Chapter XXVI

Pizarro yet had made no motion to carry out his agreement to release the Inca. And Atahualpa waited with ill-concealed impatience the strange delay.

The two captains on whose shoulders now rested all decisions were in daily conference on the problem. Felipillo had again set in motion rumors of an approaching army.

The question over which Pizarro and Almagro hourly brooded was what to do with their captive. That he had been promised freedom on payment of the ransom was to their mind of no importance if a native army were approaching. His freedom under such conditions was the last thing possible. He was the one power yet to be feared. They feared no other. His people were automatons who obeyed his will. Hundreds of years of state tutelage, hundreds of years of peace, plenty and safety under their system had deprived the individual of initiative. They would not move until their sovereign spoke. The moment he found himself free what guarantee had his captors that he would not call every man capable of bearing arms in his empire of twelve millions? The swarming of these hordes armed only with stones, could overwhelm five hundred men by sheer weight of numbers. To hold him in violation of their agreement, of course, meant danger. For the knowledge of his stupendous ransom had gone to the four corners of his kingdom, and the treachery of his detention might of itself raise a resistless force if a leader could be found.

They found themselves between the devil and the deep sea. Carefully weighing the chances, they believed their safety lay in still holding Atahualpa as hostage for the behavior of his people. Pizarro had been warned some weeks before that swift messengers had been going from Caxamalca to every Temple of the Sun. Nothing had come of it apparently but he must be on his guard.

Meanwhile, the Inca cultivated De Soto. He had found in him a congenial spirit and learned to trust his honor and integrity above the promises of Pizarro. He pleaded his cause with an eloquence and justice that convinced De Soto, who agreed to present his demands for freedom to Pizarro and Almagro without delay.

The two men were, at the moment, listening to a report from Felipillo, giving in detail the movements of a native army but fifty miles away.

De Soto presented the plea of the Inca and gave it his support. Pizarro fenced and asked for more time to consider the question, but no hint of the dark purpose now forming in his mind was given to his captain. He proposed an interview with Atahualpa at once. He would know the truth of those fresh rumors.

The three men appeared before the Inca and repeated the story. He indignantly denied its truth.

“What treason is this?” Pizarro demanded, “you have plotted against me! I, who saved your life from my maddened troops, and who have ever treated you with honor, confiding in your words as those of a brother?”

The Inca smiled sadly.

“Surely you jest with me--as you have often jested before. How could I, or my people, think of conspiring now against god-men who have proven themselves so powerful?”

The innocence with which he spoke was convincing in its sincerity. Yet Pizarro chose to believe it as savage guile. He frowned and was silent while the Inca continued:

“Am I not a helpless captive in your hands? How could I plan such folly when I would be the first victim of the outbreak....”

“Of that you may be sure!” the Spaniard broke in.

“You little know my people,” the Inca went on, “if you think they would move without my orders. The very birds would scarcely fly against my will.”

Pizarro left the room half convinced of Atahualpa’s innocence and more puzzled than ever as to his true course of action. His soldiers now crowded about him in a frenzy of excitement. There was no sort of doubt in their minds. They believed every word they had heard and more. Their spokesman fiercely shouted his fears.

“This time we know that a large force is at Huamachuco, but fifty miles away, ready to strike our camp, murder us to a man and take our gold.”

“All right,” Pizarro snapped, “the patrols will be doubled. Let every man sleep on his arms. Hold every horse bridled and saddled.”

They hastened to obey his orders.

The Crown officers in charge of the king’s millions demanded Atahualpa’s immediate execution.

“I protest,” De Soto cried, “in the name of God at such an insane atrocity!”

Pizarro eyed his indignant captain with a look of stern inquiry.

“You certainly agree that we must reconnoiter the neighborhood and learn the truth at once.”

“By all means,” was the prompt reply.

“Select fifty horses,” Pizarro commanded, “and ride with all speed to Huamachuco and report to me the state of the country.”

De Soto hurried to obey his orders little dreaming of the deadly resolution already fixed in Pizarro’s mind. Almagro, with clever understanding of the Chief, foresaw the coming tragedy in a flash, pressed his partner’s arm, laughed and said:

“A man of brains as well as brawn, Francisco. The one man to give us trouble you’ve sent where he can do no harm.”

The moment the hoof beat of De Soto’s horsemen had died away Pizarro called his trusted lieutenants into conference to settle the question of the Inca’s life.