In that way they left an end of the twine too high to be discovered and removed; later they could secure it and by letting the stone at its other end pull it down, could readily affix their rope and again reave it through the pulley and get themselves back to the high point. They hid the rope carefully and began preparations for the day whose light was already dyeing the sky with vivid colors. Looking upward as the light grew stronger they saw that against the neutral rock their dull twine did not show up at all and only sharp eyes might detect the fine line high above leading over the bough. Their way of escape was quite likely to remain undisturbed.
“I only hope our plans will work out,” said Mr. Whitley, as they ate a cold breakfast, not wishing to light a fire.
“If we were dealing with the Peruvians near the Pacific, or on the eastern slope, I wouldn’t try it,” Bill declared. “The Spaniards have educated them just a little too much to make it safe. But away off here, buried in the mountains for centuries—ever since about 1532—I feel sure that the old superstitions and beliefs still count in our favor.”
They had not long to wait before discovering which way the hidden valley would deal with the intruders.
Through the field glasses Bill reported that people were moving about in distant fields and that a group seemed to be moving slowly toward them on a road which seemed to end about half a mile away, at a low stone building. To that the group proceeded.
“You had better get up on your rocks, Cliff,” he suggested. “Don’t pay any attention, whatever happens; just look as if you were lost in meditations.”
Cliff took the position they had agreed upon and the others squatted at a little distance. Outwardly they paid no attention but Cliff saw, as did Bill, whose position enabled him to report softly to the others, that his position was the focal point for groups and solitary figures from every direction. About two hundred gathered at a respectful distance, murmuring in low tones, evidently fascinated as they watched Cliff.
“If I have figured right,” Bill told Tom and Nicky, “in just about two minutes the sun will be high enough.”
“I think I know,” Tom told him; but Bill signed for quiet and from the corners of their eyes they kept watch of Cliff. He stood without moving, a veritable statue of an Indian in his gaily colored robe which Cliff had been assured by Bill was a garment of the sort worn by the nobles.