IN her boudoir on the second floor of the Suarez hacienda, Doña Isabella was talking with Georgia Trevor. The hour of the siesta was past and a servant had just brought tea.
Ramona, accompanied by her duenna, had gone quietly to the patio to read a book.
Jan had not been found. After two months in the jungle Dr. Bracken had sent word that he had set up a base camp far to the south, and that he had sent a messenger to Captain Santos, instructing him to build a similar camp to the east. He bad suggested that the same thing be done to the north and west thus keeping a large area of the jungle under constant watch. Harry Trevor, trusting him implicitly, had immediately accepted the plan. Both he and Don Fernando were absent, establishing the new base camps, but were expected to return that day, as Ramona was to leave for school early the following morning.
Georgia Trevor stirred her tea thoughtfully. “Ramona seems quite sad today,” she said. “I wonder what can be wrong with her? Do you think it is because her vacation has ended and she must leave for the States tomorrow?”
The doña put down her cup. “That may have something to do with it,” she answered. “But she has assured me many times that she likes school. There is something wrong with Ramona, some undercurrent I can’t fathom. At the beginning of her vacation she was bright and cheerful, but as the days passed she seemed to grow more and more worried about something.”
“She’s still quite young to be away from home for ten months at a time,” suggested Georgia Trevor. “No doubt she gets homesick. Only seventeen, isn’t she?”
“Yes—er—we think she is. I may as well tell you all about it,” said the doña. “Ramona is not our daughter, though we love and cherish her as our very own.”
“I’ve noticed that except for her dark eyes and hair she doesn’t resemble either you or Don Fernando. There seems to be something Oriental about her type of beauty, suggesting a princess of ancient Babylon or a vestal virgin from some temple of Isis.”
“It may be,” said the doña, “that your intuition is nearer the troth than you realize. I’ll show you something.”
She opened a tiny wall safe and from one of its trays removed a large brass key. With this she unlocked the lid of a massive brass-bound chest. In the bottom of the chest was a black lacquered basket, its lid inscribed in white, red and yellow, with characters greatly resembling Egyptian hieroglyphics. As if it were a fragile sacred relic, the doña lifted it reverently and placed it on a table.
“This,” said the doña, “is the basket in which we found Ramona a tiny baby not more than six months old. My husband had gone out on the river with an Indian servant, for some early morning fishing. He noticed the basket floating nearby, and was attracted by the strange characters with which it was covered.
“He lifted the basket into the boat, and was astounded when he heard strange little mewling sounds coming from it. He tore off the lid. Lying in the bottom of the basket on a bed of soft wool, wrapped in a shawl of golden-yellow silk, was a tiny baby girl.
“He rushed home to me at once, and when I saw the child, I immediately fell in love with her. She was half starved, showing that she had been floating in the basket for many hours. She may have traveled that way for a great many miles, as the current is very swift. We tried to learn who her parents were, and when we were not able to find out anything about them, we adopted her.
“The inscriptions on the basket could not be read by any of the Indians we asked, although for some reason the Indians always seemed to regard them with superstitious awe.
“About a year later Sir Henry Westgate, the English archaeologist and explorer, stopped here on his way into the jungle. He told us he sought traces of colonists from an ancient civilization that had once existed on a vast continent in the Pacific.
“My husband showed him this basket, told him where and how he had found it, and asked if he could decipher the writing on it. Sir Henry’s expression when he saw that basket reminded me of Galahad, finding the Holy Grail. He said that it was a historical discovery of vast importance, and that if the people who had set it adrift could be located, the riddle of the lost continents of Mu, Atlantis and Lemuria and the origins of all ancient civilizations and cultures could be solved. Here is his translation.”
From the bottom of the basket she took a sheet of paper, and read aloud:
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“’To thee, mighty Hepr, Great God of the Waters, enthroned in eternal power and glory upon the coils of the great serpent, between thy sentinels the twin mountains Qer-Hapi and Mu-Hapi, Samsu, humble slave of thy beloved son, Set, consigneth this daughter of Re, that thou mayest deal with her in thy great wisdom according to thy omnipotent will so powerful that went thou to relax it for but an instant, the gods would fall down headlong and all men would perish.’” |
“What can it mean?” asked Georgia Trevor, tensely.
“According to Sir Henry,” replied the doña, “it means that a certain Samsu, High Priest of Set, or Saturn, for some reason set the child adrift upon the water, hoping that she would meet her death. She may have been his own child, or she may have been the daughter of some other powerful man. The statement that she is a daughter of Re shows that she is a royal princess, or daughter of the sun. For the safety of his soul even though he desired her death, the High Priest dared not slay a royal personage himself. So I suppose he managed to put the blame on Hepr, God of Waters, by consigning her to the river in a basket that would float.
“In the palm of the baby’s right hand was tattooed an open lotus, the sacred flower of Mu. This proved beyond all doubt that Ramona was a princess of the blood imperial, Sir Henry said. If he is correct, Ramona’s ancestors were ruling a mighty civilization while our Cro-Magnon forbears in Europe were living in caves and wearing animal skins.
“The remains of every civilization of the past, Sir Henry told us, show the cultural influence of Mu, the mother continent. Her ships carried adventurers to all parts of the earth, where they established colonies ruled by the viceroys of the motherland. But Mu, along with Lemuria was broken up by a great earthquake, and sank into the ocean.
“An expedition had set out from the motherland on a good-will tour of Mu’s colonies, led by the Crown Prince, with a retinue of ten thousand men and women from all walks of life.
“While he was in Egypt the prince received word of the destruction of the motherland. He set sail for Atlantis, but in a terrific storm many of his ships were lost. Of his own flagship nothing was ever heard.
“Sir Henry was convinced that the prince and a band of his followers had landed somewhere on the coast of South America. The sight of Ramona’s basket convinced him that he was on the right trail, and that if he would follow this river and all of its branches to their sources, he would be sure to find the descendants of the people of Mu. With this intention he led an expedition into the jungle some sixteen years ago. Since then no word has come from him. Probably he and his men were killed by savages.”
Standing in the patio beneath the tiny balcony that jutted out from the doña’s boudoir, Ramona waited for Jan. She had waited there every day of her vacation, but now, the last day, hope had fled.
A humming bird with iridescent plumage shot past Ramona’s head as she sat beneath the trysting tree, and lighted on a bush, beneath the doña’s window. She put down her book and followed it, to watch it at close range while it sipped the nectar from the flowers.
Above the pixie drone of the midget flyer’s wings, she suddenly heard her supposed mother say: “Ramona is not our daughter.” Shocked, she had remained to listen, and had heard the whole story.
Ramona turned away from the window with eyes brimming, stunned to, learn that she was not a Suarez and that the don and doña, whom she had loved as her father and mother, had merely taken her in, a foundling. Her real parents, it seemed, had not wanted her—had even desired her death. Otherwise they would not have set her adrift on the river where the chances were a hundred to one that she would perish.
As she walked down the path toward her tree, an Indian entered the patio. He glanced cautiously about as if fearful of being seen, then came toward her. Bowing low, he handed the girl a folded slip of paper.
“Jan send you this,” he said softly, with a wary glance in the direction of the snoring duenna. “I wait for you outside gate.”
With trembling, eager fingers, Ramona unfolded the little missive, while the Indian slunk away. She instantly recognized the large, crudely made capital letters of Jan’s writing.
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RAMONA: I AM BADLY HURT. WANT TO SEE YOU. THE INDIAN WILL SHOW THE WAY. WILL YOU COME? JAN. |
Would she go? She had promised her father that she would never leave the patio, unguarded. No, not her father. Don Fernando had deceived her about that, as had the doña. Yet a promise was a promise, for all that, and she had never broken her word.
For a moment she stood there, a prey to conflicting emotions. But only for a moment. This was an emergency. Jan was wounded—perhaps dying. And he wanted to see her—needed her. That was enough. Promise or no promise, she must go.
As she passed the arbor, the corpulent Señora Soledade stirred uneasily, ceased her snoring for a moment, and seemed about to awaken. Ramona ran forward on tiptoes and quietly opened the gate. Stepping through she closed it soundlessly. Over among the young rubber trees the Indian stood with folded arms, waiting.
When he saw her coming, the savage started off toward the jungle. Once in its depths, he stopped until she came up.
“How far?” she asked.
“Only a little way,” he answered. “I show you, quick.”
At first he led her straight south, but presently he began turning toward the southeast. As they penetrated deeper and deeper into the jungle, Ramona began to grow apprehensive. She recalled that Jan had told her all Indians were his enemies. If this were the case, she wondered how it would be possible for him to employ an Indian as a messenger.
Then, to add to her fears, she began to hear sounds behind her, as if someone or something were dogging her footsteps. She ran up close to her guide—touched him on the shoulder.
“Something is following us,” she said. “I heard it. It may be a puma or a jaguar. I’m afraid.”
“I go look,” said the savage, and walked back for a little way. Returning presently, he said: “Nothing follow. No be ’fraid.”
He proceeded as before, but it was not long until the girl heard a twig snap behind her. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, then screamed at the top of her voice as she saw a strange savage coming stealthily toward her, carrying a small coil of rope. Like a charging panther, the native sprang forward. She turned to run, but the Indian who had lured her into the jungle stopped her before she was fairly started. Then despite her cries and struggles, he held her while the other bound her hands and gagged her.
Then someone other than Jan had written the note! But who? And how could any one imitate his lettering so well?
Suddenly they came to a tiny clearing, walled in on all sides by tangled, matted vegetation. In the middle of the clearing was a small, newly built hut.
Standing in front of the hut, smoking a cigarette, was Captain Santos, a grin of triumph on his dark features. He dropped the butt, ground it beneath his heel, and slowly exhaled the blue-white smoke through his nostrils as the two Indians came up with their beautiful young captive.
“Unbind her,” he commanded in Spanish.
While they loosed the bonds that held her wrists, the captain removed her gag.
“Now go! Vamos! Get the supplies from the hacienda and hurry back to camp. I’ll see you there—later.”
Ramona faced him bravely, trying to hide the horrible fear that clutched at her heart.
“What is the meaning of this, Captain Santos?” she demanded. “Where is Jan?”
“Jan,” he replied, brutally seizing her wrists, “is dead. And since you ask, it means, my little one, that you are mine.”
She tried to pull away, but the powerful fingers held her like steel bands. She kicked, bit and screamed, but Santos only laughed.
“Cry out all you like,” he said. “It will amuse the monkeys and parrots.” Then he dragged her into the dark interior of the hut.