Soon the landing was completely covered with them—­probably three hundred or more—­and others could be seen in the mouth of the passage.  Each one carried a spear; their heads of copper, upraised in a veritable forest, shone dully in the light of the urns on the wall above.

Harry and Desiree stood close behind me, looking through at the fantastic sight.  I turned to him: 

“This time they mean business.”

He nodded.

“But what can they do?  Except get knocked on the head, and I’m sick of it.  If we had only left an hour ago!”

“For my part,” I retorted, “I’m glad we didn’t.  Desiree, I’m going to put you in my debt, if fortune will only show me one last kindness and let me get within reach of him.”

I pointed to where the Inca king stood in the forefront, at the very edge of the lake.

She shuddered and grew pale.

“He is a monster,” she said in a voice so low that I scarcely heard, “and—­I thank you, Paul.”

Harry seemed not to have heard.

“But what can they do?” he repeated.

They did not leave us long in doubt.  As he spoke there was a sudden sharp movement in the ranks of the Incas.  Those in front leaped in the water, and others after them, until, almost before we had time to realize their purpose, hundreds of the hairy brutes were swimming with long, powerful strokes directly toward the ledge on which we stood.  Between his teeth each man carried his spear.

I left Harry to guard the crevice, and ran to repel the attack at the water.  Desiree stood just behind me.  I called to her to go back, but she did not move.  I grasped her by the arm and led her forcibly to a break in the rock at our rear, and pointed out a narrow ascending lane in the direction of the other exit.

When I returned to the ledge of the water the foremost of the Incas were but a few feet away.  But I looked in vain for the one face I wanted to see and could recognize; the king was not among them.  A hasty glance across the landing opposite discovered him standing motionless with folded arms.

The entire surface of the lake before me was one mass of heads and arms and spears as far as I could see.  There were hundreds of them.  I saw at once that the thing was hopeless, but I grasped my spear firmly and stood ready.

The first two or three reached the ledge.  At the same instant I heard Harry call: 

“They’re coming through, Paul!  It’s you alone!”

I did not turn my head, for I was busy.  My spear was whirling about my head like a circle of flame.  Black, dusky forms swam to the ledge and grasped its slippery surface, but they got no farther.  The shaft of the spear bent in my hand; I picked up another, barely losing a second.

A wild and savage delight surged through me at the sight of those struggling, writhing, slipping forms.  I swung the spear in vicious fury.  Not one had found footing on the ledge.