and from his pallet Boots caught one glimpse of waving plumes and barbarically splendid figures before it closed again. The man who had entered, however, was of far more commonplace appearance, save for his head, which in the matter of bandages matched Boots' body.
It was not until he spoke that the latter recognized him as Svend Biornson.
Pointedly ignoring Kennedy, he walked over and stood looking down at the swathed figure on the pallet.
'You seem to have had a little more than enough, my man,' he greeted Boots.
Because there was truth in that statement, and because he felt at a great disadvantage, Boots managed a particularly happy smile.
'Ah, now,' protested he, ''twas a very amusing frolic while it lasted! Leave me try it again with me two feet under me and I'll engage to tame a few of those lap-dogs for you. And how is your face the day, Mr. Biornson?'
'It's still a face.' The tone was rather grim. 'It would have been less than that if your friend had got his way with the rifle, so I shan't complain.'
'Mr. Kennedy is a bit quick-tempered,' conceded Boots, 'but sure, you're never the sort to hold against a man the deed done in hot blood, more especially when the worst of it was never done at all, but just thought of?'
The other laughed.
'That is an unusual plea. I'll consider it, and meantime let me thank you for having diverted the rife-muzzle from my head. I learned of your act from the daughter of Quetzalcoatl, whom your friend would have robed- another, deed I suppose you place in the excusable 'just-thought-of' class!'
'The daughter of-you can't mean the lass from fairyland, with the fire-moths in her hair? Don't tell me she has years enough to be the child of an old, dead heathen god like that!'
Biornson cast a nervous glance toward the closed door.
'Be careful! Never call Quetzalcoatl a dead god in Tlapallan! The Guardians of the Hills are inclined in your favor. They admire strength and courage, and it is seldom indeed that a hound of Nacoc-Yaotl's has been killed by a man bare-handed. But to speak against Quetzalcoatl is a cardinal crime. Only your life could ever wipe out that insult.'
'Would you believe it now!' Boots' curiosity was immense, but he held back his questions, thinking Biornson might be more communicative if merely led on to talk. 'And there I might have hurt the feelings of them by a slip of the tongue, had you not warned me! Fine, large, handsome men they are, too, with a spirit of fair play that matches your own, Mr. Biornson.'
'It is good of you to say so.' The other's voice was grave, but between the bandages his eyes were twinkling. 'And fair speech matches fair play in Killarney, eh?'
'Kerry,' corrected Boots. 'But I meant my words.'
'I believe you did. They are true enough, too, of the Tlapallans. I can't say exactly what will be done about you and your friend, but Astrid has promised to speak for you, and I'll do what I can. As for your wounds, the Tlapotlazenan gild are wonderful healers, and I shall expect to see you on your feet in a week or so. You have reason to be thankful that the Guardians of the Hilts called off their hounds when they did. A little more and it would have been scarcely worth while trying to piece you together.'
'Guardians of the Hills,' repeated Boots thoughtfully. 'There was more truth than fancy, then, in the tales we heard of white giants, though the ghost-cougars they hunt with are just dogs, and there's little of the fantom about any of them. 'Tis all a most interesting discovery. An adventure after my own heart, though so far the head and the tail of it are well hid, and the middle past all understanding!'
The patient angler for information paused tentatively, but Biornson shook his head.
'For your own sake,' he said, 'it is better that you should not understand. I tell you frankly that there is a truth in these hills which no man has ever been allowed to carry beyond them. When you first came to my house, it happened that none of the folk were in the lower valley. It was the time of the Feast of Tlaloc, and they were all gathered in Tlapallan. As men of my own race, I would have done much to save you, but you know how my efforts resulted.'
'I do not,' Boots retorted. 'Betwixt one mystery and the next my head is fair swimming!'
'Better perish of curiosity than meet the fate I am still trying to avert from you.'
He looked pityingly down at the homely, good-humored Irish face, with its danger-careless eyes and smiling mouth.
'I told you there was a secret in these hills. I tell you now that there is also a horror-a-a-thing-a way they have — '
In a spasm of inexplicable emotion he broke off, and it was a moment before he could control his voice to continue. 'When I say that you are housed now, in the seat of Nacoc-Yaotl it means nothing to you, but to me it means threat of a terror that I never think of when I can avoid it! When I was first here, a prisoner, I, who had never given much thought to religion, used to spend whole nights in prayer, entreating God to make it untrue-or let me forget!
'And yet when I could have escaped I did not go. Though by staying I not only risked my soul, but betrayed a trust, I did not go! I knew by your faces at the house that you had never heard of Svend Biornson. Perhaps conscience exaggerated my fame in the world, and my dropping out of it left hardly a ripple. And yet I know that in some circles that could not have been so. But it was all so many years ago!'
He paused again.
'Very like,' said Colin. 'If 'twas so very many years ago I must have been a small, ignorant spalpeen in Kerry when it happened. 'Tis no wonder I never heard of you.'
'I was younger myself,' the other answered reflectively. He might almost have been talking to himself, instead of Colin-arguing that old case that every man argues eternally before the inner tribunal 'Young and impetuous. For all the standing I had achieved in the archeological field-I know now how young I was! Very proud, too. Twenty-five, and set at the head of a scientific expedition! I wonder who has since done in Yucatan the things I set out to accomplish?
'And our party! Did any one of them survive to carry back a report? Wiped out by the Yaquis, and poor young Biornson, too! I can see the dear old gray-beards who sent me out shaking their heads and sighing for another young promise lost-and sighing, too, for the work that had not been done. And I, who had been chosen, could have later taken them news whose confirmation would have made the university world-famous-I-fell in love and cast in my lot with Tlapallan! A trust betrayed and youth served! It isn't the biography that was prophesied for Svend Biornson!'
'If that's all you have on your conscience,' consoled Boots, 'it's lighter than most men's! Sure, to carry tales for the world is an interesting occupation, but I cannot see how you were damned in neglecting it. By your manner, I had thought you left a trail of murder and arson behind you!'
Biornson stirred impatiently and seemed ill at ease. 'I'm a fool!' he said. 'What is science or a scientific reputation to an ignorant boy like you? Of course you can't understand! But-it isn't only, that! They are my friends, these folk. Sometimes I think they are the last remnant of a forgotten race, older than Toltec or Mayan, or even the Olmecs, who have left nothing to archeology but a memory.
'And sometimes-I have other thoughts of them, thoughts that I can't put into words, for there are no words to express them. I know that they speak the Aztec tongue in all its ancient purity, and yet they are surely not of Aztec blood. However it be, they are good, true comrades, and my own wife is one of them, but I sometimes wonder if I have not-have not lost my soul in living here! I am saying too much-you can't understand and you must not. You shall go back to your own people and your own God — '
Stooping unexpectedly Biornson seized the surprised Irishman's hand and gripped it hard.
'Boy,' and his voice was a harsh whisper, 'never bow your head to the gods of a strange race! Never! Not for our nor love, nor wealth, nor friendship! Not for wonders, nor miracles! You speak of mysteries. There is a mystery I could tell you of-but your soul would be sick afterward-sick-you might even desert your Christ-as I did, God help me!'
'I am a good Catholic,' said Boots, gravely and simply.
'Then stay so! You are in a city where mercy and kindness excel, and their roots are set in a monstrous cruelty. Where beauty springs out of horror, and they worship benignant gods with the powers of devils! Don't
