“It sounds very grand, Uncle Uly,” Katherine said soberly.
Jones colored self-consciously. “The name—Ulysses Zarathustra Jones—will take its place—among great—world cacti authorities.” He paused, then: “I fear this specimen—only one of its kind—hereabouts. Already searched for more. No luck. Katherine—Lance—look about like good folks—see if you can find—further specimens—er—Echinopsis gregoriana.”
Lance and Katherine moved away, scanning the earth in all directions, but without success in finding more specimens of the desired plant. The professor continued muttering to himself and making notes and mea surements. Katherine whispered to Lance: “Finding that plant means the realization of an old ambition to Uncle Uly. He’s always wanted to discover a hitherto unknown genus.”
At length they returned to the professor. He had finished his notes and was engaged in digging a small trench about the plant. He had already packed loose grass about the blooms. A solid clump of earth remained about the base of the plant. “Mustn’t disturb roots.” He smiled at Lance. “Employ every care—this specimen. Must take earth.” He tore into narrow strips the burlap he had brought and covered the balled earth about the plant’s roots. Producing a few lengths of hemp twine from his pocket, he proceeded to tie the burlap firmly in place. Now the plant was ready to be lifted from its resting place. Jones smiled happily.
“Extreme care—necessary in handling,” he said. “If I should stumble and drop this—break earth from roots——” An expression of pain at the very thought of such calamity crossed the professor’s face. “Lance—a favor, please. Can’t risk handling this—like ordinary cacti. Like a good fellow—bring up my horse. I think this may—fit snugly into one of my saddlebags. More secure, what? No risk at all.”
“Sure, I’ll get your bronc.” Lance nodded and left Katherine listening to further happy utterances on the part of the overjoyed professor. He started back to the spot at which the horses had been left.
Five minutes later he arrived and found the ponies peacefully cropping near-by vegetation, with the reins dangling from their heads. The professor’s gray pony stood near a great shelf of overhanging rock, beside which grew a narrow clump of trees. Lance gathered the reins in his hand. Then he stopped, thinking he had heard a movement from overhead. He stepped back, but the move came too late. He had only a brief glance of a hurtling brown form, in flapping cotton garments, as it projected itself from the shelf above his head. He caught a quick glimpse of wild black hair, angry eyes, a red, open mouth. Then something crashed heavily on his head and a curtain of black, black velvet folded sickeningly about his fading senses!
XVII Temple of the Plumed Serpent
Lance awoke slowly. At the first move he made a dull ache permeated his head. His tongue felt thick and furry; his mouth was parched. He moved one hand exploringly and discovered he was stretched full length on a flat stone surface. He tried to make out where he was, but only the faintest light was to be seen, and that far above him.
“Jeepers!” Lance muttered. “What a head. If I didn’t know myself I’d sure think I’d been on one wild brannigan. What in the dev il happened to me? Where am I? What time is it?” Memory’s fingers feebly commenced to trace certain patterns on his mind. “Lemme see. I remember going after the professor’s horse and then——Oh yeah, I looked up just in time to see that hombre leaping down on me from above. He looked like a Yaquente. There was two Yaquentes anyway. I remember seeing a second man looking down over the shoulder of the first just before he jumped. He must have had a rock in his fist…. I know something came down awful hard on my head.”
He raised one hand and felt tenderly of the lump high above his right ear. “Whew! What a wallop! Dammit! I had a hunch there was something wrong—a feeling like somebody was watching us. I’ll bet those Yaquentes have been following us ever since we left the border. Maybe not though. Maybe just since yesterday. Or was it yesterday? When did this happen?”
Lance came slowly to a sitting position. A flash of pain shot through his head. “Oooo!” He winced. “What I would give for a drink of water. Where am I anyway?”
His right hand, still exploring, suddenly encountered a small can of water. That brought further memories. This wasn’t the first time Lance had regained consciousness. He recollected now finding that water before. It had been pitch dark then. The water had had a queer, bitter taste, and Lance had swallowed only a little, fearing it might be drugged.
“By cripes!” Lance grunted, “it was drugged too. I remember starting to slip off right after the first sip. Somebody must be figuring to keep me unconscious. Why?” Fearing that thirst might induce him to drink even the remainder of the drugged water, Lance quickly emptied the can onto the floor upon which he lay. “That’s settled, anyway,” he said grimly. “I may go out thirsty, but I’ll know what’s going on anyway…. Who in the dev il brought me here anyway? Those Yaquentes, I suppose. But what is the idea?”
He gained his feet, took a single staggering step, then another. A wave of dizziness swept through him. After a moment his head cleared, and he commenced to feel better. He took a few more steps and suddenly encountered a rock wall. It was too dark to see, but his fingers told him the wall was built of flat blocks of stone smoothly set together. He took more steps. There were three more walls. He paced off the distance. Overhead, far overhead, he could see a faint, grayish square of light.
“Looks to me like I’m at the bottom of a pit,” Lance muttered. “Offhand, I’d guess it’s about ten feet square and thirty or forty deep. This is certainly one hell of a fix. I wonder what happened to Katherine—and the others.”
For a moment he felt horribly afraid. Something of panic took possession of his senses. Frantically he strove to scramble up the side of the nearest wall. It wouldn’t work. He couldn’t find a projection on which his fingers could seize, let alone a foothold. The walls were too smooth for that. Perspiration rolled from his forehead; his entire body was soaked with sweat. His fingernails were broken; the skin at the end of his fingers felt raw and scraped. Finally, exhausted, he sank back to the floor of the pit.
Only then did he come to his senses. “Lance Tolliver,” he told himself disgustedly, “only a damn fool would lose his head that-a-way. Get a hold on yourself. You’re still alive. If those Yaquentes had wanted you dead they’d killed you long ago. That means they want you alive. They put you down here for safekeeping. That means somebody will come back for me sometime. If they want me they’ll have to pull me out. Once I’m out of this hole, then we’ll face the next problem.”
He smiled in the darkness and pulled himself to a sitting position. His gun had been taken, but an examination of his pockets showed nothing else had been touched. They’d even left his cartridge belt about his waist. He found his sack of Durham and papers and matches. Once he’d commenced to inhale tobacco smoke he felt immeasurably better. He held the lighted match to examine the walls. Then he struck more matches. He laughed at himself. “You jug-headed idiot, Tolliver, trying to climb a wall of glass wouldn’t be much worse than those. Let this be a lesson to you. Hereafter, when you get in a tight, stop and think things over before you let yourself be stampeded into such damn fool actions.” He felt around and found his sombrero.