sky, a yellow beam shot up into the cold blue of the zenith; another and another followed, spreading like a gigantic fan. The savages threw themselves on their knees, and held up their hands in supplication to the great deity, who was even now being invoked with sacrifice in the hidden town of Totatzine.

      The gold of the sky seemed to boil up behind the walls of the town, as though it would run over in yellow streams. Then the dazzling orb appeared, and fierce arrows shot across the green suburbs to the sandy desert, where those thousands of naked Indians were kneeling. Suddenly a man started in surprise, and looked inquiringly at his companions. They listened as he had done, and also looked astonished. In a miraculously short space of time the whole host were in a state of commotion. Those in front stood still in a listening attitude, those behind pressed forward to hear this miracle which had startled their companions. Loud and shrill arose the song from the chapel of Padre Ignatius. It was the hymn of the opal daily chaunted by the priests of Huitzilopochtli in the city of Totatzine.

      The chiefs hastily gathered together, and consulted as to the meaning of this prodigy. Never before had the sacred song been heard beyond the shrine of the sacred city, and now its music was thrilling through the still morning air under the very walls of the capital. The mystery must be solved at any cost, and commanding their warriors to wait in the camp, all five chiefs, the leaders of the host, flung themselves on their horses, and galloped bravely up to the chapel. It was a dangerous thing to do, for at any moment those terrible guns might vomit forth fire and death; but the chiefs did not care. Fanaticism, dread of the gods, was their most powerful characteristic, and dismounting from their horses, they entered the door of the chapel whence the chaunt of the opal proceeded.

      At the entrance they stood transfixed with surprise, and for the moment deemed they were in the Shrine of the Opal at Totatzine. Half-veiled by clouds of white smoke rolling upward from a small altar, they could see the terrible features of Huitzilopochtli, in all his blood-stained glory. The mats of feather-work hung glittering from the walls; they marked the grotesque visages of their deities scowling from pictured walls, and behind the altar, the hidden minstrel chaunted the hymn of the opal.

      The opal! There it hung in the centre of the white smoke. A ray of golden light, like a finger from heaven, smote it with terrible glory. It was turning rapidly, as they had seen it in the temple of the god at Totatzine.

      “Chalchuih Tlatonac!” they cried, and all five prostrated themselves before the sacred gem. High and shrill rang out the song from the hidden singer, and the chiefs, with reverential awe, watched the spinning opal. Red, yellow, blue, green, the rays flashed out jets of many-coloured fire every second. It began to revolve more slowly. Slower and slower! a pause!—it hung motionless, and a ray of azure shone benignly from its breast.

      The song ceased, and a tall man, arrayed in white garments, came from behind the shrine, holding a blue cloak full length in his arms. This was the ritual prescribed at the shrine of Huitzilopochtli when the god spoke through the opal.

      “The god proclaims peace!”

      His voice broke the spell. The Indians dashed forward, and strove to seize him, but he eluded their grip, and vanished.

      “Peace! Peace! Peace!” they heard him cry three times. Their attention was fixed on the opal, and they did not pursue him.

      “The sacred stone!” cried the supreme chief; “we must bear it back to the shrine of the god. Forgive us, oh, holy one.”

      He snapped the stone off the string, and darted out of the door, followed by his four companions. At the door an old Indian, now divested of his sacerdotal garments, met them, and rushed on their principal with a cry of anger.

      “The opal! Give me back the sacred gem!”

      “Cocom!” cried the chief, raising his tomahawk. “It was thou who thieved the gem! Die, vile wretch, who desecrated the shrine of the god.”

      His companions restrained his wrath. The fear of the opal was on them.

      “Nay, Tezuco. The god says peace! The stone burns blue rays.”

      “Bind him, then, and we will take him to Totatzine; there to be sacrificed on the altar of the offended god.”

      In a moment Cocom, in spite of his struggles, was thrown across the back of the horse of one of the chiefs, and they all rode off rapidly towards the camp. In the centre of the throng, Tezuco halted, and held up his hand. Therein flashed the opal, and a cry of delight arose from the host, who in a moment recognised the gem, and at once prostrated themselves before its glory.

      “Children of the war-god. This hath been given to us again. We saw the stone revolve—we saw it stay. Blue was the ray of the gem. Blue, my children, is the sign of peace. Huitzilopochtli, the lord of war, is appeased. He proclaims peace. No longer wait we here. To Totatzine!”

      “To Totatzine!” roared the vast host, and, at a signal, rushed for their horses. War, plunder, Xuarez, all was forgotten. The blue ray of the opal proclaimed peace, and this vast host, laying down its arms, departed at the bidding of the god.

      The townspeople on the walls of the city saw with amazement the Indians suddenly, without any apparent reason, strike their camp, and file off in long lines towards the north. Astonished at the sight, Don Sebastian sent off a message to the President.

      In a quarter of an hour he arrived at the Puerta de la Culebra, followed by Jack and Tim.

      “Behold, Señor!” cried Jack, triumphantly pointing to the myriads tramping across the plain. “Did I not speak truly? The opal has done its work.”

      “The opal! The opal!” murmured those around him, and the cry being caught up by the populace, passed from one mouth to another. The crowd on the walls, seeing in the departure of the Indians the influence of the opal, began to cry out madly. They deemed that the opal was still within the walls of Tlatonac.

      “Viva el opale! El Chalchuih Tlatonac!”

      “Bueno!” said Maraquando, with satisfaction, shaking Jack by the hand; “you were right, Señor. The Indians will give us no more trouble. Now we can crush Xuarez in the south. Señor de Ahumada open the gates!”

      In a few moments His Excellency, followed by Jack, Tim, and Don Sebastian, was galloping in the direction of the chapel. They reached it, dismounted, and entered. The opal was gone and Cocom also!

      “I knew we would lose the opal,” said Jack, cheerfully; “but I thought they would kill Cocom. Fortunately they have only taken him prisoner.”

      “To reserve him for a more cruel death in Totatzine, Señor,” replied Maraquando, his delight slightly damped. “He has served the Republic well. I would he could have been saved.”

      “Poor devil!” murmured Tim, in English, as they remounted their horses. “In any case, Jack, his death has saved the Republic. Now the savages have gone away, it won’t be difficult to thrash Don Hypolito.”

      At the city gates a new surprise awaited them. Don Rafael, mounted on a mustang, came galloping through the gate,