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!"