The crystal ray

The Legend of the Mountain

A flier was an unusual sight here and the inquisitive inhabitants, men, women and children, crowded around to get a glimpse at the wonderful machine.

There was nothing resembling a hostelry in the village; but, when the worthy Señor Hernando Diaz, its richest citizen, learned that these young men were soldiers like his own three sons who were fighting against the Asiatics in Argentina, he offered his hospitality.

After the evening meal Señor Diaz and his guests repaired to a broad veranda which faced west. For quite a time the three men remained silent. Pelton and Calhoun were absorbed in the grandeur of the mountains over which dusk was settling, and Hernando Diaz knew too well the power of silence and the spell of that majestic sight, to break it with words.

At length Calhoun murmured musingly: "God is up there--God and Peace. Even war couldn't disturb the eternal serenity of those Andes."

He spoke in Spanish. Both Calhoun and Pelton had a fairly complete mastery of that language.

Diaz leaned far forward in his chair: "God in those mountains, Señor? Ah, yes, perhaps in the great peaks far off; but do you see that one which is quite near? It is less than two thousand meters high and at its summit there is a small depression or crater. Madre de Dios--there indeed is the lair of Satan!"

A quizzical smile came over Calhoun's lips. He turned toward the Ecuadorian: "I'm afraid the gentleman you mention has gone north to help with the big row up there. But let's hear the rest of what you were going to say. I'm intensely interested and I think that Joe is perfectly willing to listen too."

"There is a legend about 'The Devil's Nest' which says that in ancient times the Indians made human sacrifices to the sun there," Diaz began in a low voice, while he toyed nervously with the ends of his curling mustache: "Certainly there is something dreadful about the place still, but no one knows what. In the memory of living men, only two have ventured into it. That was ten years ago. A certain youth named Pedro Menendez was driven by the spirit of adventure, which is the inherent possession of most boys, to scale the heights of 'The Devil's Nest.' He failed to return. Three days later his father ventured up the walls of the extinct volcano in search of him. No human eye has seen either of them since. Truly, it was as though Satan had swallowed up both."

"Men have gone up into mountains before, and failed to return," said Pelton: "There are places where footing is precarious, and crevices in which it would be almost impossible to find a human body. However, we have a little mystery here to solve--George, what do you say if we take a trip to 'The Devil's Nest' tomorrow?"

"Bully enough, old egg," returned Calhoun laughingly: "We've faced devils before, haven't we? They were real devils hurtling at us from out of the sky and shooting streams of poisoned lead dangerously close to our gills. They will probably get us anyway in a week or two and, if we get killed in the mountains, we will at least have the satisfaction of cheating them."

Seeing that argument was useless against such reckless hot-heads, their host merely muttered softly to himself: "They are rash--these soldiers of the United States."

The last pale light had faded from above the peaks of the Andes, a faint wind soughed through the trees. The conversation drifted to other topics.

The Devil's Nest

When the early morning sun of another day had mounted up into a cloudless firmament, the two aviators were preparing for their adventure. Believing that the vigorous exercise of climbing would do their little-used muscles good, they decided to leave the flier behind. Since this was so, they realized that it might be necessary to camp on top of the mountain that night; consequently they packed up a light tent, a couple of blankets and some extra provisions.

Señor Diaz did not urge them to desist from their venture but, when he wished them good luck, Pelton noticed that there was something strangely solemn about his voice and eyes. His attitude was not at all that of a friend bidding him good luck at the outset of a holiday of sport; it resembled, instead, the attitude of a certain fatherly old captain speaking kindly to him when he was about to risk his life in an aerial combat.

When all was ready, Calhoun and Pelton started out up the slopes of the Andes. For a couple of miles the going was easy; but, as they approached closer to the sinister bulk of "The Devil's Nest," the ground grew steep and sterile and the trail more and more difficult.

Calhoun was outwardly in a carefree mood and he scoffed often about the story. "Just imagine, Joe," he would say, "demons and what-not in these mountains that are nearer to God than anything on earth--beneath this blue sky that is the very symbol of peace and beauty! What a superstitious lot the Señor and all his kind are!"

Pelton said very little. Somehow he felt that his friend's lightheartedness was forced, and over his own mind there was coming a sense of depression that increased as the mountain grew more rugged. Was there really some horror in the ancient, extinct crater far above? "No!" he told himself emphatically. The idea was ridiculous; he was a fool even to think of it.

The two men paused to eat their noonday meal at a small level space nearly three thousand feet above the village. The stillness of the place and his own gloomy mood inspired strange thoughts in the mind of Pelton. Finally he turned to Calhoun who was vigorously chewing the last fragment of a ham sandwich (yes--this ancient food still delighted palates of the twenty-second century.)

"Do you think often of Death, George?" he asked.

The other swallowed hard and then smiling slightly, answered: "Death? Well rather. I couldn't help thinking of him now and then, because you see I play hide-and-seek with him pretty nearly every day. He's come to be about my most intimate playfellow, and he's a real sport. He's always 'it' and he never gets sore. So far he hasn't found me, and I will continue to keep out of his way if I can. However, if it's necessary, I'll take my hat off to Death and admit I'm beaten. I'd rather do that than become a slave to those Asiatics."

"I don't fear death in the physical sense any more than you do, George," said Pelton, "but, Lord! How I hate to be forgotten! I'd like to survive this war and live long enough to work out some of my scientific theories. Since I was just a kid I have dreamed of doing something really big and that idea has grown to be almost an obsession with me. You are lucky; even our enemies will remember you as one of the cleverest aerial duelists that ever fought."

"Pshaw!" returned Calhoun; "If there isn't anybody left on earth to remember me but those disgusting Asiatics, I'd rather not be remembered. But listen here, old fellow, I don't think it is the least bit nice of you to make this holiday disagreeable with your glum talk. Just forget it and stow some food and then let's be on our way. The top of the mountain is still about three thousand feet above us, and if we want to reach it before sunset we had better get a move on."

A few minutes later the adventurers continued with their ascent. Now they began to encounter real difficulties; there were rugged, almost perpendicular crags, offering but the barest hand- and foot-holds. These almost baffled the amateur climbers. Here and there were narrow shelves where they could stop to get their breath.