His voice choked, and he left the sentence unfinished, hurrying
away to prepare such a meal as his limited means would permit.

While Edgecombe was kindling a fire in one corner of the cavern,
opening a pile of ashes to extract the few carefully cherished
coals by means of which the wood was to be fired, uncle and one
nephew left the den to look after the flying-machine and
contents.

Bruno remained behind, in obedience to a hint from the professor,
lest the exile should dread desertion, after all.

"Take these in and open them, Waldo," said the professor,
selecting several cans from the stock in the locker. "Poor
fellow! 'Twill be like a foretaste of civilisation, just to see
and smell, much less taste, the fruit."

"Even if he has turned looney, eh, uncle Phaeton?"

"Careful, boy! I hardly think he is just that far gone; but,
even if so, what marvel? Think of all he must have suffered
during so many long, dreary years! and--his wife and child! I
wonder--I do wonder if he really killed--but that is incredible,
simply and utterly incredible! An Aztec--here--alive!"

"Dead, uncle Phaeton," corrected Waldo. "Killed the redskin, he
said, and I really reckon he meant it. Why not, pray?"

"But--an Aztec, boy!" exclaimed the bewildered savant, unable to