CHAPTER VI

The End of Maliche

WITH the dawning of another day, our courage returned. And as soon as it was light enough to see we rose and peered about--still a bit fearfully--in search of the living nightmare I had shot down. We did not have far to seek. A few rods from where we stood, a confused, black mass rested upon the ground, looking so much like the wreck of a cracked-up airplane that for a moment I felt sure I had inadvertently brought down an aircraft. But as we cautiously approached it, I saw it was no machine of fabric and metal, but the body of a gigantic beast. With amazed eyes, half-incredulously, I stepped nearer and examined it, while Maliche, all his superstitions aroused, fell on his knees and bowed his head to the earth. I could not believe my eyes, could not credit my senses, and yet there was no doubt about it. The broken motionless thing was a gigantic Pterodactyl! There were the great bat-like membranous wings now crumpled, torn and twisted. There was the long skinny neck ending in the immense scaly head with six-foot, sharp-toothed jaws. There were the huge, baleful, staring green eyes now glazed in death, and there were the powerful, long-clawed, alligator-like feet. The thing was a survivor of long-past ages, a flesh and blood fossil! I had killed a monster that was supposed to have become extinct hundreds of thousands of years before! I had brought down a specimen that--had I had the means of preserving it--would have brought me a fortune, that would have made me famous. And as I gazed at the gigantic, horrible looking, but now harmless thing, I bitterly regretted that it must lie there and rot, that it should provide many a meal for the hungry vultures already circling overhead, that it would be forever lost to science and that--if I ever succeeded in reaching civilization--my story would unquestionably be scoffed at and I would be dubbed a liar. I would have given much for a camera, even for the possibility of preserving a portion of the monstrous thing. Even in death it was horrible, uncanny, fiendish, and with a start I remembered Maliche’s terrified words of the night----“Izputeque!” and the words of Katchilcan; “and one must face the demon Ixputeque.” Was this fearsome prehistoric creature the demon? Was it possible he might have existed, might have haunted this spot for centuries. Was it possible he had been here when the Book of Kukulcan was made? Or were there others; had the things survived here when in all other parts of the world they had become extinct? And would the “Fiend Neztpehua” eventuate? Would it prove to be some weird, monstrous, prehistoric leftover?

There was no use in speculating, but with that crumbled Pterodactyl lying on the ground before me almost anything seemed possible, even probable. To Maliche, however, the creature was far more than a dead winged lizard. To him it was the incarnate form of his demon-like god, Izputeque, and he was muttering prayers and making a blood offering to it as I turned away.

Our route that day was directly towards the nearer of the two volcanoes, whose rumblings we could now distinctly hear. By following the narrow valley between the bare rocky ridges, the way was easy, for there was no jungle, there were few patches of forest, and it was much like walking through a huge park. Game, however, was scarce. Indeed, with the exception of a few small birds, we saw no forms of life, and I assumed that the great Pterodactyl had practically exterminated the denizens of the place. But there were plenty of fish and crayfish in the stream, and we did not worry over our food supply. Before sundown we had ascended fully one thousand feet and could look back over a vast extent of country with the glaring red, white and yellow deserts spread like a map below us. Nothing disturbed our rest that night and, feeling that the worst part of our journey was over, we resumed our march the next morning. As we climbed higher, the country became rougher and wilder; great jagged black crags rose on every side, long débris slopes of glistening obsidian broke the green hillsides; the stream tumbled in flashing cascades down outjutting ledges, and ever louder and louder was the dull, rumbling, growling roar in the bowels of the volcano under our feet. In the afternoon we met many other signs of volcanic

## activity. Springs of hot water bubbled from sulphur and lime-encrusted

pools; sulphurous steam rose from fissures and fumeroles, and in one spot a group of splendid geysers shot their fountains of boiling water fifty feet in air. Further upward progress became impossible, and swinging westward we followed a ridge or plateau that encircled the mountain like a gigantic terrace. It was odd, I thought, that Maliche should show no fear of the volcano or of the natural phenomena, but when I questioned him, he replied that there was a similar smoking mountain near his home, and that he was familiar with such sights. But, he added, he was sure this volcano was the home of terrible gods. Had we not met the demon-god Izputeque? And at any time others might appear. But the white man’s magic, the thunder and lightning from his magic tube, were more powerful than these wicked gods, and he had no fear. Brave Maliche, he was to learn all too soon how futile was the white man’s “magic” to which he trusted so implicitly!

We had now circled the first volcano and had reached the pass that led between the two cones. Here there was a dense forest, the interlaced, tangled tops of the trees forming a canopy that shut out the light of the sun, and in the semi-twilight we passed onward between the giant tree trunks that rose like the fluted columns of some vast cathedral.

* * * * *

SOON after we entered the forest, Maliche shot a small deer, and having been on slender rations since the previous day, we stopped then and there, cooked and ate a hearty meal, and prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon and night there.

Presently Maliche rose, and mumbling that he was going on a hunt to secure food for the morrow, he vanished among the trees. It was the last time I ever saw him alive. Perhaps half an hour after he had left I was startled by a faint, far-away scream, the terrified cry of a human being, and I leaped to my feet, alert, listening, filled with fears. Then once again came the scream, suddenly cut short in a faint, choking groan. Something had happened. Maliche was in trouble! Leaping forward, dashing between the trees, I sped in the direction of the sound. Presently, I saw a lighter spot, the trees thinned, and before me stretched an open space in the forest.

At the sight that met my eyes, the blood seemed to freeze in my veins. I fairly shook with terror, and a horrified cry rose to my lips. Squatting in the center of the open space was the most monstrous, the most horrible, the most repulsive being that ever the eyes of man have looked upon.

At first sight I had thought the thing a hideous sculptured stone idol. There, fully thirty feet above the ground, was the great, misshapen, grotesque head, a head adorned with an upstanding crest of huge spikes, a head with bestial fiery red eyes, with a gaping cavernous mouth armed with immense, curved white fangs. There was the great monolithic body of dull-green, covered with intricate geometric patterns in relief. There were the crooked short arms with talons in place of fingers, and there were the columnar bowed legs, all as massive, as hard, as unreal as any sculptured Mayan god. But the illusion was only momentary. Behind the terrifying monster extended a gigantic scaly tail, the huge corpse-white paunch rose and fell as the thing breathed, the scarlet eyes moved from side to side. The stupendous, indescribably horrible thing was alive, a creature of flesh and blood! I felt sick, faint, nauseated as my bewildered brain and horror-filled eyes took in the scene. In one gigantic front foot, clasped tightly against its chest, the monster held the body of Maliche!

* * * * *

[Illustration: Squatting in the center of the open space was the most monstrous, the most horrible, the most repulsive being that ever the eyes of man had looked upon]

* * * * *

Blood dripped down the livid white belly and crimson foam drooled from the huge mouth, as the fiendish thing masticated something in its titanic jaws. The next instant I realized what it was crunching between its terrible teeth. The mangled decapitated body of the Indian told the story. It was Maliche’s head!

Madness, Berserk fury took the place of my fear, my horror, my nausea at the sight. For a moment I was mad, crazed, utterly bereft of reason. With a hoarse shout, a savage yell, I drew my pistol and fired at the breast of the cannibalistic demon before me. But I might as well have fired at a monument of solid rock. The bony scales of the monster’s body were as impervious to my bullets as plates of steel.

Possibly he did not even feel them. But my shout, the report of my pistol, distracted his attention from his gruesome, repulsive meal. Slowly, as if trying to locate the sound, he ceased chewing, turned his head and peered towards me with one gleaming eye. At that instant I fired my last shot. I saw the baleful eye vanish in a blurr of red as my final bullet ploughed its way in, and I gave vent to a wild shout of triumph.

For an instant I thought my lucky shot had killed the monster. His head sagged, his front foot relaxed, the torn and bleeding body of Maliche dropped unheeded to the ground, and the gigantic creature swayed unsteadily.

But the next second I realized my mistake. I realized that my bullet had only momentarily stunned and confused the terrible beast. With a hoarse bellow he dropped to all fours, swung his head quickly to right and left and then, evidently locating me, he leaped with a prodigious bound directly at me. But I had already turned to run. I heard the colossal thing crash against a tree, I heard him panting, bellowing with pain and baffled rage; but I did not turn, did not glance back. Realizing even in my mad terror and my extremity that such an enormous beast would find it difficult to make speed among the trees, I dodged between the trunks, plunging deeper and deeper into the forest, paying no heed to direction.

In my rear I could still hear the monster in pursuit, crashing, hurtling into the trees, roaring hoarsely, shaking the very ground with his thundering tons of infuriated flesh. He was like a whole herd of elephants charging through the forest. Small trees went down like straws before his onrush, and only the fact that he was half-blinded and unable to see me as long as I kept to the right, and was therefore obliged to keep his head turned to avoid blundering into trees, saved me from Maliche’s fate.

Even as it was, I barely held my own, barely kept my scant two hundred feet in advance of my terrible pursuer. And each minute, each second I was growing weaker, becoming more and more spent. My breath wheezed in my throat, my lungs seemed bursting, a mist swam before my eyes. Soon I knew I must slow down, must stop. At any moment my heavy feet might trip upon a root and the next instant the terrible man-eating beast would be upon me.

Then, as I felt I must give up, as I had made up my mind to slip another cartridge into my pistol, and end my life rather than be torn to pieces, the forest came to an end and, unable to check my headway, I slipped, plunged head-first and rolled, head-over-heels down a sharp, bare slope. Dazed, frightened, my eyes blinded with dust, my mouth and nostrils filled with choking powder, dimly aware of blistering, burning heat, I brought up with a jarring, sickening thud against a mass of rock.

Bruised, shaken, sputtering, I spat the sand from my mouth, wiped the dust from my eyes and glanced about. Up from where I lay upon a ledge of rock surrounded by coarse grass and stunted trees, stretched a long steep slope of glaring white sand. Here and there slender columns of steam rose from it. Dull yellow patches of sulphur dotted its surface, and an uneven, irregular furrow marked the course of my fall. At the summit of the slope rose the forest trees and, issuing from them, was the gigantic monster still in pursuit.

But I could not move, could not make an effort to escape. I was utterly done, utterly exhausted. I felt for my pistol, but the holster was empty. In a moment more the colossal beast would come sliding, bounding upon me.

* * * * *

FASCINATED, I stared at him. One glance he gave about, and then, with a bound, he was on the slope. My heart seemed to stop beating, numbing terror paralyzed me. But I need not have feared. Little did I know the character of that declivity of white, innocent-appearing sand. Instead of racing down the slope, the monster sank into it as though it had been liquid. He thrashed, struggled, bellowed, lashed with his enormous tail, but all in vain. Every movement buried him deeper and deeper. The soft, fine, almost impalpable dust could not support his weight. It gave way beneath him, closed in clouds above him. It was like a quicksand, and presently only the tip of his upflung tail and the thrashing, gnashing jaws were visible.

And then an amazing phenomenon occurred. Up from the spot where he was vanishing, a great column of steam shot fifty feet in air, hissing, roaring. The next instant it subsided, and only the smooth unbroken slope remained.

And as I glanced about at my surroundings, my heart still pounding, I realized what had happened, what manner of place I had so fortunately fallen into. I was in an ancient crater; the slope down which I had slid was merely a pile of fine volcanic ash covering the boiling, steaming, heated mass below, a mere crust over an inferno. Somewhere within the depths, the carcass of the dinosaur--for such I knew the monster must have been--was being boiled to shreds. My own weight had not been sufficient to break through the surface in my swift descent; I had moved too rapidly to be badly burned by the scalding steam and hot ashes, but the monster’s weight had spelled his doom. But Maliche was dead. I was alone. “My God!” I exclaimed, as a sudden realization came to me. I was in the “realm of hot ashes” of the prophecy. Was the monstrous dinosaur I had seen destroyed, the “fiend Neztpehua”?

I was convinced it was so, positive that the dinosaur had been there since the days of Kukulcan. And a strange elation, a sudden unaccountable joy thrilled me. Everything had come out precisely as it had been foretold. I had met every peril, every danger of which Katchilcan had warned me. So far, I had come unharmed through all. My way had been “made easy.” Was there some unknown, some supernatural power watching over me? Was there some magic in the Book of Kukulcan? I tried to reason, tried to convince myself it was all nonsense, all superstition, all the state of my nerves, of my overtaxed muscles and brain. But I could not shake off the belief, could not argue mentally against obvious facts. So fully had the idea possessed me, that I felt absolutely convinced that I would yet come to the Cave of the Bats, to the Bridge of Life and would enter the hidden city of Mictolan.

But first, I must get out of the crater. As I have said, the spot where I had been arrested in my involuntary decent of the ash slope was rocky and was surrounded with coarse grass and a few gnarled and stunted trees. This was not surprising, for in many other active craters, especially in the West Indies--I had seen the same forms of vegetation growing in the sand and sulphur-impregnated deposits surrounded with steam and boiling water. As I rose and pressed through the thin growth--taking great care not to step into a pool of boiling water, I gave a cry of delight. Lying among the bits of rock was my revolver. Refilling its empty chambers and replacing it in the holster, I passed through the scrub, and reaching the farther side carefully surveyed the crater, searching for a passage out. I was at the bottom of an immense crater--I remember that at the time it reminded me of the titanic pit of a gigantic ant-lion, and I thanked Heaven there had been no such voracious creature lurking in the bottom to gobble me up as I came tumbling into its waiting jaws. On one side was the slope down which I had fallen and which had swallowed up the dinosaur. On two other sides there were perpendicular rocky walls seamed with golden-yellow sulphur veins, but on the fourth side the crater wall was broken down and filled with loose masses of stone between which grew red-flowered weeds, climbing cacti and coarse, brake-like ferns. It was the only passable exit, and crawling carefully over the loose and treacherous rocks, I surmounted the barrier and to my delight found that the brushy mountain side stretched unbroken to a wooded valley far below. As I moved easily down the hillside, many thoughts and conjectures filled my mind. Would I be able to sustain life without Maliche’s aid? Would I--even if I reached the hidden city--ever be able to return to civilization? Of what use would it have been to have journeyed so far, to have undergone so much, to have found the city, if I spent the rest of my days here? And in that case, of what value would be my precious codex? I laughed grimly to myself as I mentally reviewed the strange events that had followed in such an unbroken chain since my visit to the little junk shop in far-off Vigo. From the moment I had seen the faded, ancient document, my entire course of life, yes, even my mental processes, had been altered. I had been bewitched, obsessed with the thing. Why hadn’t I been content to dispose of it for what it would bring--a far greater sum than I had ever before possessed at one time--instead of traveling here, there and everywhere, trying to find someone to interpret it?

And why, even at the eleventh hour, hadn’t I been satisfied with old Katchilcan’s information and interpretation, without plunging into this wilderness on my wild-goose chase for the mythical city of Mictolan? Why? I could find no answer save that it was fate, destiny, that I had come honestly into possession of the Book of Kukulcan and had therefore to bring the long-awaited token to the Mayas in the hidden city. But in that case, why had not some other done so long before? Surely others must have owned the codex honestly. The old shopkeeper in Vigo, for instance. I laughed heartily as I tried to picture paunchy old Don Miguel Salceda on this journey--crossing the deserts, crawling through the snake-infested tunnel, rolling down the ash-covered crater’s slope, running away from a charging dinosaur.

And the dinosaur! Were there other, perhaps even more terrible prehistoric creatures in this land? I had had proof that pterodactyls and dinosaurs still survived there. Was it not possible there were others of their kinds, or even more ferocious living fossils? A Triceratops would be a most unpleasant “demon” to meet, an Iguanodon might be even worse. It behooved me to go carefully, to watch my step, to pass my nights where I would be safe from attack. And, thinking of passing the night, reminded me that the sun had set behind the peak, and that darkness was near at hand. To find a place in which to sleep would be simple--the rocks on either side of the valley were full of fissures and caves, but I was hungry and thirsty, and I could see no prospect of either water or food. Below me, to the right, the vegetation seemed greener, fresher. Possibly water was there and, meanwhile keeping a sharp watch for any possible game or even some edible berries or fruits, I hurried in the direction I had picked out. As I had hoped, a tiny stream trickled from among the rocks. A recess in a ledge formed a secure resting place, but I went supperless to bed and hunger prevented me from sleeping much that night.

* * * * *

THE next morning, however, I was in better luck. I came unexpectedly upon a raccoon and secured him with my pistol and, a little later, I found a huge land tortoise. I dined well, and feeling much better, swung on down the valley. To my delight I now found I had passed beyond the volcanoes, and somehow I had a feeling that I was nearing the end of my journey. I had been puzzled many times at not having found any traces of the country ever having been inhabited. There had been no signs of Indians, no ruins, no monuments, not even inscribed rocks since we had passed that great statue of Chac-Mool in the pool of the crocodiles. If in the long ago the Mayas had passed this way, surely, I thought, they would have left some traces. Hardly had the thought crossed my mind when, rising above the trees ahead, I saw the remains of stone buildings. The ruins were in bad shape, the walls had fallen apart, but they were unquestionably ancient Mayan. But there was one thing about them that puzzled me. In several places were sculptured figures and symbols unlike anything I had ever seen, and in one doorway was a true arch. The Mayas, I knew, had never--as far as known--discovered the arch. They joined their walls either by “stepping in” the stones until they met, or they connected them by means of wooden beams or lintels of stone. But here was an arch, without a keystone to be sure, formed of stones cemented together, and that still remained, though the walls about it had crumbled and fallen. I had made an epochal discovery--though it was of little value to me or to the scientific world, but it whetted my desire to find the hidden city. If the ruins I was examining were the remains of the work of the people of Mictolan--as I felt sure they were--then those people had developed beyond the other Mayas and, in the many centuries that had passed since they had been separated from the rest of their race, they might have reached most astounding heights and have made most remarkable discoveries.

A little later, I came upon something that puzzled and interested me even more than the ruins with the arch. Hidden in the brush was an immense stone monument lying half buried in the earth. One portion of its upper surface was elaborately carved with beautiful bas-reliefs, but the lower portion was unmarked, and the plain surface graded evenly into the carved surface. There was every graduation from the deeply-cut sculptures to shallow carvings, from these to mere outlines, and from these to the smooth stone. And there were no signs of tool marks upon it, nothing to show that the design was being chiseled away. Eagerly I examined the other visible surfaces. They were exactly the same. It was precisely as if the immense stone column had been steel and had been dipped into some acid that had deeply etched the submerged portion, leaving the rest untouched. Of course I knew that nothing of the sort actually had occurred. I merely thought of it as an appropriate simile, but the mystery of how the Mayas accomplished their wonderful sculptures had always fascinated me, and I had never before seen, or even heard of, a column that was partly carved like this one. However, it proved the Mayas had been here, and from time to time, during several hours thereafter, I came upon other remains of the ancient race. At any time now, I thought, I might come within sight of Mictolan. Little did I dream what lay ahead of me.

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