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.