The section of wall was already descending into its original place, and the priest had to crouch low in order to pass it. A moment later, it stopped in its old position. So accurately was it contrived and fitted that it immediately shut off the stream of water which had been flowing out of the idol room. * * * * * Outside, save for a small river of water that flowed out of the base of the cliff, there were no signs of what was vexing the interior of the mountain. Henry and Ricardo, arriving, noted the stream, and Henry observed: “That’s something new. There wasn’t any stream of water here when I left.” A minute later he was saying, as he looked at a fresh slide of rock: “This was the entrance to the cave. Now there is no entrance. I wonder where the others are.” As if in answer, out of the mountain, borne by the spouting stream, shot the body of a man. Henry and Ricardo pounced upon it and dragged it clear. Recognizing it for the priest, Henry laid him face downward, squatted astride of him, and proceeded to give him the first aid for the drowned. Not for ten minutes did the old man betray signs of life, and not until after another ten minutes did he open his eyes and look wildly about. “Where are they?” Henry asked. The old priest muttered in Maya, until Henry shook more thorough consciousness into him. “Gone——all gone,” he gasped in Spanish. “Who?” Henry demanded, shook memory into the resuscitated one, and demanded again. “My son; Chia slew him. Chia slew my son, as she slew them all.” “Who are the rest?” Followed more shakings and repetitions of the question. “The rich young Gringo who befriended my son, the enemy of the rich young Gringo whom men call Torres, and the young woman of the Solanos who was the cause of all that happened. I warned you. She should not have come. Women are always a curse in the affairs of men. By her presence, Chia, who is likewise a woman, was made angry. The tongue of Chia is a viperine. By her tongue Chia struck and slew my son, and the mountain vomited the ocean upon us there in the heart of the mountain, and all are dead, slain by Chia. Woe is me! I have angered the gods. Woe is me! Woe is me! And woe upon all who would seek the sacred treasure to filch it from the gods of Maya!” CHAPTER XVI Midway between the out-bursting stream of water and the rock-slide, Henry and Ricardo stood in hurried debate. Beside them, crouched on the ground, moaned and prayed the last priest of the Mayas. From him, by numerous shakings that served to clear his addled old head, Henry had managed to extract a rather vague account of what had occurred inside the mountain. “Only his son was bitten and fell into that hole,” Henry reasoned hopefully. “That’s right,” Ricardo concurred. “He never saw any damage, beyond a wetting, happen to the rest of them.”