I WAS utterly astounded at his words. But equally, of course, I did not take them literally. Much of what he said was the same well known ancient legend or myth. Much of the so-called prophecy I had heard before, for it was common to the Aztecs, the Mayas and even the Incas, and much of what had been foretold centuries before the conquest had occurred exactly as prophesied. Or perhaps, Indian like, the prophecy had been invented to fit the facts. Yet, over and over again, I, like many others, had heard the tale, the rumors of the remnants of the race dwelling in some remote, unknown, secret district, where they retained their ancient customs and religion. Was it not possible there might be truth in these stories; some foundation of fact? Such things had occurred before. There was that Aztec colony in the hidden valley in Mexico of which Professor Cervantes had told me. There was that isolated group of Incas in the interior of Peru, that had been discovered and described by Dr. Armand. And I could see no reason why, somewhere in the wild interior of Guatemala or southern Mexico, a similar colony of the Mayans might not also exist. For that matter, here was this village where I sat, where the old priest Katchilcan still held sway, where the ancient temple was still in daily use, where the sacred fires still burned continuously, where Tohil the Rumbler-god and Xibalba the Great Snake were still worshipped, where the people still lived in the past, and yet neither hidden nor secreted from the rest of the world. If such villages and people could survive almost unaltered, was there anything improbable in the idea of others, entirely cut off from the world, retaining even more of their ancient life? At any rate, of one thing I was convinced. My codex was the record of the prophecy of Kukulcan, it was Maya, and it was of the Old Empire. All I had journeyed so far to learn was now clear. I possessed a priceless document of the Mayas, a codex more valuable than any in existence, and if Katchilcan had not drawn upon his imagination, the actual work of that semi-mythical hero-god, the Plumed Serpent, Kukulcan, or as he was known to the Aztecs, Quetzalcoatl, himself. I was elated, overjoyed. But I wondered about that story of the isolated colony, and I wondered just how much old Katchilcan really knew, how much he had left unsaid. “And did the prophecy fall out as told?” I asked. “Do the survivors of your race still worship their old gods and await the coming of the token? And where O, most Wise One, is this place called Mictolan?” The old fellow’s eyes held a far away look, as though he were gazing into the past and seeing the glories of the civilization of his ancestors. But at my words he came back to earth and turned towards me, his deep-set eyes, like pin points of fire, seeming to pierce my innermost thoughts.