XITLI, G.o.d OF FIRE.

Maxwell Grant.

CHAPTER I. AZTEC DRUMS.

KENT ALLARD stood by his window in the Hotel Hidalgo, overlooking Mexico City. He was watching the ever-mysterious transformation that dusk was bringing to the Mexican capital, a change unparalleled elsewhere.

By day, the city had lain basking in a gigantic bowl, its valley rimmed by the surrounding mountains, which included the great peaks of Popocatepetl and Ixtacihuatl. With darkness wiping away those summits, the city alone remained, its lights forming a twinkling carpet patched with areas of blackness.

Mexico City was taking on life. Even the traffic denoted by moving lights, was moving faster and more steadily. All afternoon it had stalled around the fourteen-acre Zocalo, or Plaza de la Const.i.tucion, blocked by a protest parade of school children who disapproved of certain teachers and wanted the government to know it.

Tomorrow the cab drivers threatened a parade of their own, demanding compensation for the fares that they had lost while traffic was jammed the day before. But in between those daytime problems, Mexico City would enjoy a night of glitter and gaiety, as was its wont.

To the keen eyes of Kent Allard, each new spot of light that appeared below possessed a significance. The lights were like living things that were being rallied and regimented to fight off night's encroachment.

Modern though Mexico City might be, it still lay in the great valley amid the plateau of Anahuac, once the heart of the Aztec empire. Here, until the death of Montezuma, last of the Aztec rulers, had stood the strange citadel of an even stranger race.

With darkness, all the weird legends of the past seemed to close in upon the modern city, creeping down from the time-haunted slopes of the Ajusco Mountains. The Aztecs lived anew, not merely in men's imaginations but in their descendants, the Indians of the mountainsides.

There were nights when the rarefied atmosphere of Mexico City carried distant throbs that were true echoes of the past, yet actual symbols of the present. This was one such evening, and Kent Allard recognized it. When the shrouding darkness thickened to a point where his keen eyes could not pierce it, his acute hearing served him.

From beyond the night-deepened waters of Lakes Chalco and Xochimilco, where remnants of famed floating gardens still drifted, Allard caught the faint thrum of Aztec drums, beating in a steady, gloomy rhythm. Those Aztec drums were bringing in some message from afar to the capital city, where a barbaric emperor no longer ruled.

They were carrying an old story, those drums; one that had been repeated, at intervals, during several centuries. The throbs were tuning: "Loot - loot - loot -" telling that once again hostile searchers had come across some buried treasure, once the property of Montezuma or other Aztec kings, and were taking possession of the wealth.

Centuries ago, such drumbeats would have summoned hordes of Aztec warriors to the scene where the evil was in progress; but the armies of Montezuma existed no more. Though the drum throbs carried far and wide, they were little more than protest.

The beating of the drums was a duty pa.s.sed down through generations, and the news no longer stirred the blood of listeners. Yet Allard was intent when he harkened to the drums.

Had their rhythm changed, he would have known that a long-expected time had come - when surviving Aztecs might rally to a cause far more important than the protection of treasure belonging to a vanished dynasty.

The kings of the Aztecs had perished, and their power with them. But the G.o.ds of Mexico merely slept, like the giant volcano, Popocatepetl. Once disturbed, those ancient deities might rise again to rule, and all who acknowledged them would then obey.

There was a knock at Allard's door; as he turned to answer it the sounds of the drums faded, as though imagination, along with hearing, had been needed to discern them. A Mexican lieutenant in full-dress uniform was at the door.

"Senor Cuzana will see you," announced the lieutenant, with a salute. "He has requested that you come with me, Senor Allard."

THEY rode along streets like boulevards, pa.s.sing theaters and cafes, through parks where strollers were enjoying the mild evening air. Near the leading park, the Alamedo, the car swung into the Paseo de la Reforma and followed that magnificent promenade to the residence of Senor Cuzana.

There, guided by the lieutenant, Allard was ushered into a salon where three men were seated. One was Senor Luis Cuzana, a bland but friendly Mexican official, connected with the presidential cabinet. The others were Americans, whose names Allard already knew. One was Graham Talborn, wealthy exporter from New Orleans, who had done much to stimulate trade between Louisiana and Central America. Talborn was tall, affable of manner; so energetic that he seemed youthful, except for his grizzled hair.

The other was James Carland, an oil operator who had, until recently, held large concessions in Mexico.

Carland looked old and haggard, with good reason. For two years he had been fighting to regain his oil interests, which had been outlawed by the Mexican government.

All three - Cuzana, Talborn, Carland - studied Kent Allard with interest. They remembered a time when he had been famous as an aviator; but at present Allard looked as though the world had forgotten him.

Allard was tall, and his gaunt features had a hawklike expression that suited a master of the skies. But his shoulders were stooped, as from weariness; the cane that he had used did not hide his limp, the souvenir of a forced landing some years before.

On Cuzana's table stood the model of a Mayan pyramid, which attracted Allard's eye. Cuzana lifted the top of the model and it came apart in sections, showing interior compartments.

"A replica of the great pyramid at Chichen Itza," he said. "They are building a full-scale reproduction in New Orleans to serve as a permanent Mayan museum."

"We have already built it," corrected Talborn. "The interior of this model represents the arrangement of the new museum, not the ancient pyramid. We are quite sure that the museum will be open to the public in time for the West Indian Exposition."

"Thanks to you, Senor Talborn," acknowledged Cuzana. "The museum could not have been completed, I understand, if you had not supplied the hundred thousand dollars still required."

Carland thrust himself forward; his eyes were tiny, ugly beads that blazed from his haggard face.

"I was the man who promised that money!" stormed Carland. "I could still give my donation, Cuzana, if your government had not robbed me of my oil concessions!"

"I am very sorry. Senor Carland," - Cuzana's tone was cool - "but the decision did not rest with my department."

"But you could use your influence -"

"I have already used it. Nothing can be done. I tell you, officially, Senor Carland, that you can never hope to regain the concessions. The decision is final."

Carland stared, swaying like a drunken man. Then, steadying, he flexed his features into a sneer. Turning on his heel, he left the salon without bidding anyone goodbye. Cuzana gave a bland shrug, then said in a tone of sincerity: "I am very sorry for Senor Carland."

"You don't need to be," spoke Talborn promptly. "He bought those concessions for a song and made the most of them while he had them. If he had salted away his cash instead of sinking it in other speculations, he wouldn't have to worry.

"Let me tell you something about Carland" - Talborn's tone became confidential - "that may change your opinion of the fellow. When he announced that he could not pay his promised contribution of one hundred thousand dollars to the museum fund, it naturally worried many people, princ.i.p.ally EugeneBrendle, the contractor, who had a lot at stake.

"So Carland went to Brendle and borrowed fifty thousand dollars on very flimsy security. All that Carland gave Brendle was temporary t.i.tle to a few thousand acres of Louisiana swampland. Naturally, Brendle supposed that Carland would use the money toward the museum fund. Instead, Carland spent it.

"Poor Carland!" Talborn's tone was filled with contempt. "You should say 'Poor Brendle!' He would be down and out if I hadn't saved the situation by donating the money that Carland had pledged but failed to supply."

TALBORN'S denunciation put a new light on the matter. It brought a nod from Senor Cuzana, indicating that he was not surprised to learn of Carland's double-dealing.

"Mexico is better rid of such men," declared Cuzana. "They represent the old regime's faults. They came here at a time when men in power were willing to bargain away the republic's resources to the first person who offered money."

Cuzana was a.s.sembling the model pyramid. He put it back in the box where it belonged. Then, unfolding a map of Mexico, he spread it on the table and turned to Allard.

"I have bad news for you, too," said Cuzana, "but it is the sort that I feel sure that you will be glad to hear. You came here, Senor Allard, to superintend a search, by air, for the missing expedition of Professor Darius Hedwin.

"Quite fortunately" - and Cuzana gave a whimsical smile - "the expedition has found itself. As you know, they started from Chichen Itza" - he laid his forefinger on a point in the peninsula of Yucatan - "and started into the interior. For a while we heard from them" - Cuzana's finger was making a curve from Yucatan, downward, then up toward Mexico City - "and then communications ceased.

"The reason, we have learned, was because they expected to arrive here before anyone had cause to worry. But Professor Hedwin decided to stop at the ruins of Cuicuilco, less than twenty miles south of Mexico City. He has been there nearly a week."

Talborn inserted a chuckle as Cuzana finished.

"And all the while," added Talborn, "the professor overlooked the trifling detail of informing us - until tonight, when a messenger came in with word. However, Mr. Allard, I feel sure that we can use you later in a search for undiscovered ruins as soon as we have raised more funds."

"How soon will that be?"

"Quite soon, I hope," replied Talborn. "For the present, my chief concern is the shipment of the Mayan relics which Professor Hedwin has uncovered. Senor Cuzana is making such arrangements so that the usual red tape can be avoided."

Taking the remark as an invitation to leave, Allard shook hands with the others. Cuzana politely conducted him out to the front door, where a car was waiting. There, Cuzana remarked on the fact that Allard had earlier noted: the clarity of the night air in Mexico City.

"Sometimes," said Cuzana, "you can almost imagine that you hear the beat of distant Aztec drums."

Allard's keen ears did hear such throbs. They were coming from the south, the direction of Cuicuilco. Alone in the rear of the limousine to which Cuzana conducted him, Allard smiled as he rode away. Then, from his lips, came a strange, low whisper, a sinister laugh, which carried antic.i.p.ation, not disappointment. Allard's business in Mexico City was simply an excuse for his presence.

The laugh marked him as The Shadow - the strange master who hunted down crime, no matter where it might be. His mirth told that The Shadow was on the trail of evil, and had learned its location.

Cuicuilco, close by the town of Tlalpan, had become The Shadow's immediate objective. There, near the very mountains that could be seen by day from Mexico City, The Shadow was to solve the riddle of the Aztec drums!

CHAPTER II. STRIFE BY NIGHT.

PROFESSOR DARIUS HEDWIN stood in the glow of a powerful electric lantern, directing a small crew of swarthy men who were hacking deep into a stony pa.s.sage that was cemented with volcanic lava.

Frail of build, with a face as wrinkled as a mummy's, the professor might have been a Mayan G.o.d himself.

He looked something like a golliwog, for his dried-up face was topped by a ma.s.s of shocky white hair.

Near the professor stood his chief a.s.sistant, Andrew Ames. He was young, but his square-jawed face and broad shoulders carried the build of experience. So did his manner as he watched the slaving workers. But his face showed disapproval, which Professor Hedwin noticed.

"Come, Andy!" wheezed the professor. "Drop your moping and take an interest. I am sure that we are about to uncover new relics of Xitli, the forgotten fire G.o.d."

"Good enough," returned Andy, "but why can't you do the excavating by day and spend the nights in Mexico City?"

"So civilization lures you, Andy!"

"Not at all, professor. I'm speaking from the standpoint of common sense."

Hedwin gave a head-shake.

"You are wrong, Andy," he said. "These workers prefer to work at night. They sleep in the daytime.

That's when they take their siestas."

"Siestas by day," returned Andy, "and fiestas by night. It's one and the same, professor. They won't work unless you drive them, and that goes for either day or night."

The professor told the workers to rest. He drew Andy aside and began to wag a scrawny forefinger.

Andy braced himself for what was coming. He could see the strange gleam in the old professor's eyes.

Hedwin was going to confide the same facts that he had spoken a dozen times before.

"Many have found relics of the fire G.o.d," whispered Hedwin, "and have believed that a strange cult worshipped that mysterious deity - a cult that began with the Mayas and survived among the Aztecs, even to this day.

"But only I" - the professor drew himself up proudly - "have learned the name of the unknown fire G.o.d. I have identified him with Xitli, the volcano which disgorged its ma.s.s of lava to cover and preserve the ruins of Cuicuilco." Andy nodded. It was always wise to humor the professor. Hedwin did not take the nod as a criticism, for he knew that Andy understood the history of Cuicuilco.

By day the two had roamed over the pedregal, the fifteen-mile "stony place" of rough volcanic lava, broken with deep cracks and yawning cisterns. The pedregal, site of the Cuicuilco ruins, told its own story of a volcanic overflow in Mayan times, and would naturally have been attributed to the fire G.o.d.

Since the name of Xitli belonged to the volcano, which had become extinct, Andy was quite willing to agree that the fire G.o.d bore the same t.i.tle and that the eruption had been regarded as proof of Xitli's wrath. But he still didn't agree with the professor on the matter of making excavations at night.

"Listen, professor," argued Andy. "When we left Yucatan we had a tough road ahead of us. I'll admit it wouldn't have been safe to hit the jungle without Panchez and his guards. But now that we've reached Cuicuilco we don't need them. While we're digging for relics of Xitli, Panchez and his mestizos are roaming the pedregal, up to their old game."

"Their old game, Andy?"

"Sure! They've been hunting for treasure all along, professor. They know that when the Spaniards put Montezuma in a tight spot, the Aztecs buried their gold and jade near the temples of the ancient G.o.ds, hoping that it would mean protection. I'll admit that Panchez and his crowd cleared the jungle for us, but only because the faster we went the more loot they could find."

Professor Hedwin shook his head.

"When Carland was in charge," he said, "he hired Panchez. When Talborn took Carland's place as financier of the expedition, he said that everything could continue as before. So I kept Panchez -"

"Of course," interrupted Andy. "Good enough, while we were in the jungle. But right now, Panchez and his bunch might as well be in Mexico City looking at a double feature. We're not going to run into hostile tribes of Indians around here."

"You think not?" Hedwin c.o.c.ked his head wisely. "Haven't you heard the beat of Aztec drums?"

"Yes," agreed Andy. "But what do they mean? Nothing but an old ritual carried on by a lot of Indians who don't do anything more dangerous than weave baskets!"

PROFESSOR HEDWIN turned away. He felt that he had won his point. He ordered the workers to chop deeper into the lava, and his manner told that he intended to ignore Andy entirely. It did not hurt Andy's pride; instead, it was the very thing that he had been hoping for.

Using his flashlight, Andy walked a few hundred yards to the deserted tents that made the headquarters for the expedition. As he expected, he found no sign of Panchez nor any of the mestizo guards. They had all gone to the pedregal again, which explained why some of the professor's workers talked of lights that had danced above Cuicuilco on previous nights.

Such lights, according to tradition, meant places where treasure lay buried under the protection of unknown deities like Xitli. But Andy Ames took a reverse view of the phenomenon. To him, the lights meant Panchez and the mestizo crew. If treasure figured, it would only come into the case should Panchez Co. uncover it.

In his tent, Andy put fresh batteries in his flashlight and picked up a supply of .38 cartridges to supplement the loaded revolver that he always carried. Then, keeping his light close to the ground, he started for the pedregal in search of Panchez. Andy hoped to find the mestizo leader engaged in excavating of his own. Such a discovery might convince old Professor Hedwin that Andy's ideas were right.

There was one job that Panchez and his men handled very well: the shipment of all the motley curios and relics, such as the broken pottery and baked clay idols that Professor Hedwin uncovered. The willingness with which the mestizos plowed the jungle with such burdens simply convinced Andy that they also carried baggage that they considered valuable to themselves.

Lights were dancing above Cuicuilco. Andy located them, more than a mile distant, along the rough-surfaced pedregal. He watched the peculiar way in which they dipped and reappeared.

Gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, Andy crept closer to the lights. All the while he could hear the throb of Aztec drums, louder, closer than The Shadow had heard them in Mexico City.

The lights showed the stooping figures of men, but Andy could not see their faces. Some were pushing heavy sacks out from a cistern hole in the lava. The pit could not have been open when they discovered it, for Andy saw a great, chunky slab lying by the hole.

Four men were straining, as if prepared to push the slab back in place at an order from their leader, who was probably Panchez; but four were not enough. More were coming over to help them.

This was Andy's time for action. Springing forward, he suddenly emerged into the lights, brandishing his gun as he poured an order in Spanish for the prowlers to stop their task.

Like the snap of a whip came a countermanding order from a man back in the darkness. With one accord, the stooping men quit their task and surged toward Andy.

His first shots, delivered in the air did not halt them. Finding the warning useless, Andy fired point blank, then hurled his revolver at faces that he could not see. Knives were flashing toward him, and Andy's only weapons were his fists, good enough against mestizos if he could use them quicker than the slashing blades.