Succeeding paragraphs attempted to classify these hidden tribes. Each was reputed to possess a source of great wealth — treasure that had been harbored through centuries. Each paragraph listed a different tribe, with speculative data concerning its customs.
“Zeltapec.”
The word stood out before The Shadow’s eyes. It was the name of a place in the mountains of northern Mexico. There were Indians who lived thereabout, and they had talked of Zeltapec, but none of them had given its exact location. They only knew that it rested in one of the hidden gorges of a high mountain range. So far, explorers had been unable to penetrate the fastnesses of the mighty hills.
The Shadow’s finger paused upon another paragraph. The words referred to the supposed customs of the tribe that dwelt at Zeltapec. It stated that they were moon worshipers.
The crescents!
The Shadow laughed as his hands carried away the loose-sheaved papers. A short while later, the hands reappeared and unfolded a map of northern Mexico that spread over the entire table.
For long, slow-moving minutes, the hidden eyes pored over the large chart while The Shadow’s fingers pointed out certain spots within a mountain-studded radius. Gradually, the fingers reduced the area. They chose the region that was most vaguely mapped, and rested upon that part.
A hand reached forward and drew a set of ear phones from the darkness. A tiny spot of light shone — a signal that telephonic communication had been established with someone.
“Burbank speaking.”
The quiet voice sounded over the wire. Burbank was an agent of The Shadow. Passive and efficient, he was always at The Shadow’s bidding. He was the contact man whom The Shadow kept unseen. When plans were forming; when campaigns were a their height, Burbank was always in readiness.
The voice of The Shadow whispered its orders. They referred to Harry Vincent. Both Harry and Clyde Burke had returned to New York, and were available for duty. Now, The Shadow’s instructions made it plain that Harry was to visit the blind office to intercept all mail that came there.
The conversation ended. The tiny bulb no longer glowed. Beneath the blue light, the hands of The Shadow folded the map of northern Mexico. A piece of paper came into view. The left hand held it; the iridescent girasol gleamed in mystery. The right hand wrote a single word:
Zeltapec.
The writing faded. The light clicked out. A long, weird laugh swept through the darkness. Dying echoes were repeated with convulsive shudderings, as though a host of ghouls were joining with gruesome mockery.
Then stillness. The Shadow was gone. His plans were made. Charles Kistelle could wait in ignorance until the next summons reached New York. In the meantime, The Shadow had a new and amazing purpose; a way to meet the problem that he faced.
The last word that the mysterious hand had written was filled with important significance. It told the one thought that was in The Shadow’s mind.
There was a place that he must find. Swiftly, with no delay, The Shadow had set forth to a new destination. Later that night, a swift plane winged its way southward, at a speed exceeding two hundred miles an hour.
The Shadow was heading for a Texas airport. There, awaiting him, was a special type of ship that had been reserved by wire — at the order of a New York millionaire named Lamont Cranston.
Texas was not the final goal. The real objective was beyond.
The Shadow was seeking the lost city of Zeltapec!
CHAPTER XIV
THE MOON MESSENGER
THE crescent moon was rising above a towering mountain summit. The sky was still bright with the glow of the setting sun. But within the secluded valley of Zeltapec, a premature gloom announced the coming of early evening.
A strange survival of an ancient day, the village of Zeltapec bore untarnished traces of the Aztec civilization. Adobe buildings rested against the sides of the valley. Robed Indians, with firm, bronzed faces, stood in clusters outside their homes.
The Aztecs had been known as ferocious warriors. These survivors of their race had softened. Their faces still showed the sternness of the Aztec race; yet in their bearing, the natives of Zeltapec were quiet and mild-mannered. Protected by the high mountain walls about them, they had drifted from the ways of warfare.
The dull, monotonous beat of tom-toms sounded weirdly through the gloom. It was the call that the Indians were awaiting. Slowly, the little groups turned toward the center of their valley. There, upon a broad, flat area, stood the leaders of their clan.
The space provided for the mystic rites was a large, raised square of table rock that measured fifty feet in each direction. Those who stood upon this spot were gathered at the edges. In the center, like a giant bull’s-eye thirty feet in diameter, was a perfect circle, painted white upon the flattened rock.
This circle was marked with cross lines, and outside its sphere were thin, crescent-shaped designs, four in number.
To the Aztecs of Zeltapec, this was a sacred spot. To tread upon it would mean instant punishment.
The chiefs of Zeltapec, men clad in gorgeous robes, were the only ones who dared step upon the tabled rock. But even they were guarded in their actions. They carefully avoided any contact with the circle or the crescents. They stalked about the edges of the flattened area.
As the people assembled and took their places below the rock, the chieftains, who were also the priests of the tribe, acted with definite procedure. Each took his spot at one side of the sacred rock. Four in number, these tall, imposing men stood with folded arms, each gazing steadfastly at the crescent that was inscribed before him.
The most impressive ceremony of Zeltapec had begun. It was the welcome to the crescent moon. Beating tom-toms, chanting voices — both ascended through the increasing gloom, and in the midst shone the glistening rock, with its whitened, painted surface.
THE people of Zeltapec were moon worshippers with a reason. To them, the changing positions of the sun were not apparent. But the moon, rising high above the secluded vale, seemed lifelike in its phases. They regarded it as a sign of the world beyond — a chariot in which some god rode forth to gaze benignly down upon his chosen folk.
The appearance of the crescent moon was of vast importance to the natives of Zeltapec. It was a sign that the moon god had returned.
With wild, savage fervor, the tom-tom men beat forth their welcome. The people joined in a swelling chant. The four silent leaders raised their heads and stared skyward.
Some day — so the legend said — the power that controlled the sky chariot would send forth a messenger to visit the people of Zeltapec. For centuries, the Indians had persisted in this belief.
Story had it that once such a messenger had come; and then returned. Ever since, the people had been in readiness. They were determined that should the messenger arrive again, he would not find their welcome lacking.
The four tall leaders were chanting now. Their powerful voices arose above the cries of the people. The tom-toms ceased to beat. The populace was stilled. Four men alone were singing forth the welcome to the crescent moon that glimmered in the darkening sky.
The Indians were watching their leaders. Only the four were staring skyward. Then, suddenly, the people looked on in wonder. Simultaneously, the four had ended their chant, and were gazing agape above the mountain peak.
Never before had the ceremony broken at this point. Instinctively, the people raised their heads and followed their leaders’ gaze. In the deep hush of the valley, a new sound manifested itself faintly from the sky.
Hovering about the mountain was a birdlike object that had appeared directly beneath the moon itself. It was singing a throbbing tune. Above it, wondering eyes could detect the whirling of a fanlike wheel.