[Illustration: Very obviously the Inca had carefully planned to impress the visitors] “You came from the sky! I saw that with my own eyes. Are you gods that you travel through space like the spirits of the departed?” “We are masters of the air,” Ted said. He did not like the attitude of the questioner, and Stanley was visibly uneasy. For a moment Quizquiz surveyed them. His face, while handsome, bore a sullen expression, and the beady black eyes and drooping mouth bespoke a cruel and cunning disposition. “Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “But are you gods? Are you brothers of the sun, or companions of the moon? You speak with the voices of men. You ask for food and rest, like mortals.” “All who would make known their thoughts must speak with the voices of men. The Inca is no exception.” Quizquiz was plainly puzzled. “And the thing that carries you through the air,” he asked, “is it bird, beast, or devil?” “That you shall hear for yourself. It speaks with the voice of thunder.” According to a prearranged plan, Ted sprang to the ground and spun the propeller, while Stanley operated the switch and throttle. With a snort the engine was under way and rapidly picked up speed, until the hand of the indicator registered five hundred revolutions a minute, the shattered blade of the propeller adding a whining shriek to the roar of the exhausts. The Indians stared wide-eyed at the marvellous performance, and many, no doubt, would have liked nothing better than to turn and flee, but the knowledge that a show of fright would bring dire punishment restrained them from following their impulse. Stanley cut the switch and the engine stopped. “Now you have heard,” he said. “Let your priests and wise men interpret the message.” Quizquiz called Soncco and a number of other sages and after they had all admitted that they were unable to interpret the strange sound he dismissed them in anger with a flick of his whip. “Twenty strokes of the lash for each one,” he shouted, and a body of soldiers promptly stepped forward to obey the order. “Mercy, great and glorious father,” one of the older men cried out, falling upon his knees and extending his hands in supplication. “An additional ten strokes for the beggar! Take him away,” Quizquiz ordered. “And if any one of them so much as sigh while the lash is falling on his back, run him through with a lance.” “If it pleases the king, I will explain the message,” Stanley announced. “I will hear your words, but let your speech be brief, for I am weary.” “The great vehicle would carry the Inca into the sky, high above the tallest mountain-peaks, where the air is pure and where not even the condor dares venture; out of reach of the contaminating earth, to play among the clouds and to bask in the bright sunlight; it would take him so high that the radiance of the sun could descend upon his sacred person; men would be blinded by the dazzling splendor of the great king,” Stanley announced solemnly.