Produced by Charles Keller THE LOST CITY By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. NATURE IN TRAVAIL II. PROFESSOR FEATHERWIT TAKING NOTES III. RIDING THE TORNADO IV. THE PROFESSOR'S LITTLE EXPERIMENT V. THE PROFESSOR'S UNKNOWN LAND VI. A BRACE OF UNWELCOME VISITORS VII. THE PROFESSOR'S GREAT ANTICIPATIONS VIII. A DUEL TO THE DEATH IX. GRAPPLING A QUEER FISH X. RESCUED AND RESCUERS XI. ANOTHER SURPRISE FOR THE PROFESSOR XII. THE STORY OF A BROKEN LIFE XIII. THE LOST CITY OF THE AZTECS XIV. A MARVELLOUS VISION XV. ASTOUNDING, YET TRUE XVI. CAN IT BE TRUE? XVII. AN ENIGMA FOR THE BROTHERS XVIII. SOMETHING LIKE A WHITE ELEPHANT XIX. THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN GOD XX. THE PROFESSOR AND THE AZTEC XXI. DISCUSSING WAYS AND MEANS XXII. A DARING UNDERTAKING XXIII. A FLIGHT UNDERGROUND XXIV. THE SUN CHILDREN'S PERIL XXV. WALDO GOES FISHING XXVI. DOWN AMONG THE DEAD XXVII. PENETRATING GRIM SECRETS XXVIII. BROUGHT BEFORE THE GODS XXIX. BENEATH THE SACRIFICIAL STONE XXX. AGAINST OVERWHELMING ODDS XXXI. DEFENDING THE SUN CHILDREN XXXII. ADIEU TO THE LOST CITY THE LOST CITY. CHAPTER I. NATURE IN TRAVAIL. “I say, professor?” “Very well, Waldo; proceed.” “Wonder if this isn't a portion of the glorious climate, broken loose from its native California, and drifting up this way on a lark?” “If so, said lark must be roasted to a turn,” declared the third (and last) member of that little party, drawing a curved forefinger across his forehead, then flirting aside sundry drops of moisture. “I can't recall such another muggy afternoon, and if we were only back in what the scientists term the cyclone belt--” “We would be all at sea,” quickly interposed the professor, the fingers of one hand vigorously stirring his gray pompadour, while the other was lifted in a deprecatory manner. “At sea, literally as well as metaphorically, my dear Bruno; for, correctly speaking, the ocean alone can give birth to the cyclone.” “Why can't you remember anything, boy?” sternly cut in the roguish-eyed youngster, with admonitory forefinger, coming to the front. “How many times have I told you never to say blue when you mean green? Why don't you say Kansas zephyr? Or windy-auger? Or twister? Or whirly-gust on a corkscrew wiggle-waggle? Or--well, almost any other old thing that you can't think of at the right time? W-h-e-w! Who mentioned sitting on a snowdrift, and sucking at an icicle? Hot? Well, now, if this isn't a genuine old cyclone breeder, then I wouldn't ask a cent!” Waldo Gillespie let his feet slip from beneath him, sitting down with greater force than grace, back supported against a gnarled juniper, loosening the clothes at his neck while using his other hand to ply his crumpled hat as a fan.