Chapter II: Part 2

When Pablo and I started, the day following, upon our return to Morelia, the village of Santa María was overcast with mourning. The Cacique was dead, they told us; had fallen among the rocks on the mountain-side, being an old man and feeble, and so was killed. And I was expressly charged with a message to the good Padre, begging him to hasten to Santa María that the dead man might have Christian burial. I confess that I found this request, though I promised faithfully to comply with it, highly amusing; for I knew beyond the possibility of a doubt that if ever a man died a most earnest and devout heathen it was this same Cacique for whom Christian burial was sought; and I felt an assured conviction that when the services of the Church over him were ended--and whatever good was to be had for him from them secured--he would be buried fittingly with all the fulness of his own heathen rites. But this matter, lying in what I already perceived to be the very wide region between the avowed faith and the hidden faith of the Indians, was no concern of mine; yet I longed, as only a thoroughly earnest archæologist could long, to be a witness of the funeral ceremony in which Fray Antonio most conspicuously would not take part. As this was hopelessly impossible--for only by very slow advances, if ever, could I reach again by considerate investigation the point that in a moment I had reached by chance--I came away from Santa María reluctantly, yet greatly elated by the discovery that I had made.

So jealous was I in guarding the strange legacy that the Cacique had bequeathed to me that not until I was safe back in Morelia, in my room at the hotel, with the door locked behind me, did I venture to examine it. The bag, about six inches square, tightly sewed on all four of its sides, was made of snake-skin, and was provided with a loop of snake-skin so that it might be hung from the neck upon the breast like a scapulary. My hands trembled as I cut the delicate stitching of maguey fibre, and then drew forth a mass of several thicknesses of coarse gray-brown paper, also made of the maguey, such as the ancient Aztecs used. Being unfolded, I had before me a sheet nearly two feet square, on which was painted in dull colors a curious winding procession of figures and symbols. My knowledge of such matters being then but scant, I could tell only that this was a record, at once historical and geographical, of a tribal migration; and I saw at a glance that it was unlike either of the famous picture-writings which record the migration of the Aztecs from Culhuacan to the Valley of Mexico, and then about that valley until their final settlement in Tenochtitlan. I was reasonably confident, indeed, that this record differed from all existing codices; and I was filled with what I hope will be looked upon as a pardonable pride at having discovered, within three months of my coming to Mexico, this unique and inestimable treasure.

My natural desire was to carry my precious codex at once to Don Rafael, that I might have the benefit of his superior knowledge in studying it (for he had continued very intelligently the investigation of Aztec picture-writing that was so well begun by the late Señor Ramirez), and also that I might enjoy his sympathetic enjoyment of my discovery. As I raised the bag, that I might replace in it the refolded paper--which I already saw heralded to the world as the Codex Palgravius, and reproduced in fac-simile in _Pre-Columbian Conditions on the Continent of North America_--some glittering object dropped out of it and fell with a jingling sound upon the stone floor. When I examined eagerly this fresh treasure I found that it was a disk of gold, about the size and thickness of a Mexican silver dollar, on which a curious figure was rudely engraved. The engraving obviously represented an Aztec name-device, the like of which, in the ancient picture-writings, distinguish one from another the several generations of a line of kings. This name-device was strange to me; but, as I have said, I had not at that time studied carefully the Aztec picture-writings, and there were many names of kings which I would not then have recognized. But that the gold disk was the token concerning the meaning of which the dying Cacique had given so strange a hint, I felt assured.

Being still further gladdened by this fresh discovery, I carried my treasures at once to the Museo; and Don Rafael's enthusiasm over them was as hearty as I could desire. Being so deeply learned in such matters, he was able in the course of a single afternoon to arrive at much of the meaning of my codex; and his rendering of it showed that it possessed a very extraordinary historical value. In the Codex Boturini, as is well known, are several important lapses that neither that eminent scholar, nor any other archæologist whose conclusions can be considered trustworthy, has been able to supply. All that reasonably can be imagined concerning these breaks is that the historian of the Aztec migration deliberately omitted certain facts from his pictured history. The astonishing discovery that Don Rafael made in regard to my codex was that it unquestionably supplied the facts concealed in one of the longest of these unaccountable blanks. This was not a mere guess on his part, but a demonstrable certainty. On a fac-simile of the Codex Boturini he bade me observe attentively the pictures which preceded and which followed the break in question; and then he showed me that these same pictures were the beginning and the ending of my own codex--obviously put there so that this secret record might be inserted accurately into the public record of the wanderings of the Aztec tribe.

Further, the geographical facts set forth in the Codex Boturini having been very solidly established, it was easy to determine approximately the part of Mexico to which the beginning and the end of my codex referred. But the migration here recorded was a very long one, and all that Don Rafael could say with certainty concerning it was that it told of far journeyings into the west and north. He was much puzzled, moreover, by a picture that occurred about the middle of the codex, and that seemed to be intended to represent a walled city among mountains. To my mind this picture tallied well with what the dying Cacique had told me touching the hidden stronghold of his race. But Don Rafael attached very little importance to the Cacique's words; and on archæological grounds maintained that a walled city was an impossibility in primitive Mexico--for while walls were built in plenty by the primitive Mexicans, and still are to be found in many places, no mention of a walled city is made by the early chroniclers, and of such a city there never has been found the slightest trace.

In regard to the engraved disk of gold, Don Rafael said at once and positively that it represented a name-device which never had been figured in any known Aztec writing; and he was of the opinion--being led thereto by consideration of certain delicate peculiarities of the figure which were too subtle for my uninstructed apprehension to grasp--that the name here symbolized was that of a ruler who was both priest and king. That the piece of gold was found associated with picture-writing unquestionably belonging to the theocratic period lent additional color to this assumption. The sum of our conclusions, therefore, was that we had here the name-device of a priest-king who had ruled the Aztec tribe during some portion of the first migration. And, assuming that he had lived during the period to which my codex referred, and accepting the system of dates tentatively adopted by Señor Ramirez, we even fixed the ninth century of our era as the period in which he had lived and ruled.

During two whole days Don Rafael and I worked together over these matters in the Museo; and it was not until our investigations were ended--so far, at least, as investigations could be said to be ended while yet no definite conclusions were reached--that my thoughts reverted to Fray Antonio, and to the requirement of courtesy that I should report to him the result of my course of study in the Indian tongues. It is but justice to myself to add that, knowing him to be gone to Santa María to attend to the Cacique's burial, I had temporarily dismissed this matter from my mind.

But when I was come to the Church of San Francisco--carrying with me the Codex Palgravius and the engraved disk of gold, in both of which I knew that he would take a keen interest--I had no immediate opportunity of exhibiting to him my treasures.

As I pushed open the sacristy door, when I had knocked upon it and he had called me to enter, he came towards me at once in excitement so eager that his face was all lit up by it; and almost before I could greet him he exclaimed: "You are most happily come, my friend. At this very moment I was about to send for you; for I have found that which will stir your heart even as it has stirred mine. Yet perhaps," and he spoke more gravely, "it will not stir your heart in the same way that mine is stirred by it--for if I can but find the key that will unlock the whole of the mystery that here partly is revealed, I see before me such opportunity to garner the Lord's vintage as comes but seldom to His servants in these later ages of the world."

So strange was Fray Antonio's manner, and so wayward seemed his speech, that I was half inclined to think his religious enthusiasm fairly had landed him in religious madness; which thought must have found utterance in my look of doubtfulness, for he smiled kindly at me, and in a quieter tone went on:

"My wits still are with me, Don Tomas; though I do not wonder at your thinking that I have lost them. Sit down here and listen to the story of my discovery; and when it is ended you will perceive that I very well may be excited by it and still be sane."

Being assured by this calmer speech that Fray Antonio had not taken leave of his senses, I made a weak disclaimer, that he smilingly accepted, of my too clearly expressed doubts in that direction; and so seated myself to listen.

"You know, señor," he began, "that common report has declared that beneath this Church of San Francisco is a secret passage that extends under the city and has its exit in the outlying meadow-lands. I may confide in you frankly that this passage does exist, and that I, in common with all members of my Order who have dwelt here, know precisely where its entrance is and where its outlet. These matters need not be exposed, for they are not essential to my purpose. But you must know that in the midst of this passage I found on the day preceding your return from the mountains a little room of which the door was so well concealed that my finding it was the merest accident. And in the room, with other things which need not here be named, I found a chest in which are certain ancient papers of which I have been long in search. In the archives are frequent references to these papers--they are of much importance to our Order--but as with all my search I never could discover them, I had decided in my mind that in one or another of the troublous periods that our Church has passed through they had been destroyed. It is plain to me now that in one of these periods of danger they were hidden in this safe place.

"Some of these papers, dealing with mere matters of history, you will have pleasure in examining in due time. But that which I shall show you now, and which has so excited me that you not unnaturally thought that I had gone mad over it, has got among the rest, as I verily believe, by simple accident. Among the books and papers in the chest was a parchment case on which was written 'Mission of Santa Marta,' and the date '1531.' Within it were some loose sheets of paper on which were records of Indian baptisms, as is evident by the strange mixing of Christian and of heathen names. Plainly, this was the register of some mission station of our Order in that far-back time. But as I pried into the case more closely, I found, within a double fold of the parchment--yet not as though intentionally hidden, but rather as though there placed for temporary safety--a sealed letter directed to the blessed Fray Juan de Zumárraga, who was of our Order, and who, as you know, was the first bishop of our holy Church in this New Spain. As I drew forth the letter, the seal, that time had loosened, fell away and left it open in my hand. That this letter never until now has been read I am altogether confident, for the prodigy of which it tells would have made so great a stir that ample record of it would have been preserved. Nor is it difficult to account for the way in which it missed coming to the eye for which it was intended. In that early time many and many of our Order, going out to preach God's Word among the barbarians, came happily to that end which is the happiest end attainable in God's service: a blessed martyrdom." Fray Antonio's voice trembled with deep feeling as he spoke, and I remembered that Don Rafael had told me that this good brother, it was believed, himself longed for a death so glorious. "And being thus slain," Fray Antonio in a moment continued, "the mission stations which they had established were left desolate, with what they held--save such few things as might be cared for by the savage murderers--remaining there within them. In later times, as the conquering Spaniards overspread the land, many of these stations were found, with nothing to tell save nameless bones of those who had died there that God's will might be done.

"It is my conjecture, therefore, that this parchment case was found--how many years after the death of him who owned it, who can tell?--in one of the many stations that the savages thus ravaged; that the soldiers, or whoever may have found it, brought it hither, the nearest important abiding-place of our Order; and that, being carelessly examined, it was carelessly thrown aside when found to contain, apparently, only the little record of the work which our dead brother accomplished before God granted him his crown of earthly martyrdom and so made quick his way to heaven. Had the letter ever reached that 'first hand' for which the writer says he waits to send it by, it assuredly would have come to the knowledge of the gold-loving Spanish conquerors, and armies would have gone forth to answer it. But our dead brother, having written it and placed it in this fold of the parchment for safety until the chance to send it southward should come, was cut off from life suddenly; and so, of the prodigious marvel of which knowledge had so strangely come to him, only this mute and hidden record remained."

"But the letter itself?" I asked, with more energy than politeness. "What _is_ the story that it contains? What is this mystery? Tell me of it first, and then explain as much as you please afterwards."

Fray Antonio smiled at me kindly. "Ah, you too are becoming excited," he said. "But, truly, it is not fair that I should thus have kept you waiting. Indeed, I am so full of it all that I forgot that as yet you know nothing. Come out with me into the court-yard, where the light is stronger--for the writing is very faint and pale--and I will read you this letter in which so wonderful a story is set forth."

Together we passed out through a little door in the rear of the sacristy into what had been the inner and smaller cloister court-yard of the old convent--a lovely place in which a fountain set in a quaint stone basin sparkled, and where warm sunshine fell upon the rippling water and upon beds of sweet-smelling flowers. And here it was, standing among the flowers in the sunshine, beside the quaint fountain, that Fray Antonio read to me the letter--that in this strange fashion had come to us from a hand dead for much more than three centuries, and that yet brought to us two a vital message that wholly was to shape our destinies.

IV.

MONTEZUMA'S MESSENGER.

The letter was without date, but, being addressed to the Bishop Zumárraga, the phrase that occurred in it--"this New Spain, wherein, Very Reverend Father, you have labored in God's service this year and more past"--showed that 1530 was the year in which it was written. As to place, there practically was no clew at all. The writer referred repeatedly to "this mission of Santa Marta, in the Chichimeca country"--but the mission had perished utterly but a little while after it was founded; and at that period the term Chichimeca country was used by the Spaniards in speaking of any part of Mexico where wild Indians were.

Being shorn of a portion of its pious verbiage, and somewhat modernized in style, the ancient Spanish of this letter contained in effect these English words:

"VERY REVEREND FATHER,--This present letter will be sent
forward to you by the first hand by which it may be hence
transmitted; and in your wisdom, with God's grace also guiding you,
I doubt not that you will take measures for sending missionaries of
our Order to the great company of the heathen whose whereabouts I am
to disclose to you. And also, no doubt--keeping the matter secret
from the pestilent Oidores of the Audiencia--you will communicate
this strange matter through safe channels to our lord the King: that
with our missionaries an army may go forth, and that so the great
treasure of which I give tidings may be wrested from the heathen to
be used for God's glory and the enriching of our lord the King.

"Know, Very Reverend Father, that a month since, I being then
abroad from this mission of Santa Marta, preaching God's word in a
certain village of the Chichimecas that is five leagues to the
northward, was so strengthened by God's grace that many of the
heathen professed our holy faith and were baptized. And of these
was one who among that tribe was held a captive. Which captive, as
I found, was of the nation that dwelt in Tenochtitlan before our
great captain, Don Fernando Cortés, reduced that city to
submission. But little of earthly life remained to this poor
captive when I, unworthily but happily, opened to him the way to
life glorious and eternal; for in the fight that happened when he
was captured--of which fight he alone of all his companions had
survived--he was sorely wounded; and though in time his wounds had
healed he remained but a weakly man, and the service to which his
captors forced him was hard. So it was that I had but little more
than time to put him in the way leading to heaven before his spirit
gladly forsook its weary body and went thence from earth.

"That he truly was a convert to our holy faith I am well assured,
by the signs of a spirit meet for repentance which he showed in his
own person; and still more by his strong longing, most earnestly
expressed, that this same glorious faith of freedom should be
preached to a certain great company of his people, whereof he most
secretly told me, who still remain bound in the bondage of
idolatry. And it is what he told me of these, Very Reverend Father,
and of the marvellous hidden city wherein they dwell, and of the
mighty treasure which there they guard, that I desire now to bring
to your private knowledge, before it shall be known of by the
Oidores, and through you to our lord the King. Here now is the
whole of the mystery that he recited:

"In very ancient times, he said, his people came forth from seven
caves which are in the western region of this continent, and
wandered long in search of an abiding-place. And in the course of
ages it came to pass that a certain wise king ruled over them to
whom was given the gift of prophecy. Which king, by name
Chaltzantzin, foretold that in the later ages there should come an
army of fair and bearded men from the eastward, who would prevail
over the people of his race: slaying many, and making of the
remainder slaves. Being sorely troubled by thought of what he thus
foresaw, he set himself to provide a source of strength whereon his
descendants in that later time might draw in the hour of their
peril--and so save themselves from cruel death and from yet crueler
slavery. To which end, in a certain great valley that lies securely
hidden among the mountains of this continent, he caused to be built
a walled city; and this city he then peopled with the very bravest
and strongest of his race. And he made for those dwelling there a
perpetual law that commanded that all such as showed themselves
when come to maturity to be weak or malformed in body, or coward of
heart, then should be put to death; to the end that their natural
increase ever should be of the same stout stuff as themselves, and
also that there might be no lack of victims for the sacrifices
which are acceptable to their barbarous gods. And thus he provided
that in the time of need there should be here a strong army of
valiant warriors, ready to come forth to fight against the
fair-faced bearded men, and by conquering them to save safe the
land.

"And yet more provision did King Chaltzantzin make for the
strengthening and the saving of his race in the later ages. Within
this walled city of Culhuacan he caused to be builded a great
treasure-house, wherein he garnered such store of riches as never
was gathered together in one place since the beginning of the
world. And his order was that if even the power of the army which
should go forth from that city sufficed not to conquer the foreign
foemen, then should this vast treasure be used to buy his people's
ransom, that they might not perish nor be enslaved.

"Having set all which great matters in order, King Chaltzantzin
came forth from the Valley of Aztlan, leaving behind him the noble
colony that he had there founded; and so with his people wandered
vagrant--even as their gods had commanded that they should go until
by a sign from heaven they should be shown where was to be their
lasting home. And that the fulfilling of his purpose might be made
the more sure, he brought his people forth from that valley by most
perilous passes and through strait ways so that they might not
return thither; and that they who remained might not follow, he
closed the way behind him with mighty bars.

"In the fulness of time this wise king died, and others reigned in
his stead; and at last the ages of wandering of the Aztec tribe
were ended by the sign coming from heaven whereby they knew that
the Valley of Anahuac was to be their abiding home. There built
they the city of Tenochtitlan: which city the valiant captain, Don
Fernando Cortés, conquered this short time since--and by conquest
of it verified precisely the prophecy that King Chaltzantzin
uttered in very ancient times.

"But the captive Indian told me, further, that before the coming of
the Spaniards there was seen the sign of warning that King
Chaltzantzin had promised should tell when the danger that he had
so well prepared for should be near; which sign was the going out
of the sacred fire that the priests guarded on a certain high hill.
Meantime, all knowledge of their brethren hidden in the Valley of
Aztlan for their help in time of peril was lost to the Aztec tribe
in dim tradition; for the King had commanded, in order that his
people might not fall into weakness through trusting in the
strength of others for protection, that no open record of the
colony that he had founded should be preserved. Therefore was this
matter a secret known only to a few priests whose blood was of the
royal line; in whose keeping, also, was the token that King
Chaltzantzin had commanded should be sent to the walled city of
Culhuacan when its warriors were to be called forth, and a map
whereby the way thither was made plain. And so it was that,
when the sacred fire ceased burning, the priests were alert
for the threatened danger; and when the landing of the
Spaniards--'fair-faced and bearded men, coming from the
eastward'--was known to them, they warned their king, Montezuma,
that the prophecy was fulfilled, and that the time for sending for
the army and the treasure had come.

"For the bearer of this message was chosen a priest of the blood
royal, with whom went also a younger priest, his son. And with
these went a guard, whereof the captive Indian was one, that they
might be carried in safety through the region where the wild
Indians were. But the valor of the guard was useless, for the wild
Indians set upon them in such prodigious numbers--in a place not
far from where is this present mission of Santa Marta--that all of
the company, save only this single Indian who was wounded and made
captive, was overpowered and slain. Yet among the slain, the Indian
said, was not found the body of the priest's son; nor was there
found on the priest's body the token that he had been the bearer
of, nor the map that showed the way. For a time the Indian had
hoped that the younger priest had escaped out of the fight alive,
and had carried to them who dwelt in the walled city of Culhuacan
the message of summons; but as the years went onward and nothing
came of it, this hope had died within his heart.

"This, Very Reverend Father, is the strange story told me by this
Indian; who spoke with the urgent sincerity of one devout in the
Christian faith who knew by sensible perception that his death was
near at hand. Eagerly he begged that to these Gentiles, his
brethren by blood, might be sent in their secret fastnesses the
blessed Word whereby they would be delivered from the chains of
their idolatry into the freedom of Christian grace. And, surely,
the treasure that they ward very well may be wrested from these
heathen that it may be used in part in this land in God's service,
and that in part it may go to the just enriching of our lord the
King.

"Nor is the matter one that is difficult of accomplishment. For a
token which shall give us the right of entry into this walled city
of Culhuacan we need only the Word of God and a sufficient force of
men well armed with swords and matchlocks. Nor is it any bar to our
quest that the map showing the way thither has been lost. The
Indian told me that this way is so plainly marked that one who had
found it could not lose it again. For at spaces of not more than a
league or two apart, upon flat places of the rock convenient for
such purpose, was cut the same figure that the token of summons had
engraved upon it; and, with this, an arrow pointing towards where
the next carving would be found: and so these signs went onward,
the heathen priest had told him, even to the very entrance of the
Valley of Aztlan. And that this matter might be made sure to me, he
led me to a spot but a league to the westward of this mission of
Santa Marta and there showed me one of these signs, with the
pointing arrow carved also on the rock beside it--of all of which
the drawing here made is an indifferent good copy. And by that
guiding arrow we went onward to another like carving at a little
less than two leagues away to the northward. Therefore, Very
Reverend Father, I, of my own knowledge, am a witness to a part, at
least, of the truth of what that Indian told. And with all my heart
do I add mine own entreaty to his simple pleadings for the
salvation of the souls of his brethren; and also do I venture to
entreat that among those who go to carry the Word of God to this
hidden heathen host I may be one; so that I, though all unworthy of
such honor, shall have a part in rendering to God so glorious a
service.

"The more urgently do I ask this favor because here, in this
mission of Santa Marta, it is but too clear to me that I am
laboring in a barren field. Some hundreds of the heathen I have
indeed baptized; but among all these who have professed our
Christian faith scarce a score show outward and visible signs of a
true regeneration. Many, I am sadly sure, still practise in secret
their old idolatry--and find little more than mere amusement in the
rites of our most holy Church. When they tire of this novelty,
which, in the case of folk of such light natures no doubt will be
in a little while, they will return openly to their idolatry; and
it probably may happen that they then will sacrifice me to their
heathen gods. That, in one way or another, they do intend to kill
me, and that soon, I feel quite sure. I am but twenty-three years
old, Very Reverend Father; and that is an early time in life to end
it. No doubt, also, in killing me they will use torture. And I long
fervently to live, not only for the pleasure of it, but also that I
may do good service to God, and to our Father Saint Francis, by
saving many heathen souls. Therefore I beg that when the army
marches to the reduction of this hidden city that I may be one of
our brethren who will go with it, to hold by tender preaching of
God's goodness and mercy such heathen as may remain alive after our
soldiers shall have conquered that city with the sword.

"I commend you, Very Reverend Father, to the care of Our Lord in
all things, and pray that he may guard your most illustrious and
very reverend person, and protect you in all matters of your
temporal and spiritual estate. And I am the least worthy of your
servants,

FRANCISCO de los ANGELES."

"Of a truth," said Fray Antonio, as he ceased reading, "this brother of mine adhered closely to the truth when he subscribed himself the least worthy of the bishop's servants. Were it not here in his own hand, I should refuse to believe that one of our Order at that time in New Spain had any thought of saving his own life when God's work was to be done."

For myself, I must own that my heart was deeply touched by the very humanity of this poor Brother Francisco's cry for help that came up out of the dead depths of the past; and that was the more keen and pitiful because the cruel death at the hands of the barbarous Indians that he so dreaded assuredly had overtaken him. His could not have been a strong nature, and it was the weaker because of his youth; but, after all, it was the nature that God had given him, and there must have been a strain of strength in it, else he never would have braved the dangers which overcame him in the end. And he was "but twenty-three years old"!

Yet when I sought to lead Fray Antonio's mind to such consideration of the matter he replied, sternly: "This weak brother failed in his duty. To him God gave an opportunity to die gloriously for the Faith; but, instead of accepting that noble reward joyfully, his strongest wish was that he might find a way by which he might escape alive. Had all professors of the Christian creed so conducted themselves, that creed long since would have perished from off the earth. _Semen est sanguis Christianorum_ is well said of Tertullian the Carthaginian, and, later, of the blessed Saint Jerome."

As Fray Antonio thus spoke he so drew up his slight figure, and in his sweet voice was a ring of such commanding sternness, that he was for the moment transformed. Here was a man wholly different from the gentle scholar whom I had already learned to love. In the glimpse that I thus had of his underlying character I saw vivified again the spirit of the early Christian Church; and I understood, as I never had understood before, of what stuff they were made who heard pronounced upon them the sentence, "To the lions!" and joyfully accepted their cruel fate, defiant of what man might do to them because of the perfection of their faith in the merciful forgiveness and upholding steadfastness of their Christian God.

But in a moment a look of sadness and regret came into Fray Antonio's face, and he added, sorrowfully: "God forgive me for thus judging my brother, who long since was judged! Who can say that when the hour of trial came he did not meet his death as bravely as any martyr of them all? And who can say," he went on, but speaking softly, as one communing with his own soul, "how I myself--But God gives strength." And then he ceased to speak aloud, but his lips moved silently as though in prayer. As I close my eyes I see him again as clearly as I saw him then--standing beside the old stone fountain, amid the flowers, in the gladness of the bright sunshine; in his eyes a strange, far-away look, as though the future for a moment had been opened to him; and on his strong, fine face a sternly resolute expression, which yet was softened by the traits which were so strong within him of holiness and gentleness and love. I cannot know what Fray Antonio prayed for, there in the old convent garden; but I can guess, and I am well persuaded that his prayer was heard. Truly, I think that it was something more than chance that led us thus at first to talk, not of the wonder that was in Brother Francisco's letter, but of Brother Francisco himself and of his end.

And then the subject-matter in chief of the letter claimed our attention. In itself this was sufficiently marvellous; but what increased the marvel of it was the conviction, strong within us both, that if the hidden city of Culhuacan ever had existed at all it existed still. Our belief was so entirely logical that, assuming the truth of the story told by the Indian captive, it admitted nowhere of a doubt. That the city had been hidden for a long period, through at least several hundreds of years, from the Aztecs themselves, and that no knowledge of it had been conveyed to them by wild Indians who had come by chance upon the valley wherein it was, was evidence enough of the security of its concealment. There was nothing surprising, consequently, in the fact that the Spaniards had not discovered it when they first overran Mexico, nor that it had remained unknown to the Mexicans of modern times. As is well known, there are to this day prodigious areas in Mexico which remain utterly unexplored. In the region west of Tampico; in the north-western States of Sinaloa, Durango, and Sonora; or in the far southern States of Oajaca and Chiapas, a valley as great as that in which the City of Mexico now stands might lie utterly hidden and unknown. And if, as the Indian's narrative implied, this particular valley had been selected deliberately because it was so hidden and so inaccessible, and if the described precautions had been taken to isolate its inhabitants, it very well might have continued to be lost in its deep concealment through an almost infinite range of years. That it never had been found since the Spaniards came into Mexico we were absolutely certain, for the outcry over so great a wonder would have echoed throughout the whole of the civilized world. Finally, in the name of the city, Culhuacan, we had a substantial fact which connected the extraordinary story that had come to us so strangely with matters within our own knowledge. For this name not only is given in the Aztec traditions as that of the sacred spot in which their god Huitzilopochtli spoke to them, but survives until this present day in the name of the village that lies at the foot of the sacred mountain, in the Valley of Mexico, called by the Aztecs the Hill of Huitzachtla, and by the Spaniards the Hill of the Star--on which, at the end of each cycle of fifty-two years, the sacred fire was renewed. Surely it was no accident that had caused the name Culhuacan to be given to this village on this sacred spot; rather must it have been so named by the elect few to whom the secret was known as a perpetual reminder to them of the reserve of men and treasure upon which they could draw should danger threaten their country and their gods.

"No doubt," said Fray Antonio, "what is here told of a secret record, known only to the priests, supplies one of the lapses in the pictured history of the Aztec migration; but as we know not which break in the history is thus filled in, we have no clew whatever as to the whereabouts of this hidden place. Nor have we any clew as to the whereabouts of the mission of Santa Marta, whence we might go onward, guided by the carvings upon the rocks, until we found at last the place we sought. The mission of Santa Marta, where my brother Francisco long ago ministered, might have been anywhere in all Mexico; and being so small a mission, and enduring for so short a period, it is not likely that any record of it anywhere has been preserved. Had we but the map and the token of which my brother writes, our way would be clear; without these guides it well may be a toilsome way and long. Yet do I know," Fray Antonio continued, earnestly, "that I shall find this hidden city. In my soul is a strong and glad conviction that God has called me to the most glorious work of carrying to the heathen dwelling there the message of His saving love. He has worked one miracle already to call me to this duty; in His own good time and way I doubt not that He will work another miracle by which I may be set in the way of its accomplishment."

As Fray Antonio spoke of the map of the Aztec migration, a hope came into my heart that, as I considered it, seemed surely to be a certainty. In the excitement of listening to this strange letter--concerning which not the least strange matter was, that between the writing and the reading of it had passed three hundred and fifty years--I had forgotten my own discoveries, and that my purpose was to show him the pictured paper and the curious piece of gold. But as he spoke of the migration this matter was called to my mind suddenly; and then in an instant the conviction thrilled through me that the clew which would lead us to the hidden city was in my possession.

"God already has worked that other miracle," I cried, joyfully. "Here is the token, and here is the map that shows the way!" and, so speaking, I opened the snake-skin bag that I had taken from the breast of the dead Cacique and drew forth its precious contents.

For myself, I needed no additional proof that here was all that was needful to guide us to the hidden city. Yet was I glad that in so grave a matter we should have added to absolute conviction the weight of absolute proof. And this we had most clearly; for Fray Antonio, cooler than I, compared the drawing in the letter with the engraving upon the piece of gold, and found the two to be essentially identical, save that the engraving lacked the sign of the arrow pointing the way.

"And now," I cried, enthusiastically, "for such discoveries in archæology as the world has never known!"

"And now," said Fray Antonio, speaking slowly and reverently, "for such glorious work in God's service as has been granted but rarely to man to do!"

V.

THE ENGINEER AND THE LOST-FREIGHT MAN.

That the weight of a strange destiny was pressing upon us, neither Fray Antonio nor I for a moment doubted. It was something more than chance, we believed, that had brought us together, and that thereafter, by such extraordinary means, had put into our hands, in places far asunder, yet at almost precisely the same moment, these two ancient papers; either of which, alone, would have been meaningless; but the two of which, together, pointed clearly the way to a discovery so wonderful that the like of it was not to be found in all the history of the world.

At the moment that I comprehended how great an adventure was before me, and what honorable fame I was like to get out of it, I determined that I would keep the whole matter secret from my fellow-archæologists until I could tell them, not what I intended doing, but what I actually had done--for I had no desire to divide with any one the honors that fairly would be mine when I published to the world the result of my investigation of this hidden community that had survived, uncontaminated, from prehistoric times. Having this strong desire within me, it was with great pleasure that I acceded to Fray Antonio's request that our project of discovery should not be published abroad. His motive for secrecy, as I presently perceived, was bred of the one single strain of human weakness that ever I found in him. Even as I was determined that no other archæologist should share with me the honor of discovering this primitive community, so was Fray Antonio determined that to him alone should belong the glory of carrying into that region of dense heathen darkness the radiant splendor of the Christian faith. If this were sin on his part, it certainly was a sin that he shared with many saints long since in Paradise. Even the blessed Saint Francis himself, when, at the Council of Mats, he portioned out among his followers the heathen world that they might preach everywhere Christianity, reserved for himself Syria and Egypt; in the hope that in one or the other of those countries he might crown his labors by suffering a glorious martyrdom. And perhaps in this matter Fray Antonio was not unmindful of the example set him by the great founder of the Order to which he belonged.

But while we were thus firmly decided to keep to ourselves the honors that so great an archæological discovery and so great a Christian conquest must bring to us severally, we perceived that it would not be the part of prudence to essay our adventure without any companions at all. Some portion of the country through which we were to pass we knew to be frequented by very dangerous tribes of Indians, against the assaults of which two lonely men--neither of whom had any knowledge whatever of the art of war--could make but a poor stand. And even should we escape the wild Indians, we knew that we might get into many evil straits in which our lives might be ended, yet through which a larger company might pass in safety. And for my own part, I must confess that I had a strong desire to have with me some of my own countrymen. For the gallantry of the Mexicans, which gallantry has been proved a thousand times, I have the highest respect; yet is it a natural feeling among Anglo-Saxons that when it comes to facing dangers in which death looms largely, and especially when it comes to a few men against a company of savages, and standing back to back and fighting to the very last, Anglo-Saxon hearts are found to be the stanchest, and Anglo-Saxon backs to be the stoutest which can be thus ranged together. But in our own case I did not at all see whence such an Anglo-Saxon contingent was to be obtained.

We had been talking over this matter of a fighting force one afternoon in Fray Antonio's sacristy--where our many colloquies were held, for we moved with a thoughtful deliberation in setting agoing our adventure--and we had come almost to the determination of organizing a little force of Otomí Indians, and calling upon two brave young gentlemen of Fray Antonio's acquaintance to join us as lieutenants. Although I was willing to adopt this plan, since no other was open to us, I was far from fancying it; both for the reason which I have already named, and also for the reason--and this Fray Antonio admitted was not without foundation in probability--that our young allies would be more than likely, by their indiscreet disclosures, to make our purpose fully known. Therefore, it was in no very pleasant frame of mind, our conference being ended, that I returned to my hotel.

As I entered the hotel court-yard I heard the sound of Pablo's mouth-organ, and with this much laughter and some talk in English; and as I fairly caught sight of the merrymakers, I heard said, in most execrable Spanish, "Here's a _medio_ for another tune, my boy; and if you'll make the donkey dance again to it, I'll give you a _real_."

That I might see what was going forward without interrupting it, I stepped behind one of the stone pillars that upheld the gallery; and for all that my mind was in no mood for laughter just then, I could not but fall to laughing at what I saw.

Over on the far side of the court-yard, with Pablo and El Sabio, were two men whose type was so unmistakable that I should have known them for Americans had I met them in the moon. One was a tall, wiry fellow, with a vast reach of arm, and a depth of chest and width of shoulders which allowed what powerful engines those long arms of his were when he set them in motion. His face was nearly covered by a heavy black beard, and his projecting forehead and his resolute black eyes under it gave him a look of great energy and force. The other was short and thick-set, with a big round head stockily upheld on a thick neck, and with a good-humored face, which, being clean-shaven, was chiefly notable for the breadth and the squareness of the jaws. He had merry blue eyes, and his crown--he was holding his battered Derby hat in his hand--was as bare as a billiard ball. Below timber-line, as he himself expressed it, he had a brush of close-cut sandy-red hair. I had encountered both of these men when I first came to Morelia, and during two or three weeks I had seen a good deal of them, for we had met daily at our meals; and the more that I had seen of them the better was I disposed to like them. The tall man was Rayburn, a civil engineer in charge of construction on the advanced line of the new railway; the other was Young, the lost-freight agent of the railroad company--whose duty, for which his keen quickness peculiarly well fitted him, was that of looking up freight which had gone astray in transit. Both of those men had lived long in rough and dangerous regions, and both--as I then instinctively believed, and as I came later to know fully--were as true and as stanch and as brave as ever men could be.

What they were laughing at, there in the court-yard, was an extraordinary performance in which the performers were Pablo and El Sabio. With a grin all over the parts of his face not engaged in the operation of his mouth-organ, Pablo was rendering on that instrument a highly Mexicanized version of one of the airs from _Pinafore_ that he had just acquired from hearing Young whistle it. To this music, with a most pained yet determined expression, the Wise One was lifting his feet and swaying his body and nodding his head in a sort of accompaniment, his movements being directed by the waving of Pablo's disengaged hand. The long ears of this unfortunate little donkey wagged in remonstrance against the unreasonable motions demanded of his unlucky legs, and every now and then he would twitch viciously his fuzzy scrap of a tail; but his master was inexorable, and it was not until Pablo's own desire to laugh became so strong that he no longer could play the mouth-organ that El Sabio was given rest. As he ended his dancing I must say that there was on El Sabio's face as fine an expression of contempt as the face of a donkey ever wore.

"Hello, Professor!" Young called out, as he caught sight of me, "have you given up antiquities an' gone into th' circus business? This outfit that you've got here will make your fortune when you get it back into th' States. If you don't want to run it yourself, I'll run it for you on th' shares; an' I guess Rayburn'll be glad t' go along as clown. He'd make a good clown, Rayburn would. You see, we're both of us out of work, an' both lookin' for a job."

"What do you mean by being out of work?" I asked, when I had shaken hands with them. "What's become of the railroad?"

"Oh, th' railroad's got into one of its periodical bust-ups," Young answered. "A row among the bondholders, an' construction stopped, an' working expenses reduced, an' pretty much all hands bounced, from th' president down. I guess Rayburn an' I can stand th' racket, though, if th' company can. I've been wantin' t' get out of this d----d Greaser country for a good while, an' I guess now I've got my chance. I must say, though, I wish it had come a little less sudden, for I haven't anything in particular in sight over in God's country, an' Rayburn hasn't either. So if you want to start your circus we're ready for you right away. Where did you get that boy-an'-donkey outfit from, anyway? They're just daisies, both of 'em an' no mistake!"

"I don't know that you can count on me for a clown, Professor," Rayburn said, "but I might go along as door-keeper, or something of that sort. But I don't believe that Young and I will need to go into the circus business. We are out of work, that's a fact; but the company has done the square thing by us--paid us up in full to the end of next month and fitted us out with passes to St. Louis. We're all right. Young is heading straight for home, but I rather think that I'll take a turn around the country and see what the civilized parts of it look like. Ever since I came down here, nearly, I've been at work in the wilds. I want to see some of the old temples and things too. You can put me up to that, Professor. Where's a good ruin to begin on?"

From the moment that I laid eyes on these two men, as I came into the court-yard, my mind was made up that I would do my best to induce them to join with Fray Antonio and me in our search for the hidden city; and I had listened very gladly to what they told me, for it showed me that I should not have to ask them to abandon profitable work in order to join in our doubtful enterprise. So we talked lightly about the circus and other indifferent matters for a while; and then we had a lively supper together at La Soledad (which always seemed to me a very original name for a restaurant), and then I brought them to my room to smoke their cigars.