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The Radio Boys Search for the Inca’s Treasure

The radio outfit paralleled an army field outfit in a number
of respects, including the umbrella type of aerial.

THE RADIO BOYS’
SEARCH FOR THE
INCA’S TREASURE

By

GERALD BRECKENRIDGE

Author of

“The Radio Boys on the Mexican Border,” “The Radio
Boys on Secret Service Duty,” “The Radio Boys
with the Revenue Guards,” “The Radio Boys
Rescue the Lost Alaska Expedition.”

Frontispiece

A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York

THE RADIO BOYS SERIES
A Series of Stories for Boys of All Ages

By GERALD BRECKENRIDGE

Copyright, 1922
By A. L. BURT COMPANY

THE RADIO BOYS’ SEARCH FOR THE INCA’S TREASURE

Made in “U. S. A.”

CONTENTS

[I—OFF FOR TREASURE]
[II—A TALE OF OLD]
[III—A COUNTRY FESTIVAL]
[IV—HO FOR THE ENCHANTED CITY!]
[V—RADIO INVADES THE MONASTERY]
[VI—A SENDING STATION BUILT]
[VII—THE EXPEDITION GETS UNDER WAY]
[VIII—JACK HAS A MISHAP]
[IX—SURPRISED IN THE FOREST]
[X—IN THE HANDS OF THE INCAS]
[XI—INTO THE MOUNTAIN]
[XII—IMPRISONED IN THE ACROPOLIS]
[XIII—THE FEAST OF RAYMI]
[XIV—PRINCE HUACA FRIENDLY]
[XV—BEFORE THE COUNCIL]
[XVI—RADIO A LINK TO THE PAST]
[XVII—THE FIGHT ON THE PARAPET]
[XVIII—ARMED AGAIN]
[XIX—TREACHERY]
[XX—FRANK PLANS A MIRACLE]
[XXI—TO GO OR NOT TO GO]
[XXII—INTO THE INCA’S COURT]
[XXIII—THE OLD AND THE NEW]
[XXIV—THE MIRACLE WORKER]
[XXV—A VOICE WARNS THE INCA]
[XXVI—THE MOUNTAIN SPEAKS]
[XXVII—THE DOOMED CITY]
[XXVIII—CONCLUSION]

THE RADIO BOYS SEARCH FOR THE INCA’S TREASURE.

CHAPTER I—OFF FOR TREASURE

“This is a wonderful land, fellows, full of legend and story, vast mountains, vast rivers, vast jungles, unexplored territory and unconquered tribes.”

It was Jack Hampton speaking, and he leaned on the rail of a coastwise steamer, as she came to anchor in the open roadstead of Valparaiso.

“I wonder what lies ahead,” said Frank Merrick, leaning beside him. “We ought to get some adventure out of this, besides mere civilized travel.”

Even Bob Temple, the most matter-of-fact of the three chums known as the Radio Boys, felt his imagination stirred.

“Remember what that commercial traveler said last night,” he interposed. “I mean, about the old days of the Spanish Conquest of South America? He certainly was filled with stories of treasure, of Inca treasure, wasn’t he?”

The other boys nodded, their eyes shining. Indeed, Juan Lopez, the young commercial traveler, who had taken a fancy to the boys, had told them glittering stories as they sat on deck under the Moon. Then they fell silent, their eyes on the strange scenes about them.

Although a great world port, and second only to San Francisco in importance on the Pacific Coast of the Western Hemisphere, Valparaiso is not a harbor as harbors go, lying open to the sea. Great numbers of ships lay about them offshore, freighters from all the world. And tugs and lighters kept coming and going in a continuous bustle between ships and shore.

As their train for Santiago, whither Mr. Hampton was bound on business, would leave in an hour, there was little time for sightseeing. Mr. Hampton, who knew the South American cities from former visits, on one of which he had taken Jack with him, assured them there was little in Valparaiso of historic or picturesque interest.

Nevertheless, the boys kept their eyes open during the trip through the narrow but noisy bustling business quarter which occupies the flats between the shore line and the thousand-foot cliffs behind upon which residential Valparaiso is situated. Ascensors took them up the sheer cliffs, and then followed a four-hour journey by train to Santiago.

They were expected, and at the Santiago station they were met by a family carriage which carried them to the home of Senor Don Ernesto de Avilar, with whom Mr. Hampton had come to transact business. With true Spanish hospitality, the latter on receiving word of his coming, had written urgently that he do not stop to a hotel, but bring the three boys with him as guests.

The way to the mansion of Senor de Avilar lay along the Alameda, a boulevard 600 feet wide, which formerly had been the bed of the Mapocho River, and as they bowled along the boys exclaimed time and again at the wonderful beauty of the surroundings and of the handsome residences. Frank and Bob, who were undergoing great changes in their preconceived notions of South America as a land of ruins and half-breeds, were especially astonished. Jack, who had been in this part of the world before, grinned with satisfaction.

“I didn’t tell you fellows much about this before,” he said. “I wanted to see your eyes pop out. Thought you were going to run into something wild and savage, didn’t you? Well, this is the most beautiful residential city in South America, and one of the most beautiful in the world. Isn’t it, father?” he appealed.

Mr. Hampton nodded.

“Santiago and Rio de Janeiro hold the palm in that respect,” he said. “Rio, however, because of its wonderful harbor and mountainous surroundings is, in my eyes at least, a bit the more beautiful. Yet, as you can see, Santiago’s natural beauties would be hard to surpass. However, here we are at Senor de Avilar’s home. Let us hope the accident to his son has not been serious. In that case, we cannot stay, as we would embarrass the family, but will go to a hotel.”

They had expected Senor de Avilar to greet them in person on arrival, but had been told by the driver that at the last moment the latter had been called to a point outside the city where his son, Ferdinand, had been injured when thrown from a runaway horse.

Fortunately, it developed, the accident had not proven serious. The young son of the house, a youth of their own age, had sustained a fractured wrist, but otherwise had escaped unharmed. He was a charming boy with a fairly good command of English, and he and the boys became warm friends during the ensuing week.

As Jack, owing to his previous visit to South America, on which occasion he had learned the language, could speak and read Spanish fluently, and as he had imparted considerable knowledge of the language to Frank and Bob, the four got along famously. Horseback rides about the city and its environs were of daily occurrence, young de Avilar managing his mount in superb fashion despite the injured wrist.

During the week, the boys saw little of Mr. Hampton and Senor de Avilar. The two older men were closeted in long conferences with others every day. For a number of reasons, the boys were curious to know the nature of these conferences.

In the first place, at the beginning of their summer vacation from Yale, Mr. Hampton, a consulting engineer of international reputation, had called Jack into his study in their home on Long Island, adjoining the Temple home at which Frank, an orphan, resided, and had smiled a little as he said:

“Well, Jack, how would you and the boys like to go with me hunting treasure this summer?”

Hunt treasure?

Jack’s eyes began to shine. Then his father explained that he had received an urgent invitation from Senor de Avilar to cast in his fortunes with him on an expedition into the fastnesses of the Bolivian mountains in search of a horde reputed buried by the ancient Incas.

“I don’t know whether anything will come of it, Jack, in the way of fortune,” his father had said, “but at least we will have plenty of adventurous travel. As you know, I am wealthy. The lure of gold does not draw me for itself. But, Jack, I’m very much afraid that in some respects I have never grown up. Buried treasure has a magical appeal; it captivates my imagination.

“When I was in South America last, in connection with the mining interests developing a new district on the borders of Peru and Bolivia, I heard many tales of Inca treasure. Those old Indians had a great civilization, and if the Spanish conquerors under Pizarro, Almagro and others had treated the Incas decently, who knows what they would have given the world. But the conquistadores were rapacious for gold, of which there are vast stores in the mountains of South America, and they slew merely to rob and thus wiped out one of the fairest races the world has ever seen. The Incas undoubtedly hid much of their golden treasures to keep it from falling into the clutches of the conquerors.

“Senor de Avilar is the head of the syndicate using my services at that time. And many a legend of Inca treasure did he tell me, for he, too, has felt the thrill. His imagination, like mine, is stirred by these departures from a workaday world. Now he writes me that he has come into possession of an ancient manuscript which he believes genuine. It purports to be the diary of a conquistadore who was captured by a band of Inca noblemen who fled far to the southward when the Spaniards invaded their country, and carried him captive with them. There is much of treasure buried in the Bolivian Andes because of the difficulties of transportation, and more of a magical city which the Incas founded in the south. This latter may have been the Enchanted City of the Caesars, the story of which I shall tell you some later day.

“At any rate, my good friend says he wants to be a boy again and to hunt for buried treasure. And he knows that I feel as he does, and offers me the chance to go along. Many men might consider me foolish, Jack, to engage in such a fantastic expedition. But your mother has been dead these many years; you and I are alone in the world; I have made a fortune big enough to take care of you for life, even if I do not add another cent to it. And I am a young man yet. Jack, I want to go. How about it?”

“How about it?” Jack gulped. He and this tall man with the twinkling eyes, and the figure as slender and hard as a boy’s, called each other father and son. But in reality they were pals. Jack stared a moment, his eyes alight, then emitted a little gasp of pure joy, and jumping up from his chair, he threw an arm over his father’s shoulders.

“Dad,” he gulped, “I’d never forgive you if you didn’t take the chance.”

A hard squeeze of his hand was his father’s reply.

“You said something about Frank and Bob?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Hampton. “They have finished their Freshman year at Yale, and they are strong, capable fellows, able to think rapidly and clearly in an emergency, as they have demonstrated many times. I am thinking of asking Mr. Temple to let them go with me.”

“Hurray,” shouted Jack. “Let me go tell them the news.”

And he was off like a shot.

Mr. Temple had proved amenable. His big son, Bob, six feet tall and broad and powerful of frame, was destined eventually to go into the importing firm of which he was president. So, too, was his ward, Frank, son of his former business partner. South American experience, and the knowledge of customs of that part of the world which they would gain on such an expedition as proposed, would be invaluable to both. Under Mr. Hampton’s care, moreover, they would be in good hands. Therefore, although shaking his head laughingly over Mr. Hampton’s boyish enthusiasm, Mr. Temple was glad to acquiesce and to let his boys go.

This was the reason, therefore, that the boys waited curiously for the outcome of that week of conferences between Mr. Hampton and Senor de Avilar, a week during which various strange men came and went. The boys saw little of the older men, and on the few occasions when he did obtain an opportunity to question his father, Jack was put off until a later date, when everything would be explained. Meanwhile, Mr. Hampton said, he was studying maps, talking with guides from the district into which the expedition would penetrate and had his head filled with plans.

“I haven’t the time to detach myself from this business to give you a connected story, Jack,” said he, on one of the few occasions when he was alone with his son for a brief period. “But contain yourself, and presently everything will be explained.”

Young de Avilar knew of the proposed expedition, too, but he knew no more about it than Jack. He had been absent until recently in attendance at the University of Lima, for, though there is an ancient institution of learning at Santiago, his father was by birth a Peruvian who had attended the University of Lima, and the son followed in his steps.

All four boys, therefore, were naturally eager to learn the outcome of the conferences. While waiting, the three North Americans had their interest strung to concert pitch by treasure legends which Ferdinand told them. He, in turn, was eager to hear what to him were even more marvellous stories of the scientific wonders of their own country. In particular, he was eager to learn about the developments of radio, which he had heard was in general use in the United States but which, as yet, had made few advances in Santiago.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Jack, one day. “Suppose we set up a radio station here at your town home, and another at your country place. The distance is only twenty-five miles. With batteries and a spark coil, we can easily send that distance, certainly in this mountain atmosphere. I’ve got an outfit in my trunk, which I packed along in the belief that it would come in handy in the field on an expedition.”

Ferdinand was enthusiastic, and in a short time the two stations were installed, and the young Chilian was instructed in the mysteries of radio.

CHAPTER II—A TALE OF OLD

Of all the stories of ancient days in South America which Ferdinand de Avilar told them, none interested the boys so much as the tale of the city of Chan Chan. This city was the capital of the Great Chimu, ruler of a mighty empire that antedated the Incas.

“You see,” explained Ferdinand, early in their acquaintance, “my father always has been greatly interested in the ancient history of our land. He has in his library all the books containing the old legends and history, and naturally I have devoured them. At one time when I was younger, he financed an archaeological expedition that explored the ruins of Chan Chan.

“It is little known to the outside world, he says, that, great and mighty as they were, the Incas were not the first great civilized people of South America. Before they poured down from the Andes to conquer the Pacific coast, there dwelt here a powerful and highly civilized people called the Chimus.

“Inland from Salaverry, on the Peruvian coast, was the capital of the Great Chimu, the city of Chan Chan. It was one of the largest cities of the old world, perhaps the largest, who knows. It covered more than forty square miles of territory, and was larger than Babylon. Here the Chimus had great factories for the manufacture of textiles, pottery, etc. Their artificers in gold and silver were cunning and skilled.

“Vast wealth was theirs, vaster even than that of the Incas. There were great palaces and temples in Chan Chan that were repositories for the choicest, the most glittering works of art in gold and silver. They had a language that had attained a high degree of culture, a literature that included poetry and drama. Fragments of their writing have been found, and it resembled that of the ancient Egyptians.

“Then the conquering Incas, having brought the Andean people under their sway, came to the land of the Chimus. The Incas were the Romans of this land, the warriors and conquerors. But the Chimus, too, were warriors, and the struggle between these two great nations was long and bitter. At last the Chimu armies, however, were forced back to the protection of the great walls of Chan Chan.

“Long was the siege. Attack after attack was repelled. Finding they could not carry Chan Chan by storm, the Incas at length hit upon a device which had won them many a walled city. They cut off the water supply of Chan Chan. Lofty aqueducts had been built by the Chimu kings to bring water from the mountains more than a hundred miles away, and within the city this water was stored in a great reservoir larger than any ever built by the Romans.

“The Incas cut off this water supply. Gradually the vast population penned within the walls of Chan Chan absorbed all the water in the reservoir. The wells which had been digged within the city were insufficient. The Chimus were forced to surrender.

“But before the end, the Great Chimu foresaw the coming of defeat. He resolved to bury the Great Treasure of his dynasty. And this has never been found. Much of the tremendous wealth of the Incas was loot from the Chimus, but the Great Treasure escaped them.

“When the Spaniards came,” continued Ferdinand, “they learned the story of the Great Chimu and how he had hidden the Great Treasure. Into the ruined temples and palaces of Chan Chan and of other cities of the Chimu kingdom, they delved. Vast treasure thus was recovered, and sent to Spain. But the Great Treasure—no. This, says my father, has never been found.”

Seeing how eager the boys were to hear of these old tales, and nothing loth himself to talk about them, Ferdinand on another occasion repeated the legend of the “Enchanted City of the Caesars.”

“This story, so far as any public or semi-public record goes,” he said, “was first made known through the sworn statements of two Spaniards who arrived in Concepcion, Chile, in 1557. They declared that for seventeen years they had lived in the Enchanted City. But while these statements gave details of the origin and existence of the Enchanted City, they supplied no accurate data for its location. Now, however, I have reason to believe, another statement has come to light, made by another member of de Arguello’s little band, and giving more definite data. And it is this statement which my father possesses.

“But I can see how eager you are, how puzzled by what I have said, and I shall begin at the beginning. That will be better, perhaps.” And Ferdinand smiled at the three shining-eyed friends surrounding him.

“To begin, then,” he said, “it was in the days when Pedro de Valdivia was setting out from Peru to conquer this land of Chile, then a province of the overthrown Inca empire, that a galleon from Spain was wrecked on the coast of Tierra del Fuego at the southern tip of South America. That is a wild and inhospitable coast, devoid of verdure, where not even game is to be found. They must either march forward or die.

“The captain of the band was Sebastian de Arguello. He had with him some 200 soldiers and sailors, thirty conquistadores or gentleman adventurers of Spain who sought fortune in Peru, three priests, and a score of women.

“They were a thousand miles from the nearest Spanish settlements in northern Chile, but there was nothing to do if they would survive except attempt to reach them.

“So the march began, through the great forests of arbor vitae and along those rugged, barren coasts. In those days, there were giants in the land. For that is Patagonia, and it is not so many years ago that the last of the giant Patagonians of ancient days passed away. They were real giants, six and a half feet tall, terrible fighters in guerrila warfare. Day and night they attacked from ambush, and dread, indeed, must have been the times when the Spaniards were forced to abandon the seacoast and attempt to thread the forest, for always the giants would be lying in wait.

“At length, however, the little band won its way through Patagonia, with numbers reduced from the fighting, and seven of the women dead from the unendurable hardships of the march. Yet they had but conquered one danger to encounter a greater. They are now on the borders of Auraucania.

“You do not know what that means. Ah, my friends, even today Auraucania is a land that is little known. For it is inhabited by the fiercest and most warlike of all the Indian peoples. The Incas found them so, and were never able to conquer them. The Spaniards, even with cannon, could do nothing against them. It is only within the last forty or fifty years that any white men have been permitted to enter their country.

“Against the wild dash of Auraucanians, de Arguello’s men, doughty though they were, could make no headway. A counsel was held. Rather than face decimation in an attempt to cut their way through Auraucania, the members of the band decided to skirt that savage land. Eastward, therefore, they struck toward the vast and towering wall of the Andes, with some hope of skirting Auraucania, and, if not that, then to settle where game and water abounded.

“Suddenly one day they came into a valley glimmering with lakes, a broad valley ringed round by mountains, with fields that were irrigated and under cultivation, laborers working in them, but no farm-house in sight. These laborers fled to the forest in fright at the approach of the Spaniards, but one was taken captive and brought to de Arguello to be questioned.

“To the starved and harried Spaniards, the prospect was fair, indeed. What a place in which to settle. Therefore, when the laborer was brought before de Arguello and the conquistadores, he was plied with questions as to the ownership of this land. Despite the fact that he was a laborer, the man had a proud bearing that arrested de Arguello’s attention. ‘Art thou not of the Inca blood?’ he asked. Folding his arms, the man replied, ‘I am.’

“As to what then transpired, the account does not state. For you must remember it was written by men who were not leaders among the Spaniards, but men-at-arms. They were not in the counsel. At length, however, the laborer was seen to depart and to make his way across the valley and disappear into the mountains. Camp was pitched by a spring on the edge of the forest, and late in the afternoon the laborer returned.

“De Arguello then gave orders that his return should be awaited, which he declared would not be until the following day, and set out with one of the priests and the laborer. All that night, the Spanish force lay under arms, not knowing what to expect.

“But shortly after sunrise the next day de Arguello returned alone. He called his force about him, and addressed them. ‘Men,’ said he, in effect, ‘within those towering mountains beyond this valley lies an enchanted city. It is all built of palaces of stone with roofs that shine like gold. Within those palaces is furniture of gold and silver. They are a very pleasant people who dwell there, Incas who have fled thither from Peru.

“Their city is ringed round with terrible mountains, abounding in gold and precious stones, unscalable by an enemy. The only approach is through a tunnel they have cut through the flank of a mountain. From these broad fields they draw their sustenance.

“This is the message they bid me bring to you: ‘If it be peace, ye can mix and mingle with us. There be women ye can have to wife. If it be war, we trust in our fastnesses.’ Men, what shall it be?

“With one voice, they shouted, ‘Peace!’

“That,” concluded Ferdinand, “is the tale of the Enchanted City of the Caesars, so-called because the Emperors of Spain were the modern Caesars by reason of the vastness of their empire.”

“And hasn’t it ever been sought for?” asked Bob. “Surely, the Spaniards in their eagerness for treasure would not have overlooked such a story as that told by the two men.”

“You are right,” said Ferdinand, nodding, “it was sought for. Expedition after expedition was sent out by the Viceroys of the Spanish provinces clear down to the War of Independence in the early nineteenth century, which freed South America from the yoke of Spain. But it was never found, and, although there are people who still believe it existed, it is generally supposed nowadays to be merely mythical.”

“And is it in search of this ‘Enchanted City’ that we are going?” asked Frank.

“I don’t know,” answered Ferdinand. “But I believe the ‘Enchanted City’ figures in the manuscript which my father has obtained, and it may be that we go to look for it.”

CHAPTER III—A COUNTRY FESTIVAL

The day following this retelling of the legend of the Enchanted City of the Caesars by Ferdinand, all four boys were called into conference by the two older men. To their unbounded delight, they were told that in a week or ten days they would set out for Potosi, the Bolivian city which is the center of the famous silver mining region whose discovery once startled the world.

“Potosi,” said Ernesto, “may be our starting point, but I must tell you that in all likelihood we shall conduct our activities in two widely separated regions. The ancient manuscript of which I have spoken to you, Ferdinand, and which Senor Hampton tells me he has mentioned to you others, gives us quite definite directions for our search.

“It was written by a Spanish conquistadore who was with the expedition of Captain Sebastian de Arguello, of whom I understand Ferdinand has told you young fellows. This soldier of fortune never left the Enchanted City, according to his account, but married an Inca princess, and spent his remaining days in this city of wonders. From her and her relatives, he learned of the hidden horde in Bolivia which was cached before the band of Inca noblemen with their families and followers fled to the southward before the Conquerors.

“As old age came upon him, he decided to write down an account of his adventures, of the wonders of the Enchanted City, and of the hidden wealth left behind by the migrating Incas. This, he wrote, he intended to entrust to one of the three priests of de Arguello.

“The manuscript recently came into the hands of a relative of mine, who is the Superior of an Andine monastery in Southern Chile, and he, knowing my collector’s passion for the old and mythical in our history, sent it to me as a curiosity. But to me it is more. I believe it genuine, and so I am persuaded does Senor Hampton. One of my relative’s wandering monks, going among the Indians, was enabled to succor the Chief of a wild tribe in illness, and this manuscript in a battered and curiously wrought silver tube that had been handed down among the Indians for centuries, was given him as reward.”

The boys were shown the manuscript, which was written in purple ink upon sheepskin, or, at least, what they took to be sheepskin. Don Ernesto, however, was inclined to believe it was the skin of the alpaca, which is a wool-bearing animal of South America. So crabbed was the hand, and so curious the spelling and formation of the letters, that the boys, even Jack with his fine knowledge of Spanish, could make little of it. Ferdinand’s eyes, however, glistened at this first sight of the manuscript, and he pored over it for hours.

The two older men announced it would be necessary for them ere departing to visit Valparaiso for several days, and the boys were left to their own devices. However, the time was not to hang heavily on the hands of the boys, as barely had they been left alone than Ferdinand received an invitation from Adolfo Rodriguez, a friend living at Almahue, to visit him and witness a reception to a distinguished delegation of North Americans who were touring the South American republics.

This delegation was aboard the special train leaving Santiago which the four youths boarded in the morning. Arriving at Almahue in the afternoon, the delegation was received at the Rodriguez country home, a beautiful mansion standing in the midst of a large park. Young Rodriguez, a slender, dark-eyed lad of Ferdinand’s age, flew to greet them.

“His mother is an Englishwoman,” Ferdinand told them, in an aside. “And he has been to an English school. I have not seen him for some years.”

Greetings between the two friends were warm, and then the American lads were introduced.

“How jolly,” said young Rodriguez, “I thought this reception thing would be a bore. But with you fellows here, it will be a lark, after all. Come to my rooms, and you can prepare for dinner.”

On entering the great salon, Jack, Bob and Frank were surprised beyond measure. They found themselves in a profusion of palms, cypresses and willows, with chrysanthemums in prodigal profusion, the whole so tastefully arranged as to give the impression of a scene from fairyland. Music was played by hidden musicians during the dinner, and after the speeches there was to be a musicale. Young Rodriguez, however, managed to withdraw with his companions before the arrival of the speech-making.

“After-dinner speeches are a beastly bore, always,” he said emphatically. “I considered you fellows would be as glad to escape as I. Now these are your rooms, and you will find whatever you require. You have had a long day, and as there will be much to do and see tomorrow, I imagine you will want to get some sleep.”

With that he left them, taking with him Ferdinand. The boys realized young Rodriguez was eager to talk over old times with his chum, and that they would be up half the night chattering. Nevertheless, that was not hard to forgive, and as they really were tired by the unaccustomed scenes and bustle, they turned in after some comments on the dinner, and soon were sleeping soundly.

The next day, the boys were up and about early, for young Rodriguez wanted them to breakfast with him before the visitors reached the table. They were surprised to learn the estate covered 15,000 hectares, and employed more than 400 tenants and laborers.

With the visitors, the boys visited the schools of the estate, three in number, at one of which the boys and girls of the tenants were in attendance, and at the others the children of the laborers. Finding they could ride, young Rodriguez obtained them mounts from the stable, although the visiting delegation was taken about in carriages. They visited the beautiful church of the estate, inspected the model homes and recreation grounds for the overseers and laborers, and spent some time at the stables. Senor Rodriguez was a lover of horses, and with pride his son pointed out to the boys a number of race horses of famous pedigree.

“My mother wanted me educated in England,” he explained, “my father in South America. Finally, they struck a compromise. I was to be sent to an English school, but to a South American university. And so, Ferdinand, next year will find me with you at Lima.”

The other nodded with satisfaction. They had discussed this the night before.

“You three fellows are chums,” said Ferdinand, “and you can realize my delight.”

“At school in England,” said young Rodriguez, looking at a famous racer which he had brought the boys to see, “they used to be surprised when I spoke of home. They imagined that everything in South America was savage beyond words.”

“To tell you the truth,” said Bob, frankly, “I had false ideas about South America, too. These things you have been showing me, and others Ferdinand showed us in Santiago, make my head swim. I’m beginning to wonder where we can get adventure in a country like this.”

Ferdinand, who had told his chum of the proposed expedition, laughed heartily. So did Rodriguez.

“My dear fellow,” said the latter, “wait. You will encounter the mightiest mountains in the Western Hemisphere, mountains to dwarf your Rockies. You will disappear from all human habitation. You will cross trackless deserts; perhaps, you will find rivers never explored by white man. You may run foul of unconquered Indians. Perhaps, you may discover a new race. Anything is possible in this fascinating and little known land. All this that you see, all Santiago and Lima and our other cities—what, after all, is it? Nothing but the fringe of a vast continent. But, come, let us return, for this afternoon there will be something worth seeing.”

The prediction was borne out for, after luncheon, the band began to play and young folks from the estate appeared to dance the cueca. This is a dance peculiar to Chile, in which the dancers perform individually. It is reminiscent of other South American dances—the bolero, the habanera, the bambuco, the jota, the torbellino, and the fandango. It is danced with more grace and animation, and with deeper intensity than the tango, that dance peculiar to the Argentine.

“Look at that little Spanish senorita, Jack,” whispered Bob, mischievously, to his chum. “She certainly reminds me of your flame, Senorita Rafaela. Hey?”

Jack grinned at his comrade’s teasing. In reality, however, he never heard the name of Senorita Rafaela mentioned that he did not feel sentimental. And this dancing girl did have a coquettish lift of the fan, a twist of the head, a raising of the eyebrow, that reminded him of her. Senorita Rafaela, however, was far away, on the Mexican estate of her father, from whom Jack and Bob two years before had rescued Mr. Hampton when the latter was a political prisoner. It was no use to think of her now.

After the dance at the home, four hundred tenants, mounted on splendid horses, many with handsome Spanish saddles and spurs of silver, escorted the party to a nearby spot where two platforms had been erected for dancing. Here the men, young and old, participated in foot and horse races. Then the young folks went to dancing, while many barbecue fires for the cooking of meat were lighted, wine was distributed, and the tenants made festa. It was a truly patriarchal scene, and one never to be forgotten.

“This is a true example of life on the great Chilian estates,” Ferdinand told the boys, on their way back to Santiago.

CHAPTER IV—HO FOR THE ENCHANTED CITY!

“But, father, we thought you intended first to explore this town of Potosi for the buried treasure left there by the fugitive Incas before they fled to the South,” said Jack.

“I know, Jack,” Mr. Hampton explained, “but Don Ernesto and I have talked the matter over from every angle, and have decided against going to Potosi at this season. The summer months are January and February. And even in summer, it is bleak in that region. The hottest day ever recorded in Potosi went to only about 59 in the shade. The elevation is great; Potosi is built on top of a mountain, and there is no fuel. The mountains are bare of timber, and a camping expedition would run grave danger of freezing.

“For three hundred years, Potosi has been the center of a silver mining region that has given up wealth seemingly without exhaustion. More than two billion ounces of silver have been taken from the mountain on which it stands, and the mines are still in operation. It is probably the most famous mountain in the world, this Cerro of Potosi.

“It was from Bolivia,” Mr. Hampton added, “that the Inca civilization started on its career of conquest. Combination of two Indian races, the Aymares and the Quibchuas, the first warlike and the second industrious, the Inca nation absorbed other civilizations, brought wild tribes under subjection, and set up an empire remarkably like that of Rome. And yet,” added Mr. Hampton, “there were earlier civilizations of which next to nothing is known, which also had reached a high state of development.” He spoke not only of the Chimu civilization of which Ferdinand earlier had told the boys, but added that ruins on the shores of Lake Titicaca in Bolivia showed there was a civilization in that region antedating that of Egypt.

“However,” said he, “I digress. The point is that, because of the rigors of winter in Bolivia, we shall not try for the hidden Inca treasure but shall seek to make our way at once to the Enchanted City.”

The above conversation took place several days after the boys had returned from Almahue, and when Mr. Hampton and Senor de Avilar got back to Santiago.

“The discovery of this manuscript,” Mr. Hampton continued, “is what has lifted the legend of the Enchanted City out of the mythical. It may be a hoax, of course. There is always the possibility that someone went to infinite pains to perpetrate a joke. Yet the evidence is against that. Apparently the manuscript is very ancient. And Senor de Avilar’s experts, to whom he has submitted it, say that the writing and spelling are those of an educated Spanish gentleman of the period of the Conquerors. There were few enough educated men at that time; Pizarro and Diego de Almagro, his comrade, you know, could neither read nor write. Yet there were educated men, of course, and one such must have been this Luis de Pereira, gentleman adventurer, wrecked with de Arguello.

“Since two men, reaching Concepcion in 1557, first gave the outside world the tale of the Enchanted City, many expeditions have set forth in search of it. None were successful. At length, a century and a half later, Fray Menendez, a Franciscan explorer and missionary, after two years of systematic search, declared the story mythical. And that has come to be the general opinion. Yet early in the nineteenth century, silver drinking cups were found among a tribe of forest Indians in the south, and once more a party of explorers set out. This time, they started from Punta Arenas, in Patagonia, trying to follow northward the route pursued by de Arguello. They disappeared, were never heard of again.”

“Perhaps they reached the Enchanted City and stayed there,” suggested Frank, who, like Jack and Bob, was listening with absorbed interest.

“That may have been the case,” said Mr. Hampton, “supposing, of course, that such a place existed. But, what I was going to say, was that the discovery of this manuscript of Luis de Pereira puts a new complexion on the matter. While he was not a geographer, and could not give latitude and longitude, yet he was a keen observer. And his manuscript gives very definite natural locations of mountains and river, by which we can be guided. Further, we know the Enchanted City lay on the southern borders of the land of the Auraucanos.”

“Oh,” interrupted Jack, “those are the Indians, the great fighters, that Ferdinand told us about.”

“Yes,” said his father, “and it is a good thing for us that they are more amenable today, or we would not even consider an expedition that would bring us into touch with them. They are the only unconquered people of South America.”

“And the Incas never conquered them, in spite of their powerful armies?” asked Jack, more in the hope of drawing out his father than by way of surprise, for the answer to his question Ferdinand earlier had given.

“The Incas were a great people,” said his father, not averse to informing the boys about a race with the modern descendants of whom they presently might come in contact, “but they could not conquer the Auraucanos. Neither could the Spaniards, despite armor and cannon. Not even the Chilians, with the improved weapons of modern times could conquer the Auraucanos. They are the finest tribe or race of Indians inhabiting the southern portion of the continent, and it is their intermarriage with the whites in the last forty or fifty years which has helped make Chile what it is today—a country with many qualities which distinguish it from its sister republics.

“The Auraucanos were a nomad, pastoral race, numbering some 400,000 at the time of the Incas, some writers estimate. They were imbued with a high order of intelligence, and with a courage unsurpassed. The value of military organizations was appreciated by them. Indeed, in later years, of which we have record, they developed several very fine generals, military tacticians of a high order, such as Latuaro and Caupolican. Although nomads, they had a ruling family from time immemorial, and from this family the Chief always was drawn. The hereditary principle obtained, and the eldest son of a departed Chief ruled in his father’s place unless he was incapable of assuming command of his fellow warriors, in which case the strongest and bravest warrior was selected.

“When Valdivia, the conqueror of Chile, crossed the river Biobio and started to penetrate Auraucanian territory, the Auraucanos opposed his passage. In the beginning, in pitched battle, the Auraucanos with their bows and arrows, their stone tomahawks, and their wooden sabers edged with flint, were defeated by the mounted Spaniards, clad in armor. Then they took to the forest and adopted guerrilla tactics, picking off single Spaniards and small parties. Every foot of the way was contested, and when the Spaniards had penetrated a hundred miles south of the Biobio, the Auraucanos gathered in massed columns and by their daring, courage and disregard of death overwhelmed the Spaniards and annihilated them.

“During the Colonial period, the Spaniards renewed the warfare at frequent intervals, but without success. The Indians had learned how to use the weapons which they had captured, and obtained repeated victories. In the end, the Spaniards made peace. The river Biobio was fixed as the boundary between Auraucania and the colony of Chile.

“The Chilians also were unable to overcome the Auraucanos. In the end, however, in 1881, the Auraucanian tribal chiefs held a grand council, and decided to cast in their lot with the people who had overthrown the Spaniards. They incorporated themselves as citizens of Chile. Probably, German colonists had something to do with the change of attitude. For after the unsuccessful revolution of 1848 in Germany, a number of ardent German revolutionists fled to Chile and settled the city of Osorno, in Auraucanian territory. They intermarried with the Auraucanos, and today more German than Spanish is spoken in that part of Chile, and there are many German-language newspapers printed there.”

“Oh,” said Jack, in a tone of disappointment, “then they are civilized Indians today.”

His father smiled.

“That is one of the most flourishing parts of the Republic of Chile,” he said. “Yet along the Andes, there is a branch of the Auraucanos that is still recalcitrant, and whose freedom no government has thought fit to challenge, because of the apparent barrenness of that mountainous country. However, that is the region into which we must penetrate. I don’t know whether Ferdinand has told you, but old accounts of the Enchanted City declare that the Indians of the neighborhood were well paid by the Incas to preserve inviolate the secret of the location of their city. This tribe of recalcitrants may be those Indians.”

Frank had been sitting with his chin in his hand, thinking. Now he spoke up.

“Do you think, Mr. Hampton, that there is any likelihood the Enchanted City is still flourishing?” he asked. “That it is still inhabited by descendants of the ancient Incas and the Spaniards?”

“That is a hard question to decide, Frank,” was the reply. “It would seem likely that if it continued to flourish, some of its sons would yearn to see the outside world, and would make the journey and bring forth news of his home. Inasmuch as nothing of the sort has occurred, the probability would seem to be that in some fashion or other the population was wiped out and the Enchanted City fallen to ruin and decay.

“As I say, that seems by far the most likely supposition. It does not seem possible, in the first place, that a great city could continue in existence unknown to the rest of the world for centuries. Curiosity is one of the basic qualities of human nature. The older folks might be content to let well enough alone, to remain secluded and unknown in their city, ringed round by mountains, protected from intrusion by the great tunnel, by trackless forests, arid deserts and staggering precipices. But the more adventurous younger spirits, as I say, would want to know what lay over the hills, and would adventure forth.”

“But what would wipe them out?” asked Bob, always the practical.

Mr. Hampton shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps a plague. Perhaps the Auraucanos. Who knows? Maybe, some cataclysm of nature like an earthquake. There are cities in South America today that we know of, which were ruined in a matter of minutes, by earthquake.

“No, the probabilities all are that, if we do find the Enchanted City, we will find it in ruins and uninhabited except by wild beasts. Yet what a wonderful experience it would be to explore those ruins, and what treasure would be stored there.”

Frank nodded.

“Just the same,” he said, “I’d like the experience of stepping out of the present into the past, of walking from a mechanical civilization into an Inca city.”

CHAPTER V—RADIO INVADES THE MONASTERY

Preparations for departure from Santiago did not occupy long, as it was not intended the expedition should be outfitted at the Chilian capital. On the contrary, the starting point was to be the isolated Andine monastery, presided over by Don Ernesto’s relative, who had obtained and forwarded the old manuscript of Luis de Pereira.

“At this old monastery,” he told the boys, “we shall spend some time going over maps, talking with missionary monks who have penetrated portions of the wild region into which we plan to march, and gathering our expedition together. Our winter, which corresponds in point of time to your summer, is drawing to a close. By the time we are ready to move, spring will have come, and we can travel without too great inconvenience due to the weather.

“Your father,” he explained to Jack, “regrets delaying your return to college, but he feels that such an expedition will be worth a great deal to you and your friends.”

Mr. Hampton nodded.

“If all goes well,” he added, “you fellows will get back to Yale after the Christmas vacation. Even if you were to miss a whole year of class work, it would be worth while merely for this unusual experience.”

With this the boys were in hearty agreement. Farewells, then, were said to Santiago. The party, consisting of the two older men, the four boys and two trusted huachos, Pedro and Carlos, set out for the Monastery of the Cross of the Snows. The Longitudinal Railway, in the valley between the Cordilleras and the Andes, carried them south to Tembuco in the Auraucanian land, and thence they made their way by automobile to a tambo or inn in the Andes, where mules which had been arranged for were obtained. After a ten-day journey on mule back over trails that skirted terrible precipices, climbed cliffs seemingly impassable and by means of rope suspension bridges crossed gorges in the bottoms of which roared torrents over rocky beds, they at length reached the monastery.

The Abbot, Father Felipe, was a jolly fellow, rotund as a keg, his face rosy and sparkling with good cheer. They were welcomed warmly. Far though they were to the south, and despite the fact that they were not in the loftiest of the mountains, the winter had been rigorous. Had it not been that it was what is known as an “open winter,” in fact, the trip at that time of year would have been impossible.

The trail by which they reached the monastery was free from snow, but on the lofty peaks above and in the distance glistened great blankets of snow, while during the forepart of their journey great Aconcagua’s hoary head had sparkled far away on their left for days.

“Ah, my friend,” said Father Felipe, to his relative, as the party dismounted from mule back in the great courtyard of the monastery, “you are lucky, indeed, to have had such weather for travel, else would it have been impossible. Yet what terrible insanity possesses you, what fever for running up and down the land like a flea is in your blood, that you should attempt such an expedition. Well did I know how it would be with you, when I sent you that bit of ancient writing. ‘Now the crazy man will leap upon his mule and come galloping at once to our gates,’ said I to myself. ‘And he will cry to Father Felipe to show him the way to this lost land at once.’ Is it not so, my friend?”

And Father Felipe laughed so heartily that his stout frame in its corded robe shook like a jelly. Don Ernesto, too, laughed, and leaping from his mule embraced the good priest, at least embraced as much as possible of his ample form.

“You are always the same, Felipe,” said he. “How do you manage to keep so cheerful in this isolated spot, surrounded by these great mountains, with their eternal snows? It is a great mystery.”

Father Felipe laughed again.

“Ah, my friend,” said he, “you should have my equable disposition. Besides, the food is good, the wine excellent. But, come. Let me know your friends, and then you shall be taken to the guest rooms. Everything is prepared for you. After you have rested a little from your journey you shall try my fare, and then tonight you shall tell me how it goes in the great world beyond our snows.”

Of the weeks drifting into months which the party spent here, there is no need to tell in detail. Delays of one sort or another, a belated intensity of winter, operated to keep the party from making a start. But the life of the monastery was a novelty to all the boys, even to Ferdinand, and they found much to interest them. Moreover, from Brother Gregorio, a great linguist, the boys learned the Auraucanian tongue as well as much of the Inca lore, with which he was saturated. So that, by and large, they were far from being bored. Moreover, all three practiced at speaking Spanish until they became extremely proficient in it.

Nor did they come empty-handed. For while the good monks were doing their best to equip the boys with a knowledge of Spanish and of the Indian language of the region into which they would penetrate, the three chums had something of vast interest to impart to their instructors. That was a knowledge of Radio.

It was Jack who thought of it first. One night, as he and Bob and Frank sat with Ferdinand and Brother Gregorio before a roaring fire in the wide chimney place of the guest room assigned them as sitting room, he introduced the subject. Brother Gregorio looked blank at first. Then, as Jack in his eagerness to make himself understood, launched into a description of how speech was transmitted through the air without the means of wires, the good monk crossed himself.

“Of the telegraph I have heard,” he said, “but of this other thing, not one word. Can it be right? Is this not the work of the Fiend?”

The boys were inclined to laugh, but, as if moved by the same impulse, forebore lest they wound his feelings. Ferdinand intervened. He was a devout churchman, and knew how best to disarm Brother Gregorio’s suspicions and lay at rest his fears.

“It is not the work of the Fiend,” said he, “but a great discovery of which the whole world rings. The Holy Father at Rome himself has manifested an interest in it, and it is but a development of the wireless telegraph which a good son of Holy Church, Signor Marconi, earlier invented.”

“Ah,”

Brother Gregorio’s face cleared. Then eager interest shown in his eyes.

“Tell me about it,” he begged.

Jack at once launched into an explanation. He had with him, in his baggage, moreover, several textbooks of radio. These he produced, and pressed upon Brother Gregorio, whose knowledge of English would make it possible for him to study them.

“Best of all, though,” added Jack, “we have our field outfit of generator, tubes, spark coils, batteries and wire with us.”

“With that device of yours, Jack, you won’t need an aerial,” said Frank. “You can hook in on the electric light socket.”

“Righto,” said Jack. “That makes it easier.”

The monastery had its own electric light and power plant, turbines utilizing the power generated by a nearby waterfall in the mountains. The device referred to by Frank was a plug to be inserted in the ordinary electric light socket, from which wires led to the aerial post of the instrument. This plug was so constructed that the alternating current, fatal to the instrument, did not pass through it. Thus the electric wiring of the house could be employed as aerial. No antenna and no clumsy lead-in was necessary.

“Look here,” said Jack, “Dad has a good receiving outfit with him I know. He has packed it with him throughout the trip, and has taken precious good care of it, too. He and Ferd’s father are in with Father Felipe at this time. Just excuse me, and I’ll be right back. We ought to be able to make use of that outfit right now.”

The whole party returned with Jack, and he and his father, assisted by Bob and Frank, set rapidly to work. As they worked, Jack talked excitedly.

“We shall have something here presently, Father Felipe, that will astonish you and Brother Gregorio. How silly of me not to think of it before. Probably, however, I did not consider there would be any radio broadcasting in this part of the world to listen to. But I remember now. La Presna, the great newspaper of Buenos Ayres, recently built a great broadcasting station, and I read in a scientific article recently that it can be heard clear across the Argentine Pampas, thousands of miles, to the mountains.

“Here we are in the mountains now. And with this device of mine for hooking up, and Dad’s outfit, we ought to be able to hear La Presna’s concerts. Now for the loud speaker, Dad. Let’s hook her up, and we’ll be ready.”

While Jack feverishly manipulated the controls, the others looked on with varying expressions. Not a word was said. All crowded around. Suddenly there was a faint whirring as of the buzzing of bees. Then that gave ’way to a noisy crackling. That, too, disappeared, and in its place there floated out into that ancient stone-walled room a rich, mellifluous tenor voice singing an air from “Manon.”

Father Felipe and Brother Gregorio were so astounded that their mouths opened and they stood, thus, speechless, while the song continued. At its conclusion, a voice in Spanish emanated from the loud speaker, announcing the next number on the programme would be orchestral, and immediately the room was filled with the dashing rhythm of a wild Argentine melody. Number succeeded number until, in conclusion, the voice announced the concert for the following evening.

Brother Gregorio’s face was radiant, but in the presence of his superior, he refrained from speech. Father Felipe, however, was under no restraint. He was delighted beyond measure. Moreover, he showed that he was a man of imagination.

“To think,” said he, “that all we heard was in far-distant Buenos Ayres. Who knows but that some day we can hear Rome just as easily? Who knows but that some day now the Holy Father himself can speak to us, his children, in his own voice, though we dwell at the ends of the earth? Yet men foolishly say the day of miracles has passed. This is as truly a miracle as anything that has ever happened.”

He spoke with energy. His face was flushed, his eyes alight. Don Ernesto regarded his cousin slyly.

“How now, Felipe,” said he, “you show all this enthusiasm over hearing operatic music or the dance of the Pampas guachero within monastic walls?”

Father Felipe smiled.

“Ninny,” said he. “Why not? It was good music. Yes,” he added, energetically, “and tomorrow night, if our good young friend will arrange it, we shall have all the brethren assemble in the Great Hall and hear this concert.”

“I am rebuked, Felipe,” said the other. “You are, indeed, a father to your brethren. How they will enjoy this.”

CHAPTER VI—A SENDING STATION BUILT

And enjoy it, the monks did, the following night. But to make it possible for all in the Great Hall to hear, Jack and Bob and Frank worked hard the next day. A number of ram’s horns were obtained, the ends cut off so that an aperture an inch and a half in diameter was left, and the interior bored out. These were then placed in various parts of the Great Hall and connected by wires to the magnavox. The result was that the nightly concert broadcasted in distant Buenos Ayres could be heard in the remotest part of the Great Hall as clearly as if singer and orchestra were in the room itself.

“What marvellous music,” Frank exclaimed, later that night, as, the concert ended, they sat once more before their fire.

Mr. Hampton nodded.

“Better than any broadcasting programme in our country by far,” he said. “And with reason. Buenos Ayres is one of the great artistic centers of the world. It possesses the finest opera house in the world. The Colon Opera House surpasses the best in Europe. Its auditorium is larger than any in London, Paris or Berlin, and its equipment and appointments are of the most luxurious and artistic.

“Yet this great opera house is not the only musical outlet of the Argentine capital. In the winter season there are always at least three grand opera houses in full swing, with world-famous artists at each. In addition, there are minor operatic performances all the time. In fact, Buenos Ayres is one of the leading operatic centers of the world, and many a famous opera singer has graduated from its conservatories. These latter are more than a hundred in number, conducted by teachers of note. So you see La Presna has a wealth of the best artists and musicians to draw upon for its radio concerts.”

“But, Mr. Hampton,” said Frank, astonished, “this newspaper must be awfully powerful and important to obtain the services of these fine artists. And rich, too.”

“Yes, Frank, La Prensa is, indeed, powerful, important and rich,” said Mr. Hampton. “It occupies a position far different from newspapers in New York or in any other North American city. Like the best of South American newspapers, it is less provincial and less sensational than our own newspapers, and more cosmopolitan and educative. It occupies what is by all odds the handsomest newspaper building in the world,—a building as magnificent as the finest palaces of Europe. Among other of its many features, it has in that building a private theatre where visiting singers, actors and lecturers give private performances. La Presna will give no publicity whatsoever to any such public characters unless it considers them worthy. Doubtless, these radio concerts are given in that private theatre.”

“Well,” said Jack, “at all events, these concerts certainly break the monotony of the long nights here in the monastery. It is wonderful that Father Felipe permits us to give them. Yes, even urged us to do so. Isn’t that acting in a pretty broad manner for the head of a monastery?”

“These missionary monks, Jack,” his father explained, “are not of the ascetic type. They are very human persons, indeed; in fact, they resemble the parish priests of the United States in that respect. You remember that Father Collins of the parish near us at home built a Community Hall where he gives motion picture shows and radio concerts?”

“Yes, I know,” Jack said. “But monks! It is hard for me to reconcile this jolly, wholesome houseful of men with my preconceived ideas of a monastery.”

“Just because a man does good for mankind, you should not expect him to be a perpetual cloud of gloom, Jack,” said his father. “Another thing which you must remember is that these men, Father Felipe, Brother Gregorio, and the others, are South Americans. That is, they come of a race in which the love of music is ingrained. No people on earth are so fond of music as these. Nowhere is music so universally accepted as here.

“Moreover, these men are Chilians and Argentinians. That means a good deal, for Chile and the Argentine are the two South American countries in which the proportion of white blood is highest. Spanish, Italian, French and German are the predominant strains, and all represent music-loving races.”

It is to be feared, however, that the boys, while paying polite attention, in reality were thinking of other matters. Bob had a hand up to shade his eyes and was dozing. Jack was gazing into the leaping flames in the fireplace, and there was a faraway look in his eyes as his thoughts traveled back to those days when he rescued his father from the palace of Don Fernandez y Calomares in the Sonora mountains of Old Mexico, and met the charming Senorita Rafaela during the course of his mission. As to Frank, it was not difficult to gather from his next words of what he had been thinking.

“Look here, Jack,” said he, as Mr. Hampton finished his little lecture, “what’s to prevent our utilizing the water power and the power plant of the monastery, and setting up a radio sending station? It would be lots of fun, and would help pass the time until the expedition is ready to start.”

Jack’s eyes lighted up with enthusiasm, as his thoughts came back from faraway Mexico. Bob’s head snapped up with a jerk.

“Good idea,” approved Jack.

It was Mr. Hampton, however, who added the crowning touch.

“Your suggestion is fine, Frank,” said he. “And with such a station at our base, and a field radio equipment to keep us in touch with each other, we should be safeguarded against almost any accident. If we become lost, injured in attack from savages or in accidents due to wilderness travel, or if we suffer any big misfortune necessitating help, we can communicate the facts of our predicament to the base here. Father Felipe is a resourceful man, and undoubtedly would find some way to come to our aid.”

For some time longer, plans for the construction of the proposed station were discussed. The biggest item to be supplied would be wire, but this Mr. Hampton considered they probably could find at the monastery, as the institution, because of its isolation and the difficulty of bringing in stores from the outside, would have a considerable stock on hand at the power plant.

Such, indeed, proved to be the case, and early the next day work on the proposed sending station was begun. Several of the monks who were clever artisans, were assigned by Father Felipe to the work. At the monastery, all inmates had trades in which they were proficient, and all the work of farming, building, electric wiring, etc., was done by monks.

Day by day the work progressed, halted only at times when storms swept down from the mountains and buried the monastery in a blanket of snow. To the boys it was interesting and enjoyable, of course, but to the monks it was far more. As they worked under the boys’ directions, it seemed to them they were helping effect a miracle.

Moreover, the nightly concerts continued, and of these Brother Gregorio said to the boys:

“When our plant is completed, we must send a message to La Presna, telling of our gratitude. Perhaps, too,” he suggested timidly, “you will let me speak to the editor of this invention of yours whereby we were enabled to utilize our monastery wiring instead of running up what you call it—an aerial?”

Jack shook his head, smiling.

“Other men have been working on that same device,” he said, “at least on that same idea. Presently some firm will perfect one and put it on the market in the United States. Then it will be farewell to the aerial with its poles and lead-ins, arresters and ground switches. Outside aerials and clumsy indoor loops will be things of the past.”

“Why didn’t you market this device yourself, Jack?” asked Frank. “You worked it out toward the end of the year at Yale. If you had patented it, and put it on the market, you could have made a fortune.”

“Perhaps I could have made a fortune, as you say, Frank. But the truth of the matter is that when Dad mentioned the possibility of his expedition, every other thought fled out of my mind. And it was just as well, for to have put this on the market would have meant repeated conferences with manufacturers, trips to Washington, and one thing and another. I would have had to give up making this expedition, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that.”

Frank nodded.

“Imagine doing that,” he said. “I’d sooner kiss the fortune goodbye. Besides, what a chance here to make a fortune, if we find the Enchanted City! And that will be a lot more romantic way of making it than by a business move.”

Mr. Hampton, who had approached in time to hear the conclusion of this conversation, shook his head, but smiled, nevertheless.

“Won’t you fellows ever grow up?” he asked.

Jack grinned.

“You’re a fine one to talk to us like that, Dad,” he said. “Look at your own case. Here you are, an engineer of international reputation, exacting princely fees for your services. Yet you go and sacrifice what probably will amount to a whole year of your time, in order to make this expedition.”

Mr. Hampton returned Jack’s broad grin with interest.

“I am properly rebuked, Jack,” he said. “Well, what’s more fun than doing what you like to do, once in a while? When I was a boy I had to work pretty hard, for my people were poor. I worked my own way through college. All the time, I dreamed of adventurous and romantic expeditions, but I had no chance to make them. My nose must always be between the covers of a textbook at night. My thoughts must be on business during the day.

“As a matter of fact, my recollection of my own youth actuated me in giving you this chance. I know what a boy wants. I was denied it myself, and I mean you shall have better luck.”

Turning abruptly, he walked away. The boys were silent. When he was out of earshot, Frank said earnestly:

“Jack, your father is a prince.”

“I never heard him talk quite so freely of his own youth before,” said Jack, thoughtfully. “I want to know more about it.”

Without further explanation, he, too, set off in his father’s wake.

CHAPTER VII—THE EXPEDITION GETS UNDER WAY

With the coming of the first warm weather, delightful and interesting though their stay at the monastery had proven to be, the boys were eager to get under way upon the last stage of their hunt for the Enchanted City. Don Ernesto and Mr. Hampton, though less enthusiastic on the surface, were no whit less desirous to be moving on than the boys.

Father Felipe, reluctant to part with them, for they had enlivened the placid hours of life in the lonely monastery immeasurably, nevertheless saw that it would be useless any longer to interpose objections to their departure.

“Good weather has arrived,” he said, at length, one balmy day. “I know the mountains. There will be no more snow or cold winds. Rain, yes. For on this western slope of the Andes we always have showers and thunderstorms. But snow, no. Spring is definitely here.

“I wish I could dissuade you, my friend,” he said to Don Ernesto, in a graver tone than was customary for the jolly Abbot to employ. “I wish, indeed, you could be persuaded to turn aside from this foolish adventure. I have a feeling that grave danger will come to you. My spirits seem depressed.”

“Ah, Father Felipe, you have not dined well today,” said Don Ernesto, in a sympathetic tone belied by his dancing eyes. “A trace of indigestion, maybe. I, too, often feel depressed for like cause.”

“Nay,” said Father Felipe, indignantly. “A little fish, coffee—what is there in this to give me indigestion? But you must joke, you crazy man, eager to run up and down mountains and poke your nose into places where white men have never trod. There will be trouble, I tell you, trouble.”

And the good Abbot sighed like a miniature earthquake.

Brother Gregorio, also, was reluctant to see the party set out. The boys, all four of them, had endeared themselves to him. Especially was he fond of Frank, in whose quick, responsive mind and sensitive spirit he seemed to sense a kindred strain.

The boys found him at the power plant, pottering around, when they told him of their imminent departure. His face fell, and for a time he could find no words to utter. He had known, of course, that their stay would not be forever. But so long had it lasted during the winter months that it had seemed to him as if matters would continue in statu quo or without change for an indefinite period. Now to be told that they were going to leave within the week was a blow.

At length he walked away from the group, and stood on the brink of the pool into which cascaded the water from the falls, his hands behind him, his back to the group.

“He takes it hard,” said Jack. “Frank, he likes you best of all. We’ll leave you here with him.”

Frank nodded.

“I guess that’s a good idea,” he said soberly. “Brother Gregorio is a fine fellow, and we understand each other.”

As the others departed, they looked back and saw Frank go up to the monk and place an arm over his shoulders. They stood thus for a long time, no words interchanged.

When it came to the point of packing for the journey, there was much that could not be taken along. Brother Gregorio, indeed, would have loaded each man like a pack mule with his gifts of this, that and the other—of clothing, boots, ponchos, prayer books and what not, of medicine cases and packages of herbs and simple remedies. Nor were Father Felipe or the many other monks to whom the various members of the party had endeared themselves, the less behindhand in their offerings.

“We can’t take all this stuff,” said Jack, in comical dismay, as he stood in their common sitting room, surrounded by bundles, boxes, heaps and bales. “What’ll we do with it? Every single thing that I take up, I say to myself, ‘Well, this will be absolutely useless, and just in our way. But if we don’t take it, we shall break Brother Gregorio’s heart or Father Felipe’s heart or somebody’s else heart.’ What are we going to do?”

Mr. Hampton shook his head.

“There are only eight of us, Jack,” he said. “And we can’t overload ourselves. We have difficult country through which to make our way—country that for a large part is trackless and uncharted. We can afford to take only essentials.”

“Yes, but, Dad, Brother Gregorio and the rest of them consider all they have given us as essential.”

Don Ernesto laughed.

“Bale up what we can’t take, and leave it here against our return,” he said. “Let none of the monks see what has been taken and what left behind. Thus no feelings will be hurt.”

Jack’s face brightened.

“Good idea,” he said. “Well, come on fellows. Now this we can’t take, and this and this.”

For hours they were busy sorting out the useless gifts, and for other hours busy packing them securely and stowing away in the sitting room to await their return.

At length the expedition was ready to start. The mules were packed, Carlos, Pedro and the monks being expert in the art. Besides the necessary food supplies and camping equipment, the luggage contained field radio equipment of various sorts. There was a tube transmitter, several sizes of spark coil, coils of fine wire, and duplications of the standard U. S. Army field radio—several sets of hollow, light steel poles in collapsible sections, a hand-operated quarter-kilowatt generator, headphones and batteries being the main articles.

“With the tube transmitter we can reach you at our base here, Father Felipe, for short distances,” said Mr. Hampton. “But for long distance work, the tube transmitter and batteries would not be strong enough. In that case, this little generator will be the thing to employ. You might consider us foolish to take all these duplications of equipment, but they do not weigh much and, we have so distributed all among the mule packs, that even if part become lost, we shall still have others upon which to fall back.”

Father Felipe looked about him at the assembled monks, and smiled.

“If you get into a tight place,” he said, “call on us for help. It may seem foolish to offer you the help of men of peace, yet we are no puling men here, but strong, stout fellows all. Even should you be taken prisoners and require stout arms to rescue you, call upon us. There be many here who have soldiered in the past and who could strike a right good blow in a righteous cause, I warrant you.”

“I can easily believe that, Father Felipe,” answered Mr. Hampton with a smile. “Well, bid us Godspeed, and we shall be on our way.”

The Abbot embraced Mr. Hampton, Don Ernesto and the boys unaffectedly. Brother Gregorio and Frank did likewise. The other monks raised a cheer. Then there was a period of silence while all knelt with uncovered head, and Father Felipe prayed aloud for the safe return of the expedition.

Not until then did they swing off along a trail up the side of a mountain that would presently vanish upon a bare mountain top, they were assured, after which they would have to trust to their own energy and resource for getting forward. At a bend in the trail all halted and faced about for a last look at the monastery.

“It makes me feel as if I were living in mediaeval times,” said Frank. “The stout Abbot and his jolly monks, us setting off afoot with a mule train, the prayer delivered over us as we start. Boy, this is the way to live.”

Jack reached over to clasp his chum’s hand strongly, and Mr. Hampton regarded the two with a little smile of sympathy.

“I feel the same way, boys,” he said. “This is something I’ve always wanted to do. Yes, it is good to be alive and starting out on an adventure of which no man can guess the end.”

“Just a boy, you are, my friend,” said Don Ernesto, jestingly. “But I, too. I, too. Come, let us get forward.”

CHAPTER VIII—JACK HAS A MISHAP

Of that trip during the ensuing days there is little of moment to record. Sometimes they advanced less than five miles a day. Sometimes, where the going was easy, through a valley leading in their general direction, perchance, where there was little underbrush and the benchland along the stream gave firm footing, the distance travelled was considerably more.

But, whether the going was easy or hard, whether few miles were covered or many, there was not a foot of it all that was not intensely interesting to the boys, and not only to the three New York lads, but to Ferdinand as well.

Steadily they mounted higher into the mountains, skirting precipices of which sometimes the bottom could not be seen. On one occasion, as they made camp at night upon a lofty meadow against the shoulder of a mountain on one side, and with a precipitous drop on the other, they looked over the edge into the abyss and drew back frightened.

“Why, you can’t even see the bottom,” exclaimed Jack. “It’s hidden by the clouds.”