Secrets of the Andes

The others needed no urging. They climbed stiffly out of the ’plane and stretched freely. While they had not been cramped, they had nevertheless not been allowed the freedom of violent exercise.

“So this is Cuba,” observed Joe, yawning and looking at the green jungle, which seemed everywhere about them.

“Not much to be seen in this part of the island,” Mr. Wallace told them. “We’re at the extreme eastern end.”

They looked around a bit, though, to satisfy their curiosity.

When they finally returned to the ’plane, after taking a tramp toward the high peak, the explorers were ready to devour anything in the way of food.

Sandwiches and iced tea, the latter having been kept cold in a thermos jug, served as a meal, and proved to be very satisfying to the hungry explorers.

Then, after taking a short rest in the shade of the monoplane, they prepared to resume the journey.

“Now comes the worst part,” said Karl, with a frown. “We’ll have to fly for over five hundred miles without seeing a trace of an island. The Caribbean Sea may prove treacherous for tropical storms, too.”

Luck was with them the first half of their trip. The sky remained clear and light, not giving the slightest indication of a change of weather.

Then suddenly, when the travelers’ hopes were high, they noticed that the sky was becoming dark and threatening. A fierce wind was blowing with a dangerous velocity, which threatened to send the monoplane off its course.

Karl guided the machine off to the west, in the hope of passing beyond the storm area. He speeded up to over a hundred and fifty miles an hour, for he knew that whatever he did must be done quickly.

But try as he did, he could not escape the heavy clouds and terrible wind.

His hope almost gone, he sent the ship to a much higher altitude, thinking it might be possible to get above the clouds.

But it was too late. With a rush and a roar, the tropical hurricane was upon them.

CHAPTER IX

A Fearful Discovery

NEVER in their lives had the explorers witnessed anything like the terrible onslaught that followed. The violent, ruthless wind dashed the monoplane about dangerously, threatening at every moment to tear it to pieces. It was but a frail, man-made machine when caught in those forces of nature.

Karl’s ability as a pilot promised to be tested to the utmost. If he could keep the ship straight it would be nothing short of miraculous. The less skillful aviator would send his craft dashing down to the foamy water below. But Karl was by no means a novice. He had had wide experience in piloting passenger monoplanes on schedule across the United States.

“Sit tight!” he called through the telephone, suspecting that his friends were frightened. “We’ll get out some way – I hope.”

Every gust of wind tossed the ’plane about hazardously. It seemed that a plunge would be inevitable.

In the cockpit Karl Sutman was determined to bring his friends and himself safely through the danger. With nerves of steel, he hung on desperately to the stick and the rudder bar, keeping his keen eyes glued to the horizon.

It was indeed a race between life and death, as the staunch ’plane was swung about at the mercy of the storm. Many times before had the machine proved itself capable of withstanding the assault of the elements, but this was the supreme test. If it could weather this, it would indeed be a strong machine.

Inside the cabin, the youths and the naturalists were pale with an awful fear that this would be the end. They could not conceive of passing safely through such a hurricane as this. They were only too aware that many an aviator had gone to his doom in a tropical storm.

Now, to add to the terrible scene, a heavy rain began to fall, coming in great gusts with the wind. It pattered ominously on the wings, bearing the monoplane down with the added weight.

“Oh!” groaned Joe, almost giving up in despair. “I suppose the worst is yet to come.”

“Cheer up,” said Mr. Holton, who was inclined to be hopeful, as he noticed that the wind was blowing more evenly. “It can’t last so very much longer.”

Despite this expression of optimism, the hurricane continued at full force, although a bit smoother than at first. Now the wind, instead of coming in great gusts, blew steadily.

This made it slightly easier to handle the ’plane and took some of the severe strain from Karl. But he still was forced to use all his energy in keeping the craft at as even keel as possible.

All knew that a tropical storm was usually over a wider area than one in the temperate zone. It was this that had made it impossible for Karl to steer the ’plane to safety before the gale struck.

Only gradually did the monoplane pass through the clouds, which extended many miles in every direction.

Finally, when a clear sky again became visible, the explorers uttered cries of relief. They had at last escaped what seemed like certain disaster.

Bob moved over to the transmitter.

“You were wonderful, Karl, old boy!” he praised. “If most anyone else had been in your seat, we wouldn’t be in the air now.”

“Oh, there are plenty others that could have done it,” the aviator returned, his voice sounding a bit nervous. “I just saw that I had to get out some way and did everything I could.”

The storm had served in no small measure to heighten the explorers’ admiration for their pilot. If the latter could safely guide them through such a display of the elements, he could be depended upon for almost any crisis.

The brilliant sun was now rapidly showing itself in full view, casting a sparkling reflection on the ocean. All evidences of the storm were covered up, even the heavy foam caps having disappeared. It was as though nature were repenting of her arduous activities.

As they flew on, the explorers had a strong hope that the weather would remain calm during the remainder of their journey. They were nearing land now, and they wished to finish the trip in a cloudless sky.

At last, when they were becoming weary from seeing nothing but boundless water, they suddenly caught sight of a dim shape that covered the whole of the horizon. That shape became larger and more plain, until it took on the form of land.

“Hurrah!” cried Bob joyfully. “South America at last!”

“I believe you’re right,” came from his father. “It – ”

“Announcing our arrival at the great continent of South America!” Karl’s voice, coming loudly through the telephone, broke off with a laugh.

As they came nearer, the aviator guided the machine to a lower altitude, although still high enough to see many miles in every direction.

But it was a long while before they could make out plainly the details of the coast. Fog made it necessary to fly very near in order to see anything distinctly.

“I believe I can make out the Andes,” said Joe, gazing out at the distant horizon.

“Don’t be sure,” laughed Mr. Wallace. “Those mountains are a long way off.”

Before long they had passed the coast and headed over the land, almost directly above the Magdalena River, whose course they could easily make out.

For the most part, the country they were flying over was rugged and uncultivated, but there were occasional towns and villages that dotted the valleys and clearings.

“Bogotá is the first large city we’ll see,” announced Karl. “We ought to get there by tomorrow noon.”

“Where will we spend tonight?” asked Joe, as he noticed that darkness was not far off.

“Suppose we land before long and put up our tent,” suggested Mr. Holton, stepping up to the telephone transmitter.

“I was just getting ready to do that,” Karl answered him, and then added: “Here’s a good spot now.”

There was a wide, level field directly below them. Karl sent the monoplane off to the west and then headed it back and downward.

A perfect three-point landing was made in the tall grass, the ship coming to a stop at the very edge of a frowning jungle.

Once more the explorers got out and stretched their legs.

Bob and Joe had just started over to the jungle when they heard something that made them turn about quickly.

“There’s a leak in the gas tank,” Karl said ominously, “and the gas is almost gone. We landed just in time.”

CHAPTER X

Train Robbers!

AT Karl’s dread discovery the others uttered exclamations of alarm and astonishment.

“What could have caused it?” asked Bob grimly.

The aviator shook his head.

“Can’t say,” he returned. “Maybe something pierced it while we were in Cuba. Could have made a small leak that let out a little at a time. Or the storm could have done it.”

“Good thing we were able to make it across the Caribbean,” remarked Mr. Holton. “If it had been much larger, perhaps we wouldn’t be here now to find it out.”

The short-lived tropical twilight was upon them, with a promise of darkness being only a few seconds off.

“Suppose we put the tent up while we can see to do it,” suggested Bob. “Then we can attend to the leak in the morning. There’s some solder in the provision compartment, and we can put some of it on now to keep the remainder of the gas from running out.”

The others thought this good advice. While the youths and the naturalists made camp, Karl Sutman applied a heavy coat of liquid solder over the cut in the gasoline tank.

“I guess we’re in a mess,” the aviator said disgustedly. “We’ve used up all the gasoline in the spare tank, and now we haven’t enough to take us twenty-five miles. We could have flown to Bogotá easily if it hadn’t been for that leak.”

“Bet there isn’t a gasoline station within fifty miles of here,” groaned Joe, glancing at the rugged country that was on all sides of them.

Darkness overtook the explorers before they had completed making camp. They were forced to turn on the lights of the monoplane until they could gather sufficient twigs for a fire.

When finally a roaring blaze illuminated the sky, they turned to complete making the camp.

As a precaution, this was made on a spot several hundred feet from the monoplane. This would do away with the danger of an explosion, for the intense heat from the fire might easily have ignited the remaining gas in the tank.

“Now to get a meal,” said Bob, edging closer to the blaze to escape the chill of the tropical night.

A delicious spread of food was prepared, all eating heartily. The eventful day had stimulated their appetites highly.

“I suppose there’s no use worrying,” grunted Karl, stretching out before the fire. “We’ll find a way out somehow. If we can’t do anything else, we can all hike to a town and carry back enough gas to carry us a short distance. Then we can hike to another town, and do the same thing over again.”

“Do these towns around here have gas, though?” came from Joe. Despite Karl’s expression of hope, he feared the worst.

“That we don’t know,” Mr. Wallace said. “It may be there hasn’t been an internal-combustion engine in this region for years, if at all.”

A rapidly growing exhaustion made the explorers for the time being forget their cares and curl up in the tent, after having heaped the fire high with fresh fuel. They had not thought it necessary to stand guard, as there was probably nothing in this region that would bother them.

The next morning Karl got out a map of South America and spread it out on the tail of the machine.

“Here we are about twenty miles inland,” he said. “The nearest town appears to be about fifteen miles from here. Luckily it’s south, and we won’t have to go much off our course.”

“Think we can get gasoline there?” queried Joe.

“Probably not,” Karl answered. “But if we have to we can take a train to Cartagena – that’s a city not far from here on the coast. Of course they have gas there.”

They climbed into the monoplane, which, with a roar, rolled over the high grass and headed south. Karl kept the machine going at as slow a speed as possible, for he desired to use every ounce of fuel to advantage. But even then they made the short trip to the little town in but a few minutes.

“Here we are, right near the town.” Karl climbed out of the cockpit after having made a perfect landing.

Scarcely had the explorers stepped to the ground when they caught sight of a score or more natives running toward them. It was a motley crowd that surrounded the Americans a few seconds later.

Surprise, bewilderment, amazement were displayed on the faces of the Colombians. The monoplane they viewed with a certain awe that was almost childish in its sincerity.

As soon as the jabbering had abated somewhat, Mr. Holton addressed them in Spanish, asking if it might be possible to procure gasoline for the airplane.

The faces of some were expressionless, but a few shook their heads.

“We do not use gasoline here,” one man said in the native tongue. “There are no great birds like this” – pointing to the monoplane – “in our land. And we have no carriages that are not drawn by animals.”

Mr. Holton then asked if it might be possible to get gasoline in Cartagena, the city on the coast.

Strange to say, the people did not know. Evidently they had never been to that place, although it was less than fifty miles distant.

“Well, then,” began Karl, “I suppose one of us will have to take a train to Cartagena. Whoever goes can take a gasoline can with him and get it filled. Then he can return on the next train.” The Americans could not help laughing at this, however necessary it might have been. The idea of boarding a train for a fifty-mile journey merely to get a can filled with gas seemed provoking.

“What a predicament!” roared Bob, catching hold of the monoplane in order to hold his balance.

“I suppose we ought to take this more seriously,” said Karl, who was also laughing. “But somehow it all seems humorous to me.”

At sight of the Americans laughing, the crowd of natives looked about sullenly. No doubt they thought the newcomers were making fun of them. Finally one man stepped up to Bob, and, with a sneer, uttered something in the native language.

The youth could only catch a word or two, but it was enough to make him glare at the man in anger.

“Be careful, Bob,” warned his father. “There are too many of them for us to get into a scrap.”

“Aw, I could lick them all with one hand!” snarled the youth, his eyes resting fearlessly on first one and then another of the men.

He was able to control his temper, however, and as the Colombians made no further move, he turned to Karl Sutman.

“Why can’t I make that train trip?” he asked. “I’ll pay my own fare. Really I’ll enjoy it.”

“All right,” came from Mr. Wallace. “And I’ll go with you. It will take two to carry the gas can when it’s full.”

“Be careful,” warned Mr. Holton. “We won’t be surprised if you’re gone a day or two.”

At the railroad station, which was little more than a mud hut, they found that a train would arrive in less than three hours. They thought it best to remain near the depot, for the schedule might not be accurate.

The train finally came, but, much to their disgust, the two gas seekers were informed by the conductor that they would arrive in Cartagena no sooner than four hours later.

At last they started moving and slowly left the station behind. The little crowd that had assembled to see the train off waved a farewell as it disappeared around a curve.

Bob and the naturalist gazed intently out of the window at the barren country they were passing through. Only at intervals could they make out an adobe house.

They had gone perhaps an hour when they were startled by a sudden commotion at the head of the train. Bob was looking out of the window trying to make out what was going on when he suddenly felt the train come to an abrupt stop.

Wondering what was meant, he and Mr. Wallace had started toward the front of the coach when they were interrupted by a cry that echoed through the train.

“We’re being robbed!” exclaimed Mr. Wallace, hurrying back to the seat. “There’s a gang holding up the train!”

CHAPTER XI

Chubby the Eater

“ROBBED?” cried Bob, almost unbelievingly.

Before he could say anything further, a tall, dark man appeared at the front of the coach. Roughly he shouted something in the native tongue, at the same time flashing a shining pistol in full view of all.

“Quick!” exclaimed Mr. Wallace, taking advantage of an opportunity. “Hide our money – under the seat there next to you.”

The naturalist handed his pocketbook to Bob, who had taken his own purse from his pocket. The two he placed in a little crack between the seat and the side of the coach.

He was not a moment too soon. Scarcely had the youth resumed his natural position when the robber appeared before him and demanded money.

“Our pockets are empty,” Mr. Wallace told the man. “You can’t get anything from a poor man.”

The Colombian soon found that the naturalist spoke the truth. But even then he was a bit suspicious. Americans or Europeans – he knew not which they were – usually were rich, carrying with them much money. And that these two had boarded the train with empty pockets was indeed surprising.

Search as he did, however, he could find no trace of any money. But he was somewhat satisfied when he took possession of Mr. Wallace’s handsome watch.

Luckily Bob had left his timepiece in the cabin of the monoplane, having forgotten it in the excitement of the day. Strange to say, this was the first day in the week that the youth had not worn it.

“Well,” said Mr. Wallace, after the man had gone, “I lost the equivalent of fifty dollars. Not a great deal. But too much to have taken from me.”

“Good thing you thought to mention hiding our pocketbooks,” Bob told him. “If you hadn’t, we’d have been in a fine mess. Away out here in a strange country with no money.”

“And of course the railroad wouldn’t have made it good,” the naturalist said disgustedly. “If I ever have another watch I suppose I’ll have to pay for it.”

Ten minutes later the train was again chugging across the barren plateau. The robber gang had vanished before a cloud of heavy dust, perhaps not any too well satisfied with its exploit.

“I didn’t know this was dangerous territory,” remarked Bob Holton a little later. “Seemed like everyone was too lazy to do anything but loaf.”

“I guess we’ll find gangs anywhere we go,” Mr. Wallace told him. “At least that’s my opinion, after quite a bit of traveling.”

Bob recalled the bands of criminals he had met with at home and on the Sahara Desert, and concluded that his friend was right. No matter how much good there is in the world, there is always a certain amount of bad.

Two hours later the Americans were surprised to see that they were coming into a town. At the railroad station where they had boarded the train, they had not been told that another town was between them and the coast.

“This is Mahatos,” announced the naturalist, pronouncing the name as best he could.

“Guess everyone here wants strangers to be sure and know what town they’re in,” laughed Bob. “At any rate, that sign is plenty large. Almost hides the station.”

This town was much the same as the one at which they had boarded the train. They were glad when finally it was left behind.

“Wonder if we’ll make any more stops?” mused Bob with a smile.

“Don’t be surprised if we do,” Mr. Wallace replied. “For all I know there may be a dozen villages between us and the coast.”

During the next two hours the train crawled along without coming to a settlement. Then finally it passed a row of little black houses and pulled into Cartagena, the coast city.

“All out,” said Mr. Wallace, picking up the large gasoline can. “We’ve reached our destination at last.”

As the Americans looked about the well-built station, they found that this was a city of considerable importance. Crowds of people, clusters of business houses, and – what was more interesting to them – automobiles dotted the streets.

“Where there’s a motorcar there’s gasoline!” cried Bob joyfully. “Now who says we won’t put fuel in the airplane tank!”

They found a filling station – or at least a place where gasoline was sold – not far away and lost no time in having the can filled to capacity. Then they turned back to the railroad station.

“Our business in this city is completed in five minutes, after having made a four-hour trip here!” Bob could not help bursting out in laughter, and Mr. Wallace joined him.

They entered the railroad station and inquired when they might board a train back to Calamar.

Much to their displeasure, they found that it would not be possible to do so until the next morning. The agent explained that it was necessary to repair a portion of the track, and that until this was completed, a run could not be made.

“Just as I expected!” groaned Bob, sitting down on the seat hopelessly. “To save your neck you can’t make time in South America.”

“What will we do to while the time away?” asked the naturalist.

“Look around, I suppose. Nothing else to do.”

The Americans found Cartagena very interesting. Its several industries were throbbing with life; its people were possessed of a certain amount of energy and ambition that was entirely absent farther inland.

The travelers were loitering along at the port, watching the steamers arrive and depart, when Bob suddenly caught sight of something that caused him to nudge his friend.

“Look at that fellow over there,” the youth pointed out. “Isn’t he an American?”

Almost at once Mr. Wallace made a reply. “He is as sure as I’m born. Or else” – the naturalist hesitated – “he’s English.”

The object of their remarks was a short, fat young man of perhaps twenty, with twinkling eyes and a pug nose. He was dressed in khaki outdoor clothes that stretched tightly over his protruding stomach.

Before Bob and the naturalist could make a further move, the strange young man walked over to them, his small, deeply set eyes flashing with merriment.

“Ain’t you from the good old U. S. A., or ain’t you?” he demanded, extending a short, fat hand.

“From nowhere else!” Bob was overjoyed. “And I take it that you are?”

“Right as four chipmunks!” the little fellow said quickly. “You’re lookin’ at Chubby Stevens, from Houston. And now that I’ve got that off my chest, I ain’t expectin’ you to hold your names a secret.”

Bob laughed.

“This is Mr. Wallace, and my name’s Holton – Bob Holton. I’m from Washington and my friend’s from Chicago.”

“A good bit of the Estados Unidos is represented here, I see,” Chubby said with a laugh. “The East, Middle West, and Southwest. I suppose you’re just lookin’ around?”

“For the present, yes,” Mr. Wallace returned, and then related the events that led to their being in Cartagena.

The fat youth listened intently.

“You may be wantin’ more of South America, but I don’t,” he said when the naturalist had finished. “I’ve been here a year and have got all I want of it. I’m longin’ to see the old Gulf Building, back in Houston. Dad’s office is there. He’s a lawyer.”

“And you – what are you doing here, just seeing the country?” inquired Bob.

“I’m seein’ too much of it to suit me,” Chubby answered. “Came here to look around and to get rid of some fat. But doggone it, I’m fatter now than I ever was. Guess I’ll have to cut out adventurin’ and take back my old job in the office, if I want to get skinnier.”

A burst of laughter followed.

“You’re hopeless, all right,” chuckled Bob. “I never saw a case like yours before. Why, I weighed a hundred and eighty before I left the States, and I’ll bet I don’t weigh much more than a hundred and seventy now. If exploring would do that to me, why won’t it do it to you?”

“That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to figure out for the last year,” Chubby returned. “Funny, but I used those same figures, but I just switched them around. Went from a hundred and seventy to a hundred and eighty. That’s away too much weight for a bozo my size to carry around.”

“Why don’t you try swimming back to America?” laughed Bob. “That might do the trick.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about that, too, only I’m afraid I couldn’t take along enough to eat.”

“Oh!” Bob groaned hopelessly, and then, as he found that Chubby had just arrived in Cartagena, suggested that they take a walk about the city.