Kitabı oku: «Secrets of the Andes», sayfa 7
CHAPTER XVIII
Starting Into the Mountains
EARLY the next morning the youths were up getting ready for the long journey into the unknown. They had all their possessions packed when Dr. Rander came with mules and provisions.
He was introduced by Bob and Joe to the other members of the expedition, who, particularly Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis, recognized him as a capable explorer.
The youths made arrangements for Karl Sutman to meet them in a town called Pasaje, at the end of a sufficient time. The aviator was to have his monoplane ready to take the youths to the locality occupied by other divisions of the expedition.
“Now do be careful and don’t take any chances,” warned Mr. Holton, after additional boxes of food had been strapped on the backs of other mules. “Remember, slow traveling with safety is far better than rapid going with danger.”
“We’ll be all right,” Joe assured him, as the mules were being placed in line. “And Karl will fly us to your locality in due time. Don’t forget that you are to be careful too.”
With fond farewells, Bob and Joe and the old man drove the mules toward the rim of mountains that skirted the eastern horizon. They rounded a high hill and lost sight of their relatives and friends.
For some time the youths were silent with their thoughts. Who knew whether they would ever see those dear ones again? Even at best, there were untold hardships and dangers in the mountains that lay before them. Would they be able to meet any crisis?
It was some time before the boys resumed their natural peace of mind. But when they did, they were eager to take in all the sights of this wonderland.
There was a wide trail that led eastward from Cuzco. Over this the pack train went at a slow but steady gait that promised to eat up the miles sooner than it might be thought possible.
“Wonder if we’ll see any big game?” remarked Bob, as he and Joe walked near the rear of the pack train. “I’d like especially to bag one of those white condors Dad was talking about. You think there are any?”
“Possibly,” replied Joe. “But if there are, it isn’t likely that we’ll see one.”
The three adventurers followed a well-beaten path to the town of Puquiura, which they found nothing more than a group of native mud huts.
“Not much life here,” observed Joe, as the caravan of pack animals passed on through the village.
“I suppose this is typical of all the towns in these mountains,” came from Bob. “Just a bunch of dirty mud dwellings.”
Led by Dr. Rander, the Americans wound around a narrow trail that reached steadily upward. They were making fairly good time, and if nothing prevented, they expected to arrive at a much larger town before noon.
“I think I’ll try riding my mule,” announced Bob, who, along with his friends, had been walking beside the mounts.
“Better watch out,” cautioned Joe. “Those little animals are treacherous sometimes.”
Bob called to Dr. Rander to wait for him. Then, pulling his mount out of the line, he placed his foot in the stirrup and threw his leg across the sturdy little mule’s back.
But just then something happened. The animal wheeled about, and, throwing its hind feet high in the air, it leaped forward with a snort of resentment.
“Help!” cried the amused and yet worried Bob.
“What do you want me to do?” inquired Joe, taking in the scene with interest.
“Grab hold of his tail! Do anything!” Despite his serious predicament, Bob could not help laughing, although he was angered.
“Get hold of his tail, huh? Not much.” Joe intended to derive as much amusement as possible from his friend’s plight.
All joking was cast aside a moment later when, at an unexpected moment, the mule gave a quick turn to the left and threw Bob to the ground. The youth caught the fall with his arm, and so escaped injury, but his anger was as strong as ever.
“I’ll fix you, you – ”
Bob did not finish the words, for at that moment the mule leaped forward and galloped off at a rapid pace.
“After him!” Bob cried, dashing ahead as fast as his legs would carry him.
A more amusing sight could hardly be found. Joe’s laughter mingled with the sound of rapidly moving hoofs, and even old Dr. Rander joined in the merriment.
“Think he’ll catch him?” queried Joe, as pursuer and pursued vanished behind a heavy cloud of dust.
“I believe so,” the old man returned, straining his eyes to make out the figures ahead. “The mule will soon tire of such fast running. He isn’t used to it.”
Dr. Rander was right. Five minutes later Bob appeared from around a hill leading the now calm animal. There was a smile of triumph on the youth’s face as he faced his friends.
“Now that everything has worked out all right, suppose we forget that anything happened,” grinned Bob, as he placed the mule back in the line.
“You going to try riding him again?” asked Joe with a laugh.
“Not on your life. I value my hide too much for that.”
They set forward, heading for the distant high peaks, which were always visible.
An hour of steady climbing brought them to a high plateau, which was bordered by mountains. From this elevation the explorers could command a good view of Cuzco, which seemed but a miniature city in the distance.
“I don’t feel so well,” groaned Bob, whose face was becoming pale. “I can’t get my breath without wheezing. And my stomach seems out of order.”
Dr. Rander happened to be near when Bob complained, and lost no time in attending to the youth.
“You probably have soroche, or mountain sickness,” he said, noting that Bob’s pulse was unusually rapid. “Do you think you can keep on to the next town?”
“Sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll have to lie down somewhere.” The stricken Bob was visibly becoming worse with every minute.
“Wonder if I’ll have another touch of mountain sickness?” mused Joe, as his friend stretched out on a blanket that Dr. Rander had spread on the hard ground.
There was nothing to do but wait for the youth to recover. The old man explained that often patients remained ill for several days, and that there was a possibility of Bob’s sickness being lengthy.
In view of this, they thought it best to make camp and prepare to stay as long as necessary. There was no use making arrangements to continue the journey until Bob’s condition improved.
“Here, take this pill.” Dr. Rander held a little white tablet and a cup of water. “It will make you well sooner than anything else.”
But it was not soon enough for Bob. All the remainder of that day he moaned on with a splitting headache and terrible nausea. It was worse, he said, than sea sickness, of which he had experienced a touch on his first ocean voyage.
The next morning, although still weak, Bob was greatly improved. The ill effects had gone, and once more he had an ambition again to get to the trail.
But Dr. Rander protested.
“You are not strong enough yet,” he said. “We’ll wait till noon and see if you’re improved sufficiently by that time.”
By the time the sun was directly overhead, Bob was his old natural self again. He was overly anxious to make up for lost time.
Lunch over, the explorers again took to the trail, driving the staunch little mules along at a rapid pace.
“Now lead me to those secrets of the Andes!” said Bob, as Cuzco faded from view.
At length the adventurers came to another town, which Dr. Rander called Cameras. They would much rather have encircled the settlement, but as there was no other trail, they passed on through.
“Let’s leave the mules here near the edge of town,” suggested Joe. “I’d like to go back to that little store that we just passed. Might be able to get something we can use cheap.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Bob.
Dr. Rander announced that he would stay with the mules and catch a short rest. He cautioned the boys not to stay too long.
The store that Joe referred to was nothing more than an adobe hut filled with curios of the Andes. They purchased a few articles as souvenirs and started back to the edge of town, where the old man was waiting.
Suddenly there came the sound of rough voices, and a moment later a dozen shots rent the air.
CHAPTER XIX
A Terrible Sight
“WHAT’S going on?” cried Joe Lewis, as a chorus of voices mingled with the sound of rifle shots.
“Some trouble somewhere,” returned Bob. “Wonder – ”
He did not finish, for at that instant there came another shot, and a bullet whizzed by his ear.
The youths lost no time in hiding behind a small mud hut, although they knew a bullet could probably penetrate it. But at least it offered temporary shelter, and that was what they wanted.
“Look!” cried Bob, gazing cautiously around the corner of the hut. “There are soldiers in uniform. What do you suppose they’re doing?”
They were soon to see.
The troops, which numbered about thirty, were firing at something that the boys could not see from their places at the side of the hut.
“I’m going to take a chance and get out in the open where I can see something,” said Joe. “Come on. If we’re careful and don’t get in the way of the shooting, we’ll be all right.”
Carefully the chums edged around the side of the dwelling and peeped out at the street. Then they drew back quickly, as a score of shots rang out.
What the youths saw was forty or fifty natives scattered out to escape the fire of the soldiers. Each held in readiness an old rifle, which he discharged at intervals.
“Must be a revolution,” observed Bob. “Perhaps those natives have offered violence to the governor of the town, and the troops have been called to settle the matter.”
Bob could not have come closer to the facts.
“The soldiers are winning,” said Joe. “They’re better trained and have more efficient guns.”
Although the troops appeared to gain the upper hand, the fighting continued with as much fury as before.
A sudden fusillade of bullets coming dangerously near Bob and Joe prompted the boys to make a dash toward the end of the town, where the mules and Dr. Rander were probably waiting.
“Let’s get out of here,” suggested Joe. “We’ll get hit if we don’t.”
“All right. Wonder if Dr. Rander is still where we left him?”
The chums were greatly surprised when, a few minutes later, they saw that the old man was not in sight. But the mules were tethered to a stout post, and this gave the boys hope.
“Chances are, he’s gone to see what the shooting’s about,” Bob said. “Wish he’d come back. He’s likely to get killed if he stays around there close.”
The youths were beginning to worry when Dr. Rander appeared up the road, glancing occasionally over his shoulder.
“Quite a commotion, wasn’t it?” he said when he had come nearer. “But the soldiers drove them away.”
“What was it, a revolution?” inquired Joe.
“Yes. An Indian told me that the people in the town were turning against their prefect. Didn’t like his rule, and wanted a change. But the soldiers soon fixed them.”
“Is the fighting over?” Bob had not heard a rifle shot for several minutes.
“Yes. The soldiers forced the citizens to throw away their weapons.”
“And that reminds me,” laughed Joe. “We’d better be getting our rifles out, because we may see some game before long. I’d like to get a shot at a condor.”
“Condors live only in high mountains,” explained Dr. Rander. “We won’t see any for many days, if at all.”
But although the adventurers did not catch a glimpse of these huge birds, they saw occasional small animals, such as rabbits and chinchillas. Once Joe took a shot at one of the latter creatures, but his aim was not steady and he missed.
At noon that day they came to a small adobe hut, from which hung a green wreath.
“What does that stand for?” asked Bob innocently. “Is somebody dead?”
For the second time since the youths had known him, old Dr. Rander burst out in laughter.
“Hardly,” he said finally. “A green wreath means that bread is for sale.”
Joe almost choked with laughter.
“That’s a good one on you,” he said to his chum. “It’s a wonder you didn’t go and gather flowers and offer them to the bereaved family.”
Bob grinned.
“You’d probably have asked where the corpse was,” he said. “Or maybe – ”
“We can stop here for a meal,” Dr. Rander interrupted. “It is best to save our provisions as best we can, because later on we won’t be able to find any native huts.”
Inside the mud building, the three were waited upon by a huge Indian woman, whose hard face inspired no trust from the explorers. But they were glad when she spread before them a bountiful meal of potatoes, roast mutton, and a drink which the youths guessed was intoxicating.
“None of that brown liquid for me,” came from Bob, looking with suspicion at the huge clay cup that contained the beverage.
“Me either,” echoed Joe. “Too big of a risk.”
The old man, however, drank freely of the beverage and seemed pleased with its flavor. Whether he knew of its ingredients the chums did not know.
As soon as the meal was over, the three again took up the journey, keeping a sharp lookout for anything that might prove of interest.
They found something before they had gone another mile.
Coming up the trail at a slow, leisurely gait was a large donkey, on the back of which rode an Indian man, woman, and two half-grown children. But something else amused the chums more. In pouches secured to the mule’s sides were two other Indian children, their faces sober as they looked upon the whites.
“Where’s a movie camera?” demanded Bob quickly. “I’m going to take a chance with them. They can’t do anything to us.”
“Here.” Joe had removed a camera from his pocket and was turning the crank and exposing several yards of film. “This ought to be interesting on the screen,” he said.
Much to the youths’ surprise, the Indians did not protest at having their pictures taken. They merely stared at the whites in wonder.
“Maybe they haven’t seen a camera before, and don’t know what it’s all about,” was the opinion expressed by Joe.
A little later they came to a flat field, which was being cultivated by an Indian with a team of oxen and a crude wooden plow. It was an interesting sight. The slow animals drew the improvised instrument steadily through the hard soil, while the sober Indian watched closely.
“More movies,” sang Bob, bringing out his camera. “Every little bit counts.”
Again they were surprised to see that this Indian displayed no indignation at the whites taking pictures. Perhaps after all Joe was right and the Indians in this section were not familiar with a camera.
The adventurers had been driving their pack animals ahead all afternoon when suddenly they rounded a bend and came to a narrow river.
“Look!” cried Joe quickly, pointing ahead. “What’s that on the bank? Why, it’s bones!”
Dr. Rander had heard.
“Llama remains,” he explained. “Looks like llamas have picked this spot to die on.”
Scattered thickly over the river bank were scores of white bones, which undoubtedly were those of llamas.
“I knew elephants occasionally have a cemetery, but that any other animals do I had not the slightest idea,” said Joe.
More movies were taken, and then they set about to devise a means to cross the river.
“We’ll have to ford it,” announced Dr. Rander, who had been waiting for the chums to walk on up to the head. “I don’t think it is so deep as to cause us trouble.”
Although the weather was warm, Bob and Joe chose to put on their hip boots, to escape the chill that might otherwise result.
They found that Dr. Rander was right. The river was barely three feet deep and was comparatively calm. So they had little difficulty in driving the mules across.
From the opposite bank two trails branched off up the mountainside. The one that was most difficult to follow, Dr. Rander chose.
“From here our going will be more arduous,” he told the young men. “The mountains are steeper, and more obstacles will stand in our way.”
Bob had followed the pack train to a height where he could command a good view of the surrounding country when suddenly he cried out in pain.
“My foot!” he groaned, when the others rushed to his side. “Something bit it.”
“What was it? A snake?” Joe demanded anxiously.
“Let me have a look at it,” the old man said, tying the foremost mule to a gnarled tree.
When Bob removed his legging and sock, he found a large red scratch, and the flesh about it was already badly swollen. It pained severely and throbbed so violently that the boy could hardly hold his foot still.
“Not a snake,” Dr. Rander told him. “Rather a poisonous insect – they are common in the Andes.”
The old explorer bathed the foot in water from a canteen and treated it with antiseptics, wrapping it up firmly.
“Now until that heals some you’ll have to ride your mount,” Dr. Rander said. “Don’t take no from him for an answer. Get on him and make him carry you forward.”
While Joe and the old man held the mule securely, Bob mounted and with drawn reins held the animal at a standstill.
“Hurrah!” yelled Joe. “You’ve made him give in.”
“Not altogether,” Bob said. “But I think I can manage to stay on.”
At the end of two days of riding the mule, Bob was convinced that the animal was not really as balky as he had at first supposed. Over high hills and rocky paths he carried his rider, until at last Bob’s foot became well enough for him to walk.
“I’ll sort of hate to do it,” laughed the youth, when they were camped under a high overhanging rock.
“I know,” said Dr. Rander. “But there isn’t much choice in the matter. After all, our mounts are not to be ridden except in such an emergency as this. They tire too easily when on the rocky trails, and it isn’t best to put much of a load on them.”
On, on the little party plunged, into the heart of the mountainous region. On every hand they saw something to hold their interest.
They had been on the trail about four days when they saw something that was indeed unusual.
Moving leisurely up the narrow path were eight or ten large Indians carrying an old organ. Ropes were tied tightly around the instrument, and to these the Indians held with a death grip.
Where they were taking the organ, the whites could only guess. Perhaps it belonged to a plantation owner, who wanted a musical instrument in his house.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, one of the Indians cried out in fright, and then there came other cries.
“The organ’s slipping!” shouted Joe. “It’s going over the cliff! And oh!” – he gasped for breath – “it’s taking one of the Indians with it!”
CHAPTER XX
Difficulties of the Trail
THE sight that the explorers beheld was unpleasant to the extreme. Scarcely had Joe uttered the cry of horror when the organ suddenly fell, pushing one of the natives over the cliff.
The man screamed in terror and then disappeared into the depths below. It was thousands of feet to the bottom of the abyss, and instant death was almost certain.
Bob drew back from the brink with a shudder. Joe and Dr. Rander gave cries of repugnance. The other Indians screamed hoarsely, uttering something that only Dr. Rander understood.
The natives ran wildly down the trail, scowling and making gestures.
“Terrible!” muttered the old explorer, when they had disappeared around a turn.
“What did they say?” inquired Joe, who had been struck by the Indians’ attitude of anger.
“They intend to kill the man who wanted the organ,” Dr. Rander told him. “They blame the Indian’s death on him.”
“Well, of all things!” exclaimed Joe indignantly. “Isn’t there anything we can do about it?”
The old man shook his head.
“When they set their minds on anything there’s no use trying to change them,” he said hopelessly.
“We might warn the man whom they intend to kill,” suggested Bob Holton.
“Don’t know who it is,” Dr. Rander returned. “And the Indians wouldn’t tell us.”
Bob and Joe all during that day felt that something could have been done to prevent the natives from killing the plantation owner, or whoever it was that was getting the organ. They were not a little vexed at Dr. Rander for treating the matter so lightly.
“But then,” said Bob hopefully, “maybe the Indians didn’t get away with it.”
Ten minutes later the youths forgot about the incident. They had been struggling over an exceedingly rough stretch when they suddenly came to another river, much wider than the one they had seen several days previously.
“Have to ford it, I guess,” said Joe Lewis. “No other way across.”
Again the boys put on their hip boots, and again they plunged into the water, driving the mules before them. The going here was difficult, as the current was rather strong, and the mules had to be watched more closely.
They were about halfway across when the old explorer cried out in fright.
“Help!” His voice was wild with terror.
“What is it?” demanded Joe, who was nearest him.
Then the youth saw. Dr. Rander was rapidly sinking into a hole. Already the water had reached his chest, and he was going down rapidly.
Joe at once put thought into action. He dashed over to one of the mules, opened a bag, and began searching about for a rope.
Frantic with the delay, the youth worked his hand like a machine, feeling in every corner of the bag. What if he could not find the rope?
But fortune was with him. In another bag on the opposite side of the mule he found the rope. Luckily it was not tangled.
Joe was almost afraid to turn for fear Dr. Rander would be gone. His heart gave a leap as he saw that the explorer’s head was still above the water.
“Here, get hold of this,” Joe called, throwing the rope over to the old man. “Now come on, Bob. Let’s pull.”
This last was unnecessary, as Bob was already on the spot waiting to catch hold of the rope.
“Steady, now!”
Slowly the youths pulled their friend out of the heavy mud, which oozed ominously as it released its victim. Once it seemed as if the old man would have to release his hold, but he managed to hang on desperately.
At last, when he was completely out of the mud, he moved over to his young companions and gazed at them gratefully.
“You did wonderful,” he commended. “Many people would have acted more slowly – and I would have gone under.”
“Wonder if there are any more treacherous places like that?” Bob scanned the chocolate water closely, as if by instinct to detect any dangerous spots.
“We’ll have to risk it,” Joe said. “It might be well to spread apart, so if anyone gets caught, the others can come to his rescue.”
“Good suggestion,” praised Bob. “I’ll get away over to this side.”
But if there were any more mud holes the explorers failed to come across them, and finally reached the other side safely, driving the mules before them.
On the bank Dr. Rander took off his mud-soaked clothes and replaced them with dry ones. Then, after a short rest, they resumed the journey.
“Who’s coming?” Joe strained his ears to make out the source of footsteps.
Then, rounding a growth of stunted trees, appeared a long caravan of small llamas, which were heavily loaded with what was probably firewood. Beside the curious animals walked two Indians, wearing the common “pancake” hats.
Luckily there was enough room for both cavalcades to pass freely, and they experienced no difficulty.
The natives stopped for a few minutes and conversed with Dr. Rander, who spoke Quichua freely. Then they started down the trail, driving the llamas at a rapid pace.
“Funny animals,” observed Bob when they had gone. “I was afraid all the time one or two would come at me and spit in my face, like the one back at Cuzco.”
Joe laughed.
“As long as you don’t bother them, I guess they’re all right,” he said. “But from what I’ve heard, they don’t like to be played with.”
“Don’t I know it!” grinned the other youth.
Before long they saw the origin of the llama caravan. Set back from the path was a large mud hut, about which played several Indian children. Another man and a woman came out to meet the adventurers.
Again Dr. Rander stopped to converse in the Quichua tongue. But not for long. He was anxious to lose no time in getting to the secrets. Even at best it would require many, many days.
“Hope we don’t have any trouble from now on,” said Joe, as he followed the old man up a steep slope. “But I suppose we will.”
Bob nodded.
“Exploring has its difficulties,” he said. “It will be funny if we don’t have any more things happen to delay us.”
That evening they camped in a little valley between two high peaks. All were glad to rest their tired limbs after such an arduous day over rocky paths.
At a small gurgling spring but a short distance away they drank freely and filled their canteens to capacity. Then, refreshed and ready to prepare the meal, they were about to head for the tent when Dr. Rander noticed something coming at them. He turned about quickly, his face white with fear.
The youths saw the danger and ran toward the mules as fast as they could.
Advancing toward them was a heavy swarm of green jungle flies, whose bite all knew to be poisonous as well as annoying. If the flies attacked the explorers, the result would be marks and red, swollen scratches that would disappear only after several weeks of patient treating.
“The mosquito nets – quick!” cried Dr. Rander, opening a pack and fumbling about nervously. “We must have them! That swarm of flies is so large that there won’t be anything left of us!”
But the adventurers were not quick enough. Before they could get out the nets the buzzing flies were upon them, biting their faces and arms severely. The little insects even penetrated the heavy clothing in a determined effort to satisfy their thirst for blood.
“This is awful!” groaned Bob, working feverishly to find a net.
Scarcely would they put a hand into the packs when they would have to remove it and slap away the flies, the marks of which already pained severely.
At last Joe found the pack that contained the nets, and lost no time in distributing the latter among his friends and himself.
“Now let them come,” challenged Bob, facing the swarm angrily. “I guess it won’t do ’em any good now.”
But even with the protection afforded by the closely woven nets, the menacing little creatures bit the explorers’ arms and legs most annoyingly.
Relief did not come until dark. The blackness of the night served in some manner to cause the flies to leave, although a small few remained threateningly.
“Oh!” muttered Bob, trying in vain to bend his wrist. “They sure fixed us up plenty good. Our – My gosh! Joe, look at yourself in a mirror. And you, too, Dr. Rander.”
The three were indeed a sorry-looking sight. Their faces were so swollen that their eyes were hardly visible, and their hands and arms were no better off.
“And how it hurts!” Joe was almost frantic with the stinging pain. “It’s a good thing the sun went down when it did, or there would have been nothing left of us,” he added.
All were too bruised and tired to prepare a meal, but necessity forced them to do so. But not until Dr. Rander produced a large tube of a special salve, which he applied freely to the swollen parts.
“This will relieve the pain,” he told the youths. “In the morning we’ll be a little better, but it won’t be for a week that the sores will disappear completely.”
Dawn found the adventurers scarcely aware that they had been bitten, although the scars were still there to tell the story.
“Let’s forget all about that unpleasant encounter,” suggested Joe optimistically. “Suppose we take everything that happens purely as an adventure.”
“Now you’re talking!” Bob patted his chum on the back. “We came here for adventure, and we mustn’t kick when we get it.”
Along toward noon Bob was lucky in bringing down a wild duck, which flew from a jungle not far away. Roasted over a fire, it proved good eating, despite the fact that it was tough.
Dinner – for that was what the youths called the noon meal when they were on exploration trips – over, they took it easy in the shade of a group of stunted trees, which grew almost straight out from the mountainside.
“Trail’s pretty bad,” observed Joe, his eyes on what could be seen of the narrow path as it circled up the peak. “But I suppose it’s nothing to what we’ll find it later on.”
Which proved fairly accurate, as they later observed. At times the trail was so rough and rocky that it was with greatest difficulty that the mules were able to clamber up the steep elevations. On one occasion it was necessary for the mules to jump up a three-foot rock, which obstructed the trail dangerously near a five-hundred-foot drop.
“Steady, now,” cautioned the old man, helping the youths unload the mules. “If we make a misstep, it will prove our finish.”
None of the explorers did, fortunately. But one of the mules was not as lucky. It was the last animal in the line and had been carrying only trifles that were not of necessity to the explorers.
The other mules had safely jumped to the top of the rock and were grazing on the thin patches of grass that grew on the mountainside.
“Hurry, now,” came from Joe. “Let’s get this last fellow up.”
Scarcely had the words left his mouth when the unfortunate animal lost its footing and, balancing for a moment at the edge of the canyon, plunged helplessly over the brink.
“Gone!” Dr. Rander could hardly believe the fact.
Bob and Joe had watched the accident tensely, unable to render any assistance to the terrified mule. At last they climbed up on the rock with a resolution to take matters as they were.
“Talk about adventure,” said Bob with a grim smile. “I guess we’re getting plenty of it.”
“Just wait,” murmured Joe meaningly. “This won’t be anything to what’s coming, or else I’ll miss my guess.”
“I sincerely hope nothing else will happen today,” Dr. Rander said. “I wish to get beyond this short range of mountains before nightfall.”
They later saw that traveling was so slow that it would be impossible to do this. But they were well on the other side of the peaks when darkness overtook them.
“Now to make camp,” sang Bob, tethering the foremost mule to a stout crag.
“Wait,” called Joe, who was just out of sight around a turn.
“What for?”
“Because – I’ve found something. Come here.”
Bob and Dr. Rander went around the bend, where Joe was waiting for them.
“It’s a cave,” explained the youth. “A big cave. Let’s see what’s in it.”
“Better be careful,” was the old man’s warning. “It isn’t unlikely that some snake has its lair here.”
