Secrets of the Andes

But as it was almost noon, Chubby suggested that they get a “bite” to eat. Just enough, he said, to prevent them from falling from hunger.

Mr. Wallace snorted.

“I suppose it’s impossible to do it,” the naturalist said earnestly, “but I’d like to take you along on our expedition into the Andes. If you’ll go, I’ll guarantee that you’ll get rid of twenty pounds.”

“Huh? Are you tryin’ to kid me?” Chubby looked up suddenly.

“Not a bit of it,” Mr. Wallace answered, trying hard to suppress a smile. “It works every time. You see, we have to get by on limited rations and – ”

“Fine! I’ll go – What was that you said? Limited rations? That means less food, doesn’t it?”

Mr. Wallace nodded.

“Then I’m afraid,” began Chubby, shaking his head slowly, “that I couldn’t think of considering your proposition, however wonderful it might be. I’m – ”

“It’s no use,” laughed Bob. “A heavy eater doesn’t make an explorer.”

Bob and the naturalist were finally persuaded to follow the fat youth’s suggestion and get a “bite” to eat. Then they continued their sightseeing.

Thus the remainder of the day passed, and they began to look about for a place to spend the night. Chubby resolved to remain with his newly found friends as long as the latter stayed in Cartagena. Then, he told them, he would take a boat to the United States.

The three Americans engaged a small room in a boarding house that was owned by a Canadian. Although it was not the utmost in comfort, they were glad to throw themselves on the hard bed to retire.

They passed a restful night, however, awaking late the next morning.

“What shall we do until train time?” asked Bob, preparing to leave the room.

“Look around some more, I suppose,” Chubby said. “In this country you can always find something you haven’t seen before. There’s a lot that’s funny, too. I’ve been laughing a year at the natives.”

“Maybe they’ve been laughing at you,” Bob thought to himself, but said nothing. The fat little fellow would indeed provoke a smile from many.

Until ten the three walked around the city, noticing everything that was peculiar to this strange land. When finally they came back to the railroad station, they were not a little fatigued. Especially tired was Chubby.

“Well,” Bob began, “we’ll leave in fifteen minutes, if we follow the set schedule. I suppose,” he said to the fat youth, “you’ve definitely made up your mind to go back home?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you won’t think of going with us to the Andes? We could use you, all right.”

“Sorry, but it’s North America for me.” Chubby spoke decisively. “This continent here ain’t fit for a gazook like me. I want to get back.”

He exchanged addresses with Bob and Mr. Wallace, pocketing his notebook just as the train steamed up to the station.

“Good-bye and good luck!” called Bob, as he stepped up into the coach. “Write us sometime.”

“Hope you lose some fat,” laughed Mr. Wallace, as they started moving. “And you’d better not try to swim to the U. S.”

The train moved slowly away, leaving Chubby to stand on the platform, still waving.

“Good fellow, all right,” smiled Bob, settling himself down in the seat. “All he needs is a little well-directed exercise.”

“I’m afraid he won’t get it,” said the naturalist. “He’ll probably be fat as long as he lives.”

The journey back to Calamar was uneventful. Bob and Mr. Wallace looked out rather fearfully as they passed the spot where they had previously been robbed. But no gang appeared this time to stay them.

Finally they reached their destination and left the train. They were greatly surprised to see that no one was there to meet them.

“That’s funny!” mused Bob, as he and the naturalist lugged the heavy gasoline can in the direction of the airplane. “I thought sure Dad or Joe would be here.”

When at last they came to the airplane, Bob gave a cry of surprise.

Seated on the ground were Joe, Karl Sutman, and Mr. Holton, their faces bleeding from numerous scratches, their clothes torn and wrinkled.

CHAPTER XII

The Pangs of Soroche

“FOR the love of Mike!” cried Bob Holton. “Whatever happened?”

“Plenty!” came from Joe quietly. “We had a fight.”

“A fight?” Mr. Wallace was perplexed.

“Yes, and a big one at that,” said Karl grimly. “But we licked them.”

“Licked whom?” demanded Bob, becoming impatient. “Come on. Tell us about it.”

Mr. Holton got to his feet.

“Look over there,” he directed, pointing to a spot near the tail of the monoplane.

Bob and Mr. Wallace looked.

Lying prone on the ground was a man, a native Colombian, evidently still dazed from a blow. He made not the slightest move, although it was apparent that he was not hurt seriously.

“Karl knocked that fellow out,” explained Bob’s father. “In addition to being a fine aviator, that fellow’s a fighter.”

Bob glanced at Karl. From the start the youth had believed the aviator could give a good account of himself if called upon.

“But that’s not telling us anything,” said Mr. Wallace. “What caused the fight? How did it all come about?”

“This way,” began Mr. Holton. “Joe and Karl and I were sitting in the cabin of the ’plane discussing the expedition when we were suddenly interrupted by a gang of at least five rough men, who rushed at the ’plane angrily. We didn’t know what their object in attacking us was, and never did find out. Perhaps they wanted to steal what we have, or they might have been in that crowd yesterday when we laughed and they thought we were making fun of them. At any rate they came at us furiously, and one man broke out the glass in a window. We got out of the airplane as soon as we could to defend ourselves. We couldn’t get to our guns because they’re in a nailed box. But we used our fists to good advantage and finally were able to beat them off. All got away but that fellow over there.”

“Well, of all things!” exclaimed Mr. Wallace. “Seems like we’re having trouble and then more trouble. Bob and I had an experience on the train that wasn’t very pleasing,” he said, and then told of the robbery in which he had lost a valuable watch.

“We’ll soon be out of this country, I hope,” sighed Joe. “Though I suppose it isn’t the country so much as it is our stroke of bad luck.”

“No,” agreed Bob. “Anyone – ”

He stopped quickly, as he observed that the Colombian who had been knocked out was regaining consciousness. At first the man merely stirred about, as if totally unaware of what had happened. Then he glanced up and got to his feet.

Pausing but a moment to glare at the Americans, the man dashed away in the direction of the town, drawing his teeth back in a wicked snarl as he looked back at them one last time.

“I think we’d better get away from here as quickly as we can,” said Mr. Holton. “For all we know there may be another gang getting ready to attack us. The whole town might even come out.”

His remark served to set Karl Sutman to action.

“Let’s get the gas in the tank,” he suggested, walking over to the can that Bob and Mr. Wallace had brought filled from the city on the coast.

Together, Joe and the aviator lifted the heavy can up and poured out its contents. Then, after making the cap secure, Karl climbed in the cockpit and switched on the engine.

“This will take us from fifty to seventy miles – maybe farther, depending on how fast we fly,” he told the others, as they entered the cabin and snapped the door shut.

As they left the ground, Joe noticed that they were heading west. He wondered what was the meaning of this, since Bogotá, which was south, was their goal.

“I’m going to find out,” he thought, and, stepping over to the transmitter, he put the question to Karl.

“I decided all at once to go over to that coast city – Cartagena,” the aviator answered. “There we can fill both our tanks to capacity and won’t have to worry any more. Otherwise, if we merely used the gas that Bob and Mr. Wallace brought, we might find it necessary to hunt up another town that has gasoline.”

“You think of everything,” praised Bob’s father, moving up to the transmitter.

“I’ve decided to make another change, too,” Karl said with a laugh. “I think it might be best to miss Bogotá by a hundred miles and head at once for Lima, the capital of Peru. We can stop at Quito, the capital of Ecuador, for more gas, and then continue on to Lima. Here we’ll again land to fill our tanks. After that we’ll go on to – well, perhaps to Cuzco, if we want to look around a little before Mr. Lewis gets here by steamship. How does it sound?”

“O. K.,” said Bob quickly, and then, with a sudden thought, added: “How about the tank that leaks? Can we have it repaired in Cartagena?”

“Yes. That is, I’d think so. Why didn’t you and Mr. Wallace find out while you were there?”

“Upon my word, I never thought of it,” confessed the naturalist sheepishly. “And I’m sure Bob didn’t. But we could easily have inquired. After seeing the city, I’m inclined to think the tank can be repaired there.”

They found a little later that Mr. Wallace was right. At the first garage they entered, they were informed that the tank could be repaired.

It was necessary, however, for the garage man to take his welding outfit over to the monoplane, which was in a field quite a distance away. For this he explained he would be compelled to make an additional charge, but the others, knowing there was no other way out, did not object.

When the tank was mended and had cooled an hour or so, it was filled to capacity with gasoline. The spare was also filled, and then the explorers were ready to resume their journey.

A little crowd of people had assembled to see the monoplane off. They waved a friendly farewell as it soared high into the sky.

“Now I wonder if we’ll have any more trouble,” mused Bob. “Or will we have good luck and get to the Andes without much delay?”

Across jungle, plains, and hills they flew for well over an hour. Then they caught sight of something in the distance that thrilled them with delight.

“The Andes!” cried Joe joyfully. “At last we’ve seen the Andes Mountains!”

“I believe you’re right,” affirmed Mr. Wallace, straining his eyes to make out more clearly the series of distant bumps that were mountains.

As the explorers flew nearer, they could easily observe the high peaks and narrow valleys. At one time they flew directly over a short range of exceedingly lofty mountains.

The monoplane passed farther, and the towering slopes of the Andes became more prominent. They looked dark and forbidding, yet beautiful and romantic.

“It’s going to be dark before long,” said Karl, breaking the fascinating silence. “And as it isn’t wise to keep going over unknown territory, I’m going to land – if I can find a place.”

Picking out a level spot was very difficult, but finally Karl caught sight of a flat plateau stretching several hundred yards ahead. He brought the machine down as best he could, taking into consideration the difficulty of landing at high altitudes.

They did not pitch the tent that night, but curled up inside the cabin, too tired to use much more energy. By doing this they could lock the doors and spend the night in comparative safety. Otherwise, it would have been necessary to set a guard.

A heavy slumber overtook them and held them firmly until late next morning.

“Now to head for Ecuador,” said Joe, becoming impatient. “How long will it take us – to get to Quito, I mean?” he asked Karl.

“Let’s see. We’ve been about an hour out of Cartagena.” Karl pondered for a minute. “There’ll be about six more hours of air traveling before we get there. That is, if nothing happens.”

But nothing hindered their flight, and after a thrilling ride over fascinating country the explorers came to Quito, at the very rim of the lofty peaks. Karl finally was able to bring the airplane safely down at the edge of the city. He switched off the engine, and, with the others, turned to glimpse the surrounding mountains.

On all sides were the magnificent heights of the mighty Andes, reaching thousands of feet above the city. Quito itself was built in a wide valley, nearly eleven thousand feet above sea level.

All during the last hour, as they had soared steadily upward, Joe had had a strange feeling of nausea, which grew still worse after they had landed at Quito. Now, when they were about to make their way into the city, Joe slumped down on the ground beside the monoplane.

“I’m sick!” he moaned helplessly. “Guess I can’t go with you now.”

CHAPTER XIII

A Happy Reunion

“SICK?” cried Bob anxiously. “What seems to be the trouble?” He and Mr. Holton had moved over to Joe.

“Got a terrible headache. Feel bad all over. My – my stomach doesn’t seem right.”

Almost at once the two naturalists grasped the meaning of Joe’s misfortune.

“There’s no doubt about it,” began Mr. Wallace, who was himself becoming pale. “You have mountain sickness, or soroche, as it’s called. I think I have a touch of it myself.”

“What causes it?” queried Bob.

“The high altitude,” Mr. Holton answered. “You see, when one makes a sudden change to nearly eleven thousand feet, it is a great strain on him. Usually, though, it doesn’t show up until reaching a much higher altitude than this. I’m surprised that Joe has it so soon.”

Joe did not become worse, but grew no better. One thing was apparent: until he would show improvement, he could not continue the journey.

Mr. Holton and Bob helped him into the cabin of the airplane, where an improvised bed was made.

“If it’s all right, I think I’ll stay with him,” announced Mr. Wallace. “I’m not feeling any too well myself, and then, too, Joe ought to have someone here with him.”

“All right,” said Karl. “Meanwhile the rest of us will go on into the city and have some gasoline sent out to the ’plane.”

In Quito the others found a filling station, the operator of which agreed to send out a truck to the monoplane to fill the tanks.

Back at the field they found that Joe had greatly improved and was anxious to fly on to Lima. It was evident that he had had only a slight attack.

In a short time the gasoline truck arrived, the tanks were replenished, and the explorers again climbed into the monoplane.

The journey to Lima promised to be more dangerous, as there were hazardous stretches of country to be left behind. But all knew that Karl was a skillful pilot. If he had not been he could not have brought them safely out of the terrible storm that they had encountered over the Caribbean.

Mountains, valleys, towns, then more mountains were spread before them as they flew on their way to the “City of the Kings.” The rugged Andes were more impressive than Bob and Joe had imagined.

At last they caught sight of Lima in the distance and before long were hovering over it.

Karl singled out Faucett’s Field and brought the monoplane down at high speed in order to avert a catastrophe. Well he knew that landing at such an altitude would present a difficulty, even at best.

“Can hardly feel the wheels touch the ground,” remarked Bob. “Wonder how Karl knows he’s made a landing?”

They were rolling swiftly over the smooth ground when suddenly Mr. Holton cried out in fright and pointed ahead at another airplane, which was landing directly in their path.

“Look out!” he warned Karl, speaking hoarsely through the transmitter.

Karl Sutman had already seen the danger and was cutting the monoplane to one side as best he could.

He was too late, however. The other airplane came on at sickening speed, heading directly at the explorers. The wings of the two crafts touched, and the monoplane sent the other machine, which was much lighter, spinning around dangerously.

Its lower wing scraped the ground, and a support was broken. A moment later it came to a stop, leaning on its side.

Meanwhile, Karl’s monoplane had continued farther, gradually losing speed until it came to a standstill several hundred feet away from the other airplane.

“A narrow escape!” breathed Joe, as he opened the door of the cabin and stepped out. “A little more and we would have been goners.”

“That crazy guy ought to have his face smashed!” snarled Karl, directing his glance at the distant airplane. “He broke one of the prime rules of flying: Never land when there is another ’plane on the field.”

“Here he comes now,” observed Bob. “Wonder what’s on his mind?”

They soon found out. The other aviator was a native Peruvian and could not speak English, but he addressed them angrily in the native language.

Karl stepped boldly up to the man. His fist shot out and caught the native squarely between the eyes.

The man reeled and then lost his balance, falling heavily to the ground.

At that moment two men from the airdrome came running out and demanded an explanation of what had happened.

Briefly Mr. Holton told them, stressing the fact that the aviator had not waited to land.

“He ought to have his pilot’s license taken away from him,” growled Karl Sutman, when the naturalist had concluded.

The men from the airdrome were greatly angered at the strange aviator for not being cautious in landing. They addressed him in no gentle terms as he lay on the ground.

Karl’s monoplane had been only slightly injured in the accident, but it was enough to require an hour of patient labor to make the repair.

The possibility of the other aviator doing damage to Karl’s machine prompted the tall young man to ask that it be kept under watch near the airdrome.

“Now suppose we walk on into Lima,” suggested Mr. Holton, after the ’plane had been rolled over to a safe place.

At the edge of the field was a wide street that led directly into the city. This the travelers followed and before very long came to the business district. In front of the huge cathedral they stopped to view the crowds through the cluster of palm trees that was before them.

“Quite a bit of life here,” observed Bob, as his eyes followed the busy swarm of people. “Lima must be a place of considerable importance.”

“It is,” said Mr. Holton. “It’s the capital of Peru.”

In the distance, beyond the plaza, a line of lofty mountains was plainly visible in the thin air. No doubt they were many miles away.

The explorers sat down idly on the wide steps of the cathedral.

“Now,” began Mr. Wallace, “we should make plans for the next two weeks. Mr. Lewis, we know, will arrive in Mollendo in about that time. What do you suggest doing – stay in the vicinity of Lima and take in the sights here, or fly on to Cuzco and the heart of Inca land?”

“I’d rather stay where we are for a while,” spoke up Karl. “There’s so much to see here that it will be worth it to spend a good bit of time in this section.”

“That goes for me, too,” came from Joe. “We’ll go to Cuzco later anyway, so why not see what we can around Lima?”

As everyone was in favor of doing this, they agreed to find a hotel and engage rooms.

“If I’m not mistaken, we won’t regret staying in this region,” said Bob Holton.

And they did not. During the next week and a half they spent their time taking in the sights of Lima and the rugged country surrounding it. They visited the botanical gardens, the various plazas, public buildings, streets, and the national museum. They toured the fascinating country about the city, seeing the ancient Inca highway, the mines of Morococha, the lifeless native huts that were everywhere, the marvelously engineered railroads, and the interesting city of Callao, located near by.

At the end of the time that they could spend here, the explorers were well pleased with the eventful days that had passed.

“Now to head for Mollendo,” said Mr. Holton, as one morning he arose early to prepare his possessions for the trip. “We’ve only got about a day before Mr. Lewis’s steamer arrives from the United States, and we must use the time to best advantage.”

The others were ready and climbed into the airplane for the long journey.

Mollendo, the adventurers found after the interesting flight, was much like other cities they had visited. It possessed a very interesting dock, however, which held the boys’ attention for many minutes.

The following day, when it became time for the steamship to arrive, they were on hand to meet the naturalist and the others.

“It’s coming!” cried Joe, pointing excitedly toward the horizon. “And will I be glad to see Dad!”

“I guess we all will,” said Mr. Wallace.

The vessel steamed closer and headed for the port. As it came toward them, the explorers could easily make out someone on the deck whom they recognized. It was Mr. Lewis.

CHAPTER XIV

An Unexpected Displeasure

AS the ship moved slowly into port, Mr. Lewis, standing anxiously on the deck, caught sight of his friends and waved wildly. Obviously he was exceedingly glad to see them again.

Others of the expedition who recognized Mr. Holton or the boys also waved a friendly greeting, which was returned by those on shore.

When the boat had come to a standstill, a huge crane swung out and up to the deck. At the end, attached by a massive hook, was a chair. Into this the boat’s passengers were to sit and be hoisted down to the dock.

“Funny way of unloading passengers,” laughed Bob, as he watched a woman rather nervously sit down in the chair.

“No other way, I guess,” came from Mr. Wallace. “The surf billows roll too high for the conventional method.”

The onlookers watched closely as the chair was raised off the deck and suspended over to the shore.

The woman who was carried in this manner laughed as she left the chair and turned to see the motion repeated. From the look on her face, it had been an exciting experience.

“Here comes Dad!” observed Joe happily. “Wonder how he’ll like it?”

Mr. Lewis had seated himself in the chair and was being carried high in the air to the dock.

When he set foot on the ground, he rushed toward the others, on his face a look of intense joy.

Words fail to describe the meeting that followed. Mr. Lewis was literally mauled by his son and friends, who were overjoyed to have him again with them. Especially was Joe happy.

“I worried from the time you left Washington,” the naturalist told them, throwing an arm over Joe’s shoulder. “The more I thought about that airplane trip the more anxious I became. You didn’t have any trouble, did you?”

“It’s according to what you call trouble,” laughed Bob. “If you mean accidents, we didn’t have any. But if you mean just common bad luck, we had plenty.”

“Could have been worse, though,” his father reminded him. “And let me tell you that Karl is an excellent pilot. If he weren’t, we probably wouldn’t be here now.”

“As if I didn’t know it,” smiled Mr. Lewis, glancing at the blushing aviator. “If anyone else had offered to take you to Peru, I wouldn’t have thought much of the idea. Karl Sutman, though – ”

At this moment a group of men came up, to be recognized by Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton.

The youths, Mr. Wallace, and Karl were introduced to them as members of the archæological and geological divisions of the expedition. Dr. Rust, Professors Allan and Kelley, and Mr. Dunn, as their names were, had come to this region to search for additional Inca ruins and to study the land in the mountain section.

Two other men completed the personnel of the expedition. They were Mr. Buenagel, assistant, and Dr. Brown, physician, both of whom had been on numerous expeditions with the others. They now came up and received the same hearty welcome.

“Now that we’re all together,” began Dr. Rust, “we want to decide where we’ll make our headquarters. Is everyone in favor of having our base in or near Cuzco?”

“I should say yes,” came from Professor Kelley. “Cuzco, after all, is a very strategic point, and is quite easily accessible from all parts of this section. So why not locate there?”

As everyone agreed, the question was settled. Now came the problem of transporting the expedition’s supplies, of which there were many.

Karl generously offered the services of the monoplane in getting the trunks and bags over to Cuzco. He explained that he would be glad to do this for them, even though it might be necessary to make two or three trips.

But Dr. Rust, leader of the expedition, stoutly refused.