But their reasoning told them better. No man-made dynamite could cause an entire area to be so convulsed.
Walls of stone houses lining the streets were weaving and crackling. A massive pillar came tumbling down.
Great chasms had developed in the earth, so deep that they seemed without bottom. Monoliths of immense size were hurled down.
“An earthquake!” cried Willie, seizing a rock for support.
“One of the worst this area has had since I’ve been here!” gasped Mr. Monahan.
A great dust rose from the ruined city. Everywhere there was screaming, shouting and terror as natives sought refuge.
“The wrath of the Gods is being visited upon the city,” murmured Mr. Monahan.
“Surely, you don’t really believe that,” returned Mr. Livingston.
“Of course not,” the other admitted. “But that is what the natives will think, if any survive this awful upheaval.”
Another hard tremor shook the area, leveling the statue in the plaza. Crouching together for protection against the falling stone, the Scouts tensely waited.
No further upheavals followed. After awhile, Mr. Monahan decided to creep from the shelter to see what could be done to help the injured.
“Stay here until I test the temper of the natives,” he warned the others. “In their present mood, there’s no telling what they may do. Those explosions and the quake have thrown them into a panic.”
Cautiously, Mr. Monahan moved out into the devastated street. But before he could start toward the shattered temple, he was brought up short by the wild cries of a mob which approached the plaza from the inner lake trail.
Into view came the Indian warriors, their dust-streaked faces contorted with both fear and fierce triumph. On their shoulders they bore the lifeless, battered body of Captain Carter.
“They’ve done for him!” exclaimed the Scout leader.
“They have,” grimly agreed Mr. Monahan. “He brought it on himself by setting off those explosions!”
“Now what?” Jack asked, watching as the strange procession proceeded to the temple steps. “Are they offering prayers to the Gods?”
Mr. Monahan nodded. “And may they be appeased!” he murmured. “If they show displeasure by further earth tremors, all our lives may be forfeit!”
In the garden of Father Francisco’s mission, the Scouts, their leader and Mr. Monahan sat sipping limeade from tall, frosted glasses.