" Gotch said. "Come on."

Following a well defined path, they moved inland, toward the base of the
cliff. Through the trees, Parker glimpsed fires. As he moved closer, he
saw the source of the lights, the cooking fires of a village set against
the base of the cliff.

"Ho!" Peg-leg called, announcing their arrival.

As they entered the village, the inhabitants came rushing out to them.
They were the queerest lot of human beings Parker had ever seen.
Spaniards, bearded grandees in tattered and mended bits of ancient
finery, Indians, squat, stalwart, Englishmen, tall and blond, a motley
crew.

They looked like the relics of half a dozen different nations, drawn
from the fringes of time. Their garments did not belong in the 20th
century. Their weapons were knives, swords, bell-mouthed pistols. Their
language was a mixture of Spanish, English, Portuguese, and Indian
dialects.

"What kind of a mad-house is this?" Parker muttered. "Get away, you!"
The last was spoken to a slender Spaniard who was trying to jerk
Parker's leather jacket from his back.

The man snarled at him, drew back.

"Get out of our way!" Retch yelled. The crowd made way for him. Calling
greetings, snarling, Retch seemed very much at home here.

Mercedes looked hopelessly confused and at a loss. She stared around her
as if she was appalled at what she saw. Parker drew the obvious
inference. Mercedes had never been here before. All this was as new to
her as it was to him. But Retch had been here.

Off in the woodland behind them somewhere a bird chirped, the same
sleepy quiet sound that Parker had heard as they landed. Now it was
louder, nearer, and even more out of place than it had been before.

The people around Parker also heard the sound. Startled faces turned
toward the dark forest.

The sound came again, louder now. Parker was certain it was the call of
a bird.

But if it was the chirp of a bird, it was frightening these people. Why
should a bird-sound in the night frighten grown men? Utter silence fell.
Even Gotch was still. Parker saw that the man's face had turned gray,
that all the bristling bravado had passed out of him.

Even Retch, showing signs of strain and growing temper, was silent.

"The Jezbro!" someone whispered.

At the words, the strain and temper coming up in Retch burst the
surface. "There is no such thing as the Jezbro!" His voice was almost a
scream. "It's only superstitious nonsense--" His shouting voice went
in