A faint, smothered cry came from the rear of the room, seemingly from behind a tapestry on the wall. With a yell of rage, shouting Itza! Itza! I dashed across the room, swept the cloth aside and sprang through the narrow doorway that it concealed. A dozen strides along a narrow passage and I was in the open air once more. And at the scene that met my horrified eyes, I felt sick and faint; my blood seemed to congeal in my veins, my heart seemed to stop beating. I seemed powerless to move. I was rooted to the spot, paralyzed. Within thirty paces of where I stood was the statue of the sun God above the low mound. At its feet, bound, gagged, helpless, lay Itza, while above her, gloating, hideous, clad in sacrificial robes, his arms upraised as though exhorting the monstrous god before him, was Kinchi Haman, a long-bladed, obsidian knife gripped in one hand! “The sacrifice!” gasped Azcopil, who unnoticed had reached my side. His words broke the awful spell. I was galvanized into life, into swift understanding. An instant before I had been bereft of sense, of conscious thought. Unutterable horror had possessed my every faculty. But now my brain felt strangely, abnormally clear and calm. To move, to cry out would mean Itza’s instant death. At any second the priest might strike. There was but one chance, one hope of saving Itza from the terrible fate that threatened her. Noiselessly I drew my revolver from its holster. Slowly, with steady hand, I raised the weapon until the ivory bead upon the barrel covered the priest’s back. With a prayer to God that I might not miss, I pulled the trigger. A piercing shriek drowned the roar of the report. Through the haze of smoke, I saw the priest double up. The knife fell flashing from his hand; he swayed, half-turned, reeled backward, and with a second wild despairing scream, vanished utterly! But I was already half way across the intervening space. I sprang towards the mound, towards Itza stretched upon the altar on the farther side. There was a sharp warning cry from Azcopil, his hand gripped my collar and I was jerked gasping, half-choked, to one side. And in the nick of time! Almost at my feet, concealed by the encircling mound, yawned a seemingly bottomless pit black, awesome, ominous. The prince had saved my life, had saved me from a horrible fate. Another stride and I would have plunged into the depths of the sacred well, into the gruesome waters that had closed forever over Kinchi Haman. CHAPTER XIX Long Live the King ITZA was unconscious but unharmed. She had fainted and had been spared the maddening horror of lying on the altar and the awful suspense of awaiting sacrifice. Swiftly I tore away the choking gag that bruised her lips, and slashed through the cords that cut into her poor wrists and ankles.