the fallacy of belief in evil spirits and heathen deities. And along with the rest he taught me that what you have just promised to do is impossible. If your men were hurled into the sacrificial well, they are dead until judgment day.'
A faint smile warped Doc's strong bronze lips; appreciation glowed in his flaky golden eyes. The Mayan sovereign was as free of superstitious, heathen beliefs as any American. Probably more so than many.
So Doc explained how he had caught his friends as they were thrown into the fiendish sacrificial pit. A bystander would have marveled how insignificant Doc made his feat sound.
Elderly King Chaac fell in heartily with the resurrection scheme.
Every community of human beings has certain individuals who are more. addicted to talking than others. These gossips no sooner get a morsel of news than they start imparting it to every one they meet.
King Chaac, using his deep understanding of his Mayan subjects, selected about fifty of these walking newspapers to witness the reanimation of Johnny, Long Tom, and Ham. There was not room for the whole tribe, which would have been the best audience. They would have overflowed the stone paving about the sacrificial well and surely discovered Monk hidden in the luxuriant tropical growth. And the whole resurrection depended on Monk's tremendous strength to jerk the wire, the tightening of which would fling Johnny, Long Tom, and Ham out of the well mouth.
Doc, since his knowledge of the Mayan language was not sufficient to make a public speech, left the oratory to King Chaac. The elderly Mayan was an eloquent speaker, his mellow voice making the clattering gutturals of the language pleasantly liquid.
King Chaac told of the fate of Doc's three friends during the night. He gave the impression, of course, they had perished among the sharp rocks and poisonous serpents in the depths of the sacrificial well.
Finally he announced Doc's act.
Truly impressive was the figure Doc Savage presented as he made dignified progress to the gaping, evil mouth of the sacrificial well. His face was serious; not the slightest humor flickered in his golden eyes.
The situation had little comedy. If his trick failed, there would be serious consequences indeed. The crimson-fingered warriors would brand him a faker, set upon him. The other Mayans wouldn't object.
He glanced at the warriors. The entire clique of fighting men stood to one side, varying expressions on their unlovely faces — from frank unbelief to fear. They were all curious. And Morning Breeze glared surly hate.
Doc brought his bronze arms out rigidly before him. His fists were closed tightly, dramatically. In his left hand was a quantity of ordinary flash powder, such as photographers use. In his right was a cigarette lighter.
After what he considered the proper amount of incantations and mysterious rigmarole, Doc stooped at the well mouth. So none could see, he poured out a little pile of the flash powder. He touched a lighter spark to it.
There was a flash, a great bloom of white smoke. And when the smoke blew away a loud howl of surprise went up from the red-fingered men.
For Long Tom stood upon the well lip!
The trick had worked perfectly.
Doc followed exactly the same procedure and got Ham out of the sacrificial pit.
Immediately Morning Breeze tried to dash up and look into the well. But Doc, with an ominous thunder in his voice, informed Morning Breeze that powerful invisible spirits, great enemies of his, were congregated about the sacrificial well mouth. And Morning Breeze retreated, scared in spite of himself.
Johnny was resurrected next. As Johnny came out of the pit, he jerked the trip string which separated the wire. And Monk, concealed in the brush, drew wire and saddle out of the well.
When Doc turned after the last reanimation and saw the effect on the red-fingered men, it was difficult not to show his satisfaction. For every warrior was on his knees, arms upstretched. Only Morning Breeze alone stood. And, after a compelling, hypnotic look from Doc's golden eyes, even Morning Breeze slouched reluctantly to his knees along with the rest.
It was a perfect victory. The lay tribesmen present were as impressed as the red-fingered men. The news would spread as though broadcast by radio. And to Doc would come the type of superstitious power, but an infinitely greater amount, that Morning Breeze had held.
Hearts were light as Doc and his five friends and King Chaac and entrancing Princess Monja turned away.
But their jubilation was short-lived.
With a piercing howl, Morning Breeze was on his feet. He urged his satellites erect, even kicking some of the less willing.
Shouting again in dramatic fashion, Morning Breeze pointed at the lake shore.
All eyes followed his arm.
Doc's low-wing speed plane had floated into view around a rocky headland. It was being pushed by a number of red-fingered warriors who had not attended the session at the sacrificial well.
The plane was no longer blue!
It was daubed with a bilious, motley assortment of grays and pallid yellows. And prominent upon the fuselage sides were large red spots.
'The Red Death!' The words rose in a low moan from the Mayans!
Morning Breeze was quick to seize his advantage.
'Our gods are angered!' he shrieked. 'They have sent the Red Death upon the blue bird which brought these whiteskinned devils!'
Renny knotted and unknotted his gigantic, steel-hard fists.
'The whelp is clever! He repainted our plane last night,' Doc spoke in a voice so low it carried only to his five friends. 'Morning Breeze did not have the intelligence to think that up, if I am any judge. Somebody is prompting him. And that somebody can only be the murderer of my father, the fiend who is planning the Hidalgo revolution.'
'But how could that devil get in touch with Morning Breeze so soon?'
'You forget the blue monoplane,' Doc pointed out. 'The craft could have dropped him by parachute in the Valley of the Vanished.'
They ceased speaking to listen to Morning Breeze harangue his uncertain followers.
'The gods are wroth that we permit these white heretics in our midst!' was the gist of his exhorting. 'We must wipe them out!'
He was rapidly undoing the good work Doc had accomplished.
King Chaac addressed Doc in a voice that was strained but full of violent resolve. 'I have never executed one of my subjects during my entire reign, but I am going to execute one now — Morning Breeze!'
But before things could progress further, there came a new and startling interruption.
Chapter 15. THE BLUE BIRD BATTLE
Morning breeze it was who called attention to the new development. And it was evident from the way he did it that the whole thing was planned. More of the scheme to discredit Doc which had started with the painting of Doc's plane!
Straight above his head Morning Breeze pointed.
'Behold!' he shouted. 'The genuine holy blue bird has returned! The same holy blue bird of which we obtained glimpses before these impostors arrived!'
Every one stared upward.
Perhaps five thousand feet above, a blue plane was circling slowly. Doc's keen eyes ascertained instantly that it was the monoplane which had attacked his expedition in Belize. The plane the instigator of the Hidalgo revolt was using to impress the superstitious Mayans!
Loud gasps came from the assembled people. The scarlet-fingered warriors recovered their punctured dignity and cast ominous glances at Doc and his friends. It was plain the tide was turning against the adventurers.
High overhead, the blue plane continued to spiral. Its presence had a ghostly quality, for no sound of its
