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."
They went in cautiously, Joe holding his flashlight and Bob his
revolver. How far the opening extended they had not the slightest
idea, for the light beam did not reach the other end.
Suddenly Joe shrank back, as his light rested on something not thirty
feet ahead.
"Bats!" he cried. "Vampire bats! And they're coming toward us!"