“You and I are coming to grips soon, old rascal,” I muttered to myself, as the bearers lifted my litter to their shoulders and started forward. “And,” I added mentally, “the sooner you start trouble, the sooner your career will be finished, you old faker,” for I felt quite certain that Kinchi Haman did not in the least believe me a divinity. CHAPTER IX The Prince Azcopil RECLINING on robes of the most magnificent feather-work, within the litter of carved wood covered with gold plates and mosaic work of precious stones, Itza and myself were borne upon the shoulders of gorgeously-clad nobles, while on every side the throngs cheered, shouted welcomes, threw flowers before and upon us and, falling into line in our rear, formed a colorful, noisy procession. Before us rode the high-priest in his litter, with the warrior guard and band leading the way towards the central plaza and the great temple. As we passed slowly along, I was filled with intense scientific interest. The people, their costumes, the litter I was in were all so strange, so marvelous that I could scarcely realize it was real. Then there was that strange, diffused, inexplicable light that illuminated the valley; the still stranger multicolored lambent beams that emanated from the temples. What was it? How was it produced? And what weird, mysterious, impossible light was that upon which Itza and I had crossed the chasm? It was utterly beyond me, wholly inexplicable, and I determined that my first care would be to investigate these phenomena.