Six Men of Evil

CHAPTER XIV THE MOON MESSENGER

THE crescent moon was rising above a towering mountain summit. The sky was still bright with the glow of the setting sun. But within the secluded valley of Zeltapec, a premature gloom announced the coming of early evening.

A strange survival of an ancient day, the village of Zeltapec bore untarnished traces of the Aztec civilization. Adobe buildings rested against the sides of the valley. Robed Indians, with firm, bronzed faces, stood in clusters outside their homes.

The Aztecs had been known as ferocious warriors. These survivors of their race had softened. Their faces still showed the sternness of the Aztec race; yet in their bearing, the natives of Zeltapec were quiet and mild-mannered. Protected by the high mountain walls about them, they had drifted from the ways of warfare.

The dull, monotonous beat of tom-toms sounded weirdly through the gloom. It was the call that the Indians were awaiting. Slowly, the little groups turned toward the center of their valley. There, upon a broad, flat area, stood the leaders of their clan.

The space provided for the mystic rites was a large, raised square of table rock that measured fifty feet in each direction. Those who stood upon this spot were gathered at the edges. In the center, like a giant bull’s-eye thirty feet in diameter, was a perfect circle, painted white upon the flattened rock.

This circle was marked with cross lines, and outside its sphere were thin, crescent-shaped designs, four in number.

To the Aztecs of Zeltapec, this was a sacred spot. To tread upon it would mean instant punishment.

The chiefs of Zeltapec, men clad in gorgeous robes, were the only ones who dared step upon the tabled rock. But even they were guarded in their actions. They carefully avoided any contact with the circle or the crescents. They stalked about the edges of the flattened area.

As the people assembled and took their places below the rock, the chieftains, who were also the priests of the tribe, acted with definite procedure. Each took his spot at one side of the sacred rock. Four in number, these tall, imposing men stood with folded arms, each gazing steadfastly at the crescent that was inscribed before him.

The most impressive ceremony of Zeltapec had begun. It was the welcome to the crescent moon. Beating tom-toms, chanting voices — both ascended through the increasing gloom, and in the midst shone the glistening rock, with its whitened, painted surface.

THE people of Zeltapec were moon worshippers with a reason. To them, the changing positions of the sun were not apparent. But the moon, rising high above the secluded vale, seemed lifelike in its phases. They regarded it as a sign of the world beyond — a chariot in which some god rode forth to gaze benignly down upon his chosen folk.

The appearance of the crescent moon was of vast importance to the natives of Zeltapec. It was a sign that the moon god had returned.

With wild, savage fervor, the tom-tom men beat forth their welcome. The people joined in a swelling chant. The four silent leaders raised their heads and stared skyward.

Some day — so the legend said — the power that controlled the sky chariot would send forth a messenger to visit the people of Zeltapec. For centuries, the Indians had persisted in this belief.

Story had it that once such a messenger had come; and then returned. Ever since, the people had been in readiness. They were determined that should the messenger arrive again, he would not find their welcome lacking.

The four tall leaders were chanting now. Their powerful voices arose above the cries of the people. The tom-toms ceased to beat. The populace was stilled. Four men alone were singing forth the welcome to the crescent moon that glimmered in the darkening sky.

The Indians were watching their leaders. Only the four were staring skyward. Then, suddenly, the people looked on in wonder. Simultaneously, the four had ended their chant, and were gazing agape above the mountain peak.

Never before had the ceremony broken at this point. Instinctively, the people raised their heads and followed their leaders’ gaze. In the deep hush of the valley, a new sound manifested itself faintly from the sky.

Hovering about the mountain was a birdlike object that had appeared directly beneath the moon itself. It was singing a throbbing tune. Above it, wondering eyes could detect the whirling of a fanlike wheel.

This object looked like a windmill in horizontal flight; to these Indians, who knew nothing of the world beyond, its appearance was incredible.

Almost motionless in the air, the strange ship remained in constant view. Then cries of exultation arose spontaneously from the crowd below. The creature of the air was descending to the valley of Zeltapec. It was the answer to rites of centuries — the messenger from the moon!

The valley of Zeltapec offered no safe landing place for even the most skilled pilot of an ordinary plane. But this ship of the air, which the Indians had first mistaken for a huge bird, was an autogyro. The man who piloted it had seen the space below. The glistening rock, with its target center, was a perfect spot for a gyro landing.

Awed gasps were uttered as the descending autogyro became more plain. With its huge, revolving wing whirling with terrific speed, the ship slackened its descent and came straight downward.

Its objective was plain. The autogyro was heading for a landing in the exact center of the sacred table rock.

The motor thrummed, and its unfamiliar tone gripped the waiting Aztecs with terror. They had longed for this strange visitant; now they were fearful lest its purpose be wrathful. As the autogyro landed squarely in the sacred circle, even the chieftains trembled.

THE landing was a perfect one. The wheels of the gyro scarcely turned upon the rock. The noise of the motor ceased. The people looked toward their four leaders. These imposing men had fallen on their faces. Even they dreaded the presence of the moon messenger.

A figure loomed from the cockpit of the autogyro. Piercing eyes studied the mass of cringing Indians. Those gleaming objects saw the four prone chieftains.

Then, from that rising form came a long, weird laugh. Its terrible echoes cried back from the silent mountainsides. The figure stepped from the autogyro. It was the shape of a tall, blackclad being, whose face was obscured by the down-turned brim of a hat.

The Shadow had found the valley of Zeltapec. Intrepidly, he had flown by autogyro, from Texas into the mountain fastnesses of northern Mexico. He had discovered the spot he sought. With no fear of what might lay below, The Shadow had descended.

His black-gloved hands were beneath the folds of his cloak, gripping a pair of automatics. Now, those hands emerged weaponless. The Shadow understood the awe that his arrival had created. Peering into the gloom, he could distinguish the forms of the bowing leaders. He knew that these were the men whom the mob would obey.

Extending his arms, The Shadow motioned toward himself. The nearest of the four men saw the action. Faltering, he arose and stared. The others followed his example. Then they cautiously watched as The Shadow, turning about within the painted circle, still continued his gesture.

The leaders moved forward. They paused at the edge of the sphere into which to step was death. Still, The Shadow called them toward him. One man crept onward. The others duplicated his act.

A low murmur of awe came from the multitude. Their leaders had been allowed to enter the space which belonged to the god of the moon!

With bowed heads and folded arms, the leaders stood before The Shadow. Their keen eyes were watching him. The Shadow laughed softly, and the whispered echoes of his mysterious mirth cast a weird spell that reached the gloom beyond. The Shadow spread his arms; then folded them.

One of the leaders understood. This was the messenger from the moon. Now arrived, he was awaiting the welcome that was his due. The leader turned and uttered a hoarse cry. There was a confused mumble in the crowd; then four tall men advanced, carrying a rude palanquin. They stopped fearfully as they neared the tabled rock.

The Shadow understood their purpose, and he walked directly forward. The four leaders followed him. The men who bore the palanquin trembled as The Shadow solemnly entered the chair provided for him.

With folded arms, he rested upon a crude, grass-woven seat, which was attached to two long poles. The chairbearers awaited the leaders. These men arrived, and two stepped in advance of the palanquin, while the other pair remained behind.

A leader uttered a cry; the bearers raised their burden, and the procession began. As it hewed a path through the assembled Indians, the murmur of the big crowd became subdued. The Shadow turned his piercing eyes upon those who were moving back. Gasps of awe came from the nearest Aztecs.

One word alone was uttered by the populace of Zeltapec. The Shadow could hear it oft repeated.

“Chicquatil! Chicquatil!”

The meaning of the terms was not evident. Yet that word seemed to creep from lips on all sides. Whatever chicquatil might signify, The Shadow knew that it was definitely connected with his arrival in Zeltapec.

Raising his eyes upward, The Shadow observed the crescent moon. He knew well that his coming had been timely. Outside Indians had spoken to explorers of the Aztecs in this unlocated valley, whose worship involved the crescent moon.

Straight ahead lay the open door of what appeared to be a temple. As the palanquin neared it, the bearers let down their burden. The leaders took their place. They bore the moon messenger in triumph through the open gate. Others closed the door from the outside.

Through the temple stalked the dignified leaders, until they reached a closed doorway at the other end. There they lowered the palanquin. Two of them stood at the barrier ahead. The others, bowing, urged the moon messenger to enter.

Rising, The Shadow stepped from the palanquin. With folded arms he walked directly to the double-doored gate where the Aztec leaders stood. The men drew back the gates. The Shadow walked into the room beyond.

A weird green glow pervaded the Aztec shrine. The cause of it lay glittering before The Shadow’s eyes. There, upon a pedestal in the center of a small room, lay a huge emerald — a jewel of unmatched beauty.

“Chicquatil!”

The word was uttered from the doorway, and The Shadow understood its meaning. That was the name these people had given to the priceless gem that rested within the inner temple.

The Shadow’s eyes detected high slits in the vaulted sides of the room. Through these, the filtering rays of the crescent moon were caught and reflected by the emerald. This explained the glow that filled the room.

Straight ahead lay a vacant throne. The Shadow never paused. He walked to the high stone seat and took his place there. The leaders of the Aztecs, uttering low murmurs of approval, came and stationed themselves by the throne — two on either side.

The Shadow’s eyes stared steadily at the glowing gem. They raised and looked beyond. There they became fixed at the object which they saw for the first time. A soft, sinister laugh came from The Shadow’s lips.

Squatting on the floor beyond the emerald was a metal statue of life-size form. It was a hideous idol, molded with clawlike hands and feet. Its body was a twisted, grotesque shape.

It was the face of the idol, however, upon which The Shadow fixed his stolid stare; it was that metal countenance that had brought the sardonic laugh to his hidden lips.

The Shadow had seen that face before. The features of the idol were a perfect replica of the countenance of Thomas Rodan — the face possessed by every member of the evil band whose crimes The Shadow had set forth to foil!