A terrible thought crossed my mind. Perhaps Kinchi Haman had left the valley, perhaps he had fled with Itza across the Bridge of Light! With a tremendous effort I put the thought from me. No, he was still here. Something told me, some premonition convinced me that both he and Itza were near at hand. But would he appear upon his temple? Dared he defy me? Half hoping that he would, for I would then know he was still within reach and that Itza was near, yet hoping he would not, I peered across at the other temple. But no sign of life appeared upon it, no procession wound its way around the great terrace at the summit of the _Kus_. How I went through the ritual I do not know. What I said I cannot remember. To me it was a terrible nightmare, separate from my conscious, tortured mind. But my words, my scathing denunciation of the deformed priest and his deeds, my vows of vengeance, my pleas for support, and my exaltations of my own God (whom the people of course assumed was Kukulcan), my promises of rewards for those who were loyal and who obeyed me, must have had the desired effect, for a thunder of cheers rose on the still evening air. And the fact that Kinchi Haman had not appeared, that for once the ceremony of the Setting Sun was not celebrated upon the temple of Kinich Ahau, had an even greater effect upon the populace. The omission was, to their minds, conclusive evidence of the superiority, the triumph of the Plumed Serpent. Rumors that the priest had been destroyed by mysterious means, rumors that Kinich Ahau himself frowned upon his rascally priest, spread through the crowd. And then, at the very moment when I felt we had triumphed, wild cries, excited shouts arose from the crowd, and all eyes were turned towards the Temple of the Sun. Standing before the great altar, clearly outlined in the glare of the flames above, looking like a fiend from the pit--was Kinchi Haman, his arms upraised, a triumphant grin on his hideous face. Beside myself with rage at sight of him, without stopping to think of consequences, heedless of the fact that he was separated from me by more than three hundred yards, I drew my pistol from beneath my robes and fired. At the flash and the roar of the explosion, shrieks, wails, terrified cries arose from the multitude, and with one accord the people flung themselves prostrate upon the ground. But I scarcely realized this. My eyes had been fixed upon the distant priest, and at the report of my weapon I had seen him reel to one side and disappear. Had I killed him? Had my bullet by mere chance found its mark? Full realization of what that meant swept over me. If I had killed him I had perhaps destroyed the one man who knew where Itza was confined.