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For all that, there was something of a trail. Here and there were suggestions of an ancient, permanently cut way. In three places Pant found his feet firmly planted upon steps which had been cut from the solid rock.

“Stands to reason,” he said as he perched himself upon the topmost steps of the last flight, “that these were built by natives long ago. See how nature has chipped and worn the edges away.”

“Probably done by the Maya Indians centuries ago,” said Kirk, dropping upon a soft bed of moss and fanning himself with a broad leaf pulled from a palm. “Everything of importance that is told of the Maya Indians happened long ago. There are a few of them back in the hills now. They do not count any more. A nation that was once rich and in a way powerful, that had a civilization rivaling any to be found in the world five centuries ago, has dwindled to a handful of vagabonds of the jungle. It is sad.” He cupped his chin in his hands and, as if seeing the palaces and temples of that lost civilization, sat staring at the jungle. “It is said,” he went on at last, “that the cave we are about to visit was the last hiding place of the smartest and wisest of the Mayas.”

“Fleeing from the Spaniards?” asked Pant.

“No. The Spaniards have many atrocities justly charged against them. But the great Maya civilization was destroyed by fierce, war-like tribes from the North before the prow of the white man’s boat touched Central America’s coral strands.

“The last of the Mayas are said to have fled to this cave and, unless they knew a secret passage leading out of the cave, to have perished there.”

Again Pant thought of the ancient treasure they must have carried with them.

“Did the savage tribe follow them into the cave?”

“They were afraid. That’s the way the story goes. Afraid the Earth God of the Mayas would push the mountain down upon them if they should enter.”

“So,” thought Pant, “whatever the Mayas took with them is in the cave still. And they were possessed of great wealth. I have read of it. Gold and jade, topaz and perhaps diamonds, pearls from the western shores and strange little gods carved from rare stones or formed from metal.”

All this he thought, but not one word did he say as they resumed their upward march.

The entrance to the cave, which they reached after much climbing, was most picturesque. Its mouth was entirely hidden by dark spreading palm leaves. A sparkling stream, appearing to emerge from nowhere, went dashing headlong over a rocky ledge.

Parting the large leaves as if they had been a curtain, the boys peered within to find there a dark hole from which there came a constant draft of cool damp air.

“Boo!” said Pant. “It’s cold in there.”

The other boy did not hear him. He was staring in amazement at his black servant. As if seized by a sudden fit of ague, the giant was shaking violently from head to foot.

“A chill,” said Pant as he caught sight of him.

“Afraid,” his companion whispered back. “Afraid of the Earth God of the Mayas. He has great courage and the strength of three. I have never known him to fear anything before.”

In a moment it became evident that the black man was ashamed of his fear and was making brave attempts to conquer it. In the end he won and, seating himself upon a rock, watched his young master and Pant remove their shoes and stockings. The narrow entrance to the cave offered no footing save the moss covered rocks at the bottom of the stream.

As they signified their readiness to start, the black lifted the door of a strange glassless lantern of beaten brass which, Pant was told, burned fish oil and would provide a feeble light for hours on end. After lighting the lantern he plunged boldly into the stream and led the way through icy water straight into the darkness of night until, with a grunt of satisfaction, he emerged panting and dripping upon a dry ledge where the cave suddenly widened to a broad chamber.

For a time, lighted only by the dull gleam of the Carib’s lantern, they moved along the brink of the narrow stream. The silence was oppressive. The stream flowed placidly over an all but level floor, making no sound. Only the gentle pat-pat of their bare feet disturbed the tomb-like hush that hung over all.

Then of a sudden, like thunder from a clear sky, pandemonium broke loose. The innocent cause of all the commotion was the Carib. He had, by chance, struck his lantern against a rock.

The air was filled with strange noises, such a whirring and snapping as not one of them had heard before.

“Wha—what is it?” Kirk’s hand trembled as he gripped Pant’s arm.

“Bats,” said Pant. “Stand perfectly still. They will settle.”

For a single second he threw on his flashlight and allowed it to play across the space before them. The other boy’s eyes went big with wonder. Even Pant, who had seen much of Central American life, was astonished. Bats, a million of them it seemed, circled the air. And such bats! No tiny mouse-like creatures were these, but great gray monsters with broad spreading wings, gleaming eyes and teeth that shone white in the perpetual night about them.

“Don’t.” Kirk’s hand was on his arm. The light flashed out.

“May as well go ahead,” said Pant. “Doubt if they go far back into the cave.”

They had not gone a hundred yards before they came to a very narrow passage. Once more they were obliged to take to the bed of the stream. This lasted only a moment. As they emerged there came over them a sense of vastness. Was it the quality of silence that was there? Was it the changed sound of their footsteps? Or was it some sixth sense that told them? As Pant threw the gleam of his powerful flashlight before them, an exclamation escaped every lip.

Nothing they had seen in any land could compare with the splendor of the masonry of the vast cathedral that lay before them.

Masonry? This indeed they at first thought it, the work of some great lost race. In time they came to realize that the splendid gleaming pillars were the work of time and a great Creator, the Master Builders of all ages. The pillars were great stalagmites, formed by the dripping of water through a thousand thousand years.

Strangest of all, as they listened they caught from afar a sound that was like music.

“Like some mighty organ played softly while a thousand children chant,” Kirk whispered.

It was now time to cover their feet, yet even the Carib felt something of the awe that led the others on, still barefooted.

The illusion of the chant could not last forever. As they advanced the sound increased in volume, became more distinct until it burst upon them as the rush and roar of a miniature cataract, where the stream emerged from a chamber still beyond.

“Shall we go on?” Pant stood with his feet in the lower water of the cataract.

“If—if we don’t get lost,” the younger boy hesitated.

“Not a chance,” said Pant. “We have only to follow the stream back.”

“To be sure. How stupid of me. Yes, let’s go on.” There was an eager note in Kirk’s voice. Pant read it correctly. He was eager to go forward for, in some hidden chamber, perhaps just beyond, there might rest a vast treasure from the forgotten past.

The ascent of the water worn and slippery rocks was difficult. More than once the younger boy was in danger of being thrown into the torrent