BRITISH MYSTERIES - Fergus Hume Collection: 21 Thriller Novels in One Volume. Fergus Hume

is true, my father,” said Rafael, proudly. “By noon to-day you will see them in the harbour. Now Don Hypolito has no fleet.”

      “Hurrah!” cried Jack, tossing his hat in the air. “The luck of the opal!”

      Those near repeated his exclamation. It swelled into a roar, and throughout Tlatonac only one cry could be heard, “Vive el opale.”

      Chapter VII.

       Under the Opal Flag

       Table of Contents

      Marching away; joyous and gay,

       Rank upon rank with a splendid display,

       Leaving the city at breaking of day.

      Riding along, gallant and strong,

       Round us the populace tearfully throng,

       Greeting our going with patriot’s song.

      Under our feet, flower-buds sweet;

       Tread we in marching through plaza and street,

       Never our kinsfolk again may we meet.

      Laurels to earn; foemen to spurn;

       Only for glory we anxiously yearn,

       Conquerors all we will hither return.

      “Juan,” said Dolores, seriously, “I believe the opal brought us bad fortune. While it was in the city, Janjalla fell, Don Francisco died, and all went wrong. Now it is lost, the Indians have departed, the fleet of Xuarez is destroyed, and everything promises well for the future.”

      “That is true, in one sense, yet wrong in another,” replied Jack, smiling. “You must not forget that it was through the opal the Indians departed, and while it was in Tlatonac, The Pizarro was sunk, and the two other warships captured.”

      “I suppose never again shall I behold the opal, Juanito?”

      “Not unless you care to pay a second visit to Totatzine.”

      Dolores shuddered. The memory of their peril in the hidden city was a painful one. Recent events had not obliterated the recollection of that terrible journey to the coast through the tropical forest.

      “I would certainly not care about seeing Totatzine again, querido. And yet I would—if only to save Cocom!”

      “It is impossible to save Cocom,” responded Jack, a trifle sadly. “The only way to do so would be to lead an army to the hidden city, and rescue him. But how can such a thing be done in that narrow, secret way? Our soldiers would be cut to pieces in those rocky defiles.”

      “There is no other way, I suppose?”

      “I am not sure, Dolores. That cañon road leads to the outer world. If we could only enter the valley where Totatzine is built by that way, we might succeed in capturing the city; but I am afraid such an entrance will never be discovered.”

      “Ay di mi. Then poor Cocom is lost.”

      “It is his own fault, querida. I tried to save him; but he refused to obey my orders. Still, there is one chance of aiding him, though I am afraid but a faint one.”

      “And that, my Juan?”

      “Listen, angelito! The sacrifice of the cycle does not take place for two months. I have escaped it, but Cocom may now be selected by Ixtlilxochitli as the victim. If we can crush Xuarez and finish the war within the next few weeks, it may be that we can march troops to the sacred city, and save his life.”

      “But how can you get to the city? By the secret way?”

      “No; by the cañon road. See, Dolores! I have an idea!”

      They were sitting on the azotea, two days after the Indians had retreated from Tlatonac. Rafael had just left them, full of glee at the proposed expedition to Janjalla, and it was then that Dolores had made the remark about the opal which lead to the conversation regarding Cocom, Totatzine, and the cañon road.

      In her lap Dolores had a pile of flowers, which she was arranging for the use of the house. Jack took a handful of these, and, kneeling down on the floor of the azotea, proceeded to illustrate his theory by constructing a map with the blossoms.

      “Behold, my own!” he said, deftly placing a bud here and there, “this rose is Totatzine, situate fifty miles from the coast in a straight line. Here is Tlatonac, indicated by this scarlet verbena. From the point where we embarked in the canoe to the capital is twenty miles.”

      “I understand,” said Dolores, much interested in this explanation.

      “From Totatzine to the point where we embarked, and from thence to Tlatonac, is what we call a right angle. Now, if I draw a straight line from the capital in a slanting direction, you can see that it passes through Totatzine.”

      “I see that, querido! but the third line is longer than the other two.”

      “It is longer than each of the other two lines if you take them separately. Shorter if you take them together. You do not know Euclid, Dolores, else you would discover that any two sides of a triangle are together greater than the third side.”

      “Wait a moment, Juanito!” exclaimed Dolores, vivaciously. “From Totatzine to the point where we embarked is fifty miles, from thence to Tlatonac twenty miles—in all, seventy miles. But by your reasoning this third line is not seventy miles.”

      “Of course not! Still I believe it is quite seventy miles from Tlatonac to Totatzine by this new way.”

      “How so?”

      “Because we cannot go thither in a straight line. If we went by this one I have drawn, the distance would be much shorter than by the secret way of the sea. But as we have to follow the railway it is a longer journey—quite seventy miles. See! This is Cuavaca, at the foot of Xicotencatl—thirty miles from Tlatonac; from Cuavaca to the terminus of the railway it is twenty miles; from thence to Totatzine possibly another twenty—in all seventy miles. So you see that the distance each way, owing to the configuration of the country, is precisely the same.”

      “Yes; but what of that?”

      “Can you not see? At the point where the railway stops it is only twenty miles to Totatzine. Now, if, as I suspect, there is a road leading up the cañon to the city, the distance from the termination of the railway works to that road cannot be very far. If, therefore, we discover the hidden road, we can take our troops up by rail, march the rest of the distance, and enter Totatzine through the mouth of the cañon.”

      “Oh!” cried Dolores, astonished at this idea. “And you propose to attempt this entrance?”

      “If it can be found. Unfortunately Cocom is the only Indian who could supply such information, and he is a prisoner to Ixtlilxochitli.”

      “But if he knew of this cañon road, why did he not lead us by that way instead of towards the coast?”

      “You forget the whole country is overrun by Indians. We could not have disguised ourselves as pilgrims had we gone by the cañon road. That is evidently the secular path. The other way to the coast is sacred.”

      “It might be done, Juanito.”

      “Yes; but it cannot be done till Xuarez is conquered and the war is ended.”

      “Santissima!” sighed Dolores, sadly; “and when will that be?”

      “Very shortly. Now we have succeeded in getting rid of the Indians, we shall be able to crush Xuarez at one blow.”

      “When do you march south?”

      “To-morrow at the latest.”

      “Will Señor Felipe be back?”