"Time was saved," Pico said, "because I still had a supply of the clear liquid from my last batch. I had to coat the parchment three times, but the third time the images became distinct. As you can see, the cave is near the top of the fifth hollow from the east, or the third hollow from the west. It would have taken several hours to search all the hollows. Worse yet, without the map, we would not have found the cave even if we had gone directly to the fifth hollow."
He pointed to a faded mark that looked like a child's rendering of a fly. They were big on flies in this part of the world.
"The fly once was the symbol of fertility among the Nincas," Pico continued. It still was judging from the size of the flies that were right now munching on me. "This fly is facing due west, indicating that the cave entrance is to the west side of the hollow. Possibly, there's a ravine there separating hollow five from hollow six. We won't know until we inspect the premises. But I've found a small dot that I don't understand. Under the magnifying glass, the dot is actually a tiny circle. Whether this was by intent or by accident, I don't know. If by accident, it means nothing. If by design, it means that the cave entrance is through a well or a deep hole in the ground. Finding a hole up there will be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. I know that I followed Ancio and his friends down some steps in a dark place. The open circle on the map indicates the presence of water, but I recall no water. My memory is of no help to us. And there's more potential bad news."
We waited. Pico gazed at the faces, then glanced at the sun that was telling that it was mid-afternoon. I checked my watch. It was 2:26. We were tight on time, but there was enough if we had no further problems.
"When we were returning from my plateau," Pico said, "we saw a group of red-shirted guerillas moving up toward the area of the hollows. These are the elite corps of Don Carlos, of Ancio. There were perhaps a hundred of them. If we encounter them on the trail, it is all over.
"Then," I said as positively as I could, "we'll just not encounter them. Unless you have anything to add, Pico, I think we ought to leave immediately for the cave entrance."
After a brief altercation between Elicia and Purano about her going along, it was decided by old Chief Botussin that, if the Ninca tribe was to link up with the Twentieth Century at last, they might as well accept the new role for women. In short, he said, Purano shouldn't tell the girl what she could or couldn't do. Elicia went along and, even though Purano had nodded his approval, his face and eyes didn't seem any too happy about the decision.
I had already been keeping my eyes on Purano since spending that lovely hour alone in the council hut with Elicia. The boy had known that Elicia was in love with me, had been with me on the trail. But it had seemed to me a somewhat extreme test of his love to tell him, as Elicia had, that she was going to give herself to another man before the marriage. The more I thought of it, the more I realized that women in other cultures were similar in that respect. A great number of American women have a final fling with a former lover before entering into marriage. The difference, though, is they keep quiet about it.
So far, I hadn't seen any signs of animosity out of Purano. He treated me with his usual silent respect. If he was plotting any mischief against me out of jealousy, he didn't show it. And we hadn't been on the trail ten minutes before his obvious pique about losing his first argument with Elicia seemed to have dissipated.
There were seventeen of us in the party heading out to find the entrance to the sacrificial cave and, hopefully, a way to the top of Alto Arete. Besides me, Elicia, Antonio, Purano and Pico, there were twelve warriors armed with knives and spears. We left the Indian camp at 2:32 in the afternoon, giving us just six hours to reach Don Carlos Italla's lair and to stop him from giving the war signal.
We had no time for toe-stubbing.
Purano and his warriors led our party. Purano knew of secret trails which would take a few minutes longer, but which would keep us out of danger from the guerilla patrols. Even so, we spotted the red-shirted members of the elite corps in half a dozen places before we even approached the entrance to the fifth hollow.
Strangely, there were no guards or guerillas at the mouth of the fifth hollow. It was quiet there; not a soul was about. We found the campfires used by guards only recently, and places on the jungle floor where they had slept. The warriors in our group spread out to make certain the guerillas weren't waiting in ambush, but the whole area was clear.
As we made our way up the hollow, through ever-narrowing ravines and along high ledges above a cascading stream, I began to feel more and more uneasy about the absence of guards. If we had spotted guerillas and avoided them, I would have felt easier. At least, we would have known where they were.
This way, the jungle hollow had an eerie feeling about it. Even the birds and the rushing water seemed to have muted sounds, as though anticipating a disaster.
As we neared the top of the hollow and were weary from an hour-long forced march over difficult trails, Pico called a halt and we rested. He sat down and studied the ancient map, getting up frequently to check certain points. Elicia and Purano sat side by side on the grass, gazing at invisible points near each other's feet. I wondered just how those two would help propagate the race among the Nincas, but decided it was none of my business.
I used the time to study my crude map of the top of Alto Arete, based on information I had gleaned from Luis Pequeno, the hapless Marine sergeant who had helped me plunge into this whole mad affair. There were squares for the main buildings; the barracks for the monks, the minefields and other fortifications. Even as I pondered the map, I had the distinct feeling that it would be useless. Luis Pequeno could have lied through his teeth about everything, or he could have made the whole thing up just to keep me from torturing him. But it was all I had to go on and I had the others study it closely.
We moved on. It was 3:45 when Pico spotted a deep ravine separating the fifth and sixth hollows. He had been right about that. We slid down the steep banks and came up on the other side, through a wall of vines and into a small clearing about the size of a high school gymnasium.
It was quiet in the clearing, quieter than it had been on the trail. Not even the sound of the tumbling water from the ravine behind us reached our ears. Not one bird sang or called out. Pico spotted a mound of rocks at the far end of the clearing, up a steep slope.
"That would be where the well is," he said. "If my calculations and faint memory are correct, the entrance will be through the well."
I had a great deal of nylon rope in my knapsack, and Purano and his warriors had brought long lengths of well-made hemp rope. We could use it all for climbing down the well — and possibly for climbing up the natural chimney. The husky Indian and Pico started off briskly up the slope. The hemp rope in hand.
For some reason I still haven't been able to fathom, I decided to remain behind. I smelled danger. I signalled Antonio to take a post to my right with his Volska automatic weapon. I pointed toward the mound of rocks and Antonio dropped to one knee. He aimed at the rocks. Elicia, unaware of our vigilance, went on up the slope with Purano, Pico and the warriors.
My hunch of danger proved true. Pico was no more than halfway across the clearing when guerillas came streaming out from either side of the rock pile. They opened fire and the big hermit was the first to fall. The warriors began to let out hideous war cries and then flung their spears.
The spears fell harmlessly against the rocks and the guerillas advanced down the slope, cutting the warriors to pieces with automatic rifles.