Doc took Morning Breeze's sacred knife, his only weapon, away from him.
"Have you some place we can lock him up so he won't give more trouble?" Doc asked King Chaac. Doc was not even breathing heavily.
The Mayan sovereign was both amazed and highly elated. "I have!" he declared.
To one side, entrancing Princess Monja of the Mayans had been an admiring observer. Her dark eyes, as she watched Doc, radiated a great deal of feeling.
Morning Breeze was cast into a dark, windowless stone dungeon of a room, the only access to which was through a hole in the ceiling. Over this was fitted a stone lid of a door which required the combined strength of four squat Mayans to lift.
King Chaac was all for expelling the troublesome chief warrior from the Valley of the Vanished. He saw the undesirability of this, though, when Doc pointed out that Morning Breeze would only disclose to the world the existence of the golden pyramid.
"Give him a chance to cool off there in the cell," Doc suggested. "A chance to think over the error of his way has done wonders for many a criminal."
The Mayan sovereign concluded to follow that course.
Such was the simple temperament of these golden-skinned Mayans that Doc and his friends now found themselves generally accepted in defiance to the red-fingered men's solemn warnings. The influence of the latter was deflated to such a degree that the other Mayans refused to even listen to their sinister propaganda — for the warriors quickly tried to talk themselves into power again.
"We're sitting pretty!" Monk declared, rubbing his big, furry hands together.
"Knock on wood, you lunk!" Ham muttered somberly. Monk grinned and tried to knock on Ham's head. "I wonder why his nibs, the king, is making us wait a month before he concludes arrangements about this gold?"
"I have no idea," Ham admitted. "But you recall he mentioned it might not be thirty days."
Monk stretched and yawned tremendously.
"Well, this ain't a bad place to spend a month's vacation," he decided. "It'll probably he quiet around here now."
Chapter 16. CURSE OF THE GODS
That night, in the Valley of the Vanished, darkness lay everywhere with the black intensity of drawing ink. Impenetrable clouds massed above the great chasm caused this. The air was a bit sultry. Even a novice forecaster could have told one of the tropical downpours common to Hidalgo was on its way.
Doc and his friends took the precaution of posting a guard and keeping a light burning. They alternated on guard, but nothing eventful came to their notice.
At the stone hut where Morning Breeze was incarcerated, two Mayan citizens kept alert vigil. From time to time the surly Morning Breeze called them uncomplimentary names and promised them the wrath of the gods if they didn't release him at once. But the watchmen had been promised the wrath of Doc Savage if they let Morning Breeze escape, and they feared that the greater. To them, also, the night gave nothing portentous.
In one spot in the Valley of the Vanished, however, a devil's cauldron of evil simmered and stewed.
This was near the lower end of the egg-shaped valley, where the stream cut through the great chasm. In a tiny pock of a hole among the boulders had congregated most of the red-fingered warriors. There they lighted a fire and offered a chant to the fire god, one of their principal deities. There were also prayers to Quetzalcoal, the Sky God; and to Kukulcan, the Feathered Serpent.
They seemed to be waiting for something, these villainous ones, and killing the ensuing time with chants calculated to redeem their sadly depreciated standing. They launched into a ritual devoted to the Earth Monster, another pagan deity.
This was interrupted by a low rustling of the leafage that edged the recess where the red-fingered men had gathered. An amazing figure clambered down and joined them.
A man it was, but he wore a remarkable masquerade. The body of the garment consisted of an enormous snakeskin, the hide of a giant boa constrictor. The head of the reptile had been carefully skinned out, and probably enlarged by some stretching process until it formed a fantastic hood and mask for the one who wore it.
The man's arms and legs, projecting from the masquerade garment, were painted a gaudy blue, the Mayan holy color. Starting on the forehead and down the middle of the back, and nearly to the dragging end of the snake tail, were feathers. They resembled the trains on the feather headdress of an American Indian.
The newcomer was obviously made up in some weird likeness of the Mayan god, Kukulcan, the Feathered Serpent.
The gathering of red-fingered warriors were greatly impressed. To a man they sank upon their knees and kowtowed to the hideous apparition in snakeskin and feathers. They undoubtedly knew there was a man inside the rigmarole, but they were overawed anyway, such superstitious souls did they possess.
Haltingly, with the greatest of difficulty, the snake man began to speak Mayan. A large proportion of his words were so poorly uttered as to convey no meaning to his listeners. At such times the blank expression of the warriors warned him to go back and repeat. The snake man was plainly an outsider.
But the red-fingered men were completely under his sway.
"I am the son of Kukulcan, blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh," the serpent one told his awed audience. "Did you seize such of the white invaders as you could and throw them into the sacrificial well? Did you change the color of the white devils' blue plane, painting marks of the Red Death upon it? This I commanded. Did you do it?"
"We did," muttered a warrior.
The brain back of the snake mask sensed something wrong. The hideous head jerked, surveying the assembled Mayans. "Where is your commander, Morning Breeze?"
"He is imprisoned." The information came reluctantly.
A great rage shook the masked figure. "Then Savage and his men are still in the good graces of your people?" he grated.
Slowly the serpent one extracted the story of what had happened from the humiliated gathering. The information seemed to stun him. He sat in morose silence, thinking.
A warrior, bolder than the rest, inquired: "What, O master, became of the two of our number we sent with you into the outer world to slay this Savage and his father?"
That disclosed who the snake man was. The murderer of Doc Savage's father! The master of the Red Death! The brains behind the Hidalgo revolution movement!
Words of answer were slow coming from the evil mask. The fiendish brain was racing. It would not do to let these red-fingered men know their two fellows had succumbed to the power of that supreme adventurer, Doc Savage. It might wipe out some of their faith in the impostor who was pretending to be the son of the sacred Feathered Serpent.
He needed all his power now, did the snake man. His plane and pilot destroyed by Doc Savage! This was a blow! He had intended to use that machine-gun-equipped plane in his revolution against President Carlos Avispa's government of Hidalgo.
And Savage and his friends were soundly intrenched in the Valley of the Vanished. Soon all chance to secure the vast sum needed to finance the revolution would be gone.
"Has Savage gained access to the gold?" asked the snake man.
"No," replied a well-posted Mayan. "He does not know but what the pyramid contains all the yellow metal in the Valley of the Vanished. King Chaac has not told him the truth yet."
None of the red-fingered ones heard the words next breathed into the serpent mask. They were: "Thank Heaven for that!"
The collected warriors began to stir uneasily. This son of the Feathered Serpent had been full of egoism and orders on other occasions. Now he was silent. And he had not explained what had happened to their two comrades. One Mayan repeated the question about their two fellows.