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Updated: June 20, 2025
Aided by the sort of freemasonry which naturally exists between lads of an adventurous nature, Waldo readily succeeded in picking up considerable information from the Aztec, even before broaching that all-important matter. Ixtli was the only son of a famed warrior and chieftain of the Aztecan clans, by name Aztotl, or the Red Heron.
Although such haste in getting afloat had been made, some little time had been thus consumed, and, before the aerostat was fairly above the Lost City, Bruno and Ixtli had dropped by stages down the shadowed side of the Temple of the Sun God, to burrow underneath the ground as their surest method of eluding pursuit.
Closer crowded the superstition-ridden heathen, showering missiles of all descriptions upon the body-guard, confounding all with the one to whose javelin their head priest owed his death, only to recoil once more, in fierce awe, as another victim of high rank paid forfeit his life for the death of Ixtli, sole offspring of Aztotl, the Red Heron.
Still, that was not the time for doubting the wisdom of his guide, nor a moment in which to discuss either methods or means; and as Ixtli passed through a massive entrance, the paleface followed, giving a little shiver as the barrier swung to behind them.
Ixtli caught the first inkling of what was coming, and hastily sent Bruno away from the peepholes, dropping a word in his ear as they both prepared for clean work.
"Struck by lightning, eh?" interpreted Waldo, who seemed born without the influence of poetry. "Served him mighty right, too!" Bowing submissively, although it could be seen he scarcely comprehended just what those blunt words were meant to convey, Ixtli spoke on, seemingly with perfect willingness, so long as the adored "Sun Children" formed the subject-matter.
This grim vow appeared to do the Aztec good from a mental point of view, and then he led his white friend silently towards the covered part of the teocalli, from whence those sounds emanated. Curtains of thick stuff served to shut in the light and to partly smother the sound of voices, but Ixtli cautiously formed a couple of peepholes of which they quickly made good use.
With a cry the Aztec warrior turned in that direction, but ere he could fetch his light to bear upon the right spot, Ixtli sprung forth to the rescue, hooting like a frightened owl, as he dashed the light to earth, and, at the same time, deftly tripping the Indian headlong.
True, Waldo suggested that Ixtli be employed as a medium of communication between the Sun Children and themselves; but, possibly because, as a rule, this irrepressible youngster's ideas were generally the wildest and most far-fetched imaginable, uncle Phaeton frowned upon the plan.
Then, just as the deep tones of the war-drum boomed forth upon the night air, the fallen Aztec betrayed signs of rallying wits, giving a low sound which might have been groan of pain or curse of baffled rage. "Mother, mother!" faintly panted the maiden, plainly at a loss to comprehend all that had so recently transpired. "What is it? What does it all mean? Surely that was Ixtli; and the other?"
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