Secrets of the Andes

“We don’t wish to put you to that trouble,” he said. “As long as there is a railroad running up to Cuzco, we’ll make use of it and have our stuff shipped, even though it may take a few days longer.”

Karl wondered afterwards if the scientist secretly feared an accident. The tall young man remarked to Bob and Joe several days later that perhaps Dr. Rust did not wish to take a chance on the monoplane crashing with the expedition’s supplies on board.

As had been suggested, the supplies, including those of Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis, were placed on board the first train that left for Cuzco. The boxes and trunks would not reach their destination until several days later, however, since it was necessary for them to be changed around several times.

Except for the three naturalists, the scientists boarded the same train for Cuzco. Mr. Wallace and the youths’ fathers were to accompany Karl and Bob and Joe in the monoplane. With Mr. Lewis in the cabin, there would be an added load, but Karl told them it would not be dangerous.

“Just have to watch the take-offs and the landings more closely,” the aviator explained. “Outside of that, we’ll never know that another person is inside, as far as the ride goes.”

“Won’t ride any easier?” queried Joe, trying to appear innocent.

“Quit your kidding!” snapped Karl with a laugh. “This bus isn’t an automobile.”

“But a bus is an automobile,” said Joe persistently.

He dodged a pass that Karl swung at him. Then, seriously, he turned to the others, who were busy attending to minor tasks about the airplane.

“Everything’s ready,” announced Mr. Wallace, stepping inside the cabin. “Suppose we get started at once, so as to get there and look around some before the others arrive by train.”

Karl was willing. He climbed into the cockpit and started the engine. Mr. Holton, the last to enter the cabin, closed the door tightly just as the monoplane began rolling over the field.

“We’re off for Inca land!” shouted Bob excitedly, raising a motion-picture camera to his shoulder. “And won’t we have fun!”

“We’ll also have a little work,” said his father quietly. “If we get enough specimens from this region to satisfy the museum heads we’ll have to go some.”

Flying over this interesting land was exciting to the youths, who viewed the sights curiously. Before long they could make out the town of Arequipa away over to their right, and just behind it, El Misti volcano, whose sides sloped up to a point.

Karl guided the ’plane as near the ground as possible, knowing that he and his friends could not stand the rare air of several thousand feet higher without the use of oxygen. A few tanks of this valuable gas were now on the train en route to Cuzco. Karl had not thought it necessary to use them in the ’plane so soon.

At the speed they traveled, it did not take them long to sight Cuzco in the distance. Several miles away they could also see the town of Anta, which was a mere village compared to its neighbor city.

When they came nearer, Karl flew straight for the central plaza, so as to get a fine view of all the buildings and places of importance.

“Look at the people swarming to see us,” said Joe. “I guess it isn’t often that an airplane comes here.”

At about three hundred feet they soared leisurely over the central plaza, where natives were gathering rapidly. Directly below them was the huge cathedral, which, as far as they could see, was the most imposing building in the city. All about were low structures, with an occasional higher building dotting the landscape.

It was a wonderful view. Even from that low altitude, the explorers could easily make out the surrounding mountains, on many of which were Inca ruins, including the “staircase farms.”

Joe considered it a wonderful opportunity to take several hundred feet of motion pictures. He pointed the camera first at the city below them, then at the near-by mountains, turning the crank continuously.

When he had flown a few times around the town, Karl picked out a level stretch to the east and began the dangerous task of landing. Well he knew at that altitude it would be easy to crash.

The monoplane headed downward at high speed, the wheels touched the ground, bumped back into the air, touched the ground again. The machine rolled ahead at fifty miles an hour, forty, thirty, and finally came to a stop dangerously near a large pile of stones.

“All out,” called Karl, when he had switched off the motor. “We’re here. And we came down without a smash-up.”

Directly across the river Almodena the adventurers could see Cuzco, looking strangely quaint in its pocket in the mountains.

“Here come more natives,” observed Mr. Holton, as a horde of twenty or thirty men, women, and children rushed toward the Americans.

As they came nearer, they uttered something that none of the newcomers understood.

“They’re speaking in Quichua – that’s the native tongue in this part of Peru,” explained Mr. Lewis. “It’s the same language that was used by the ancient Incas.”

Although the natives scrutinized the airplane carefully, they were not bothersome, staring rather in awe at the great “bird” that had come mysteriously to their city.

Karl thought it best to have the craft guarded against possible marauders. But how he could secure a guard was a problem, since none of the Indians could understand English or Spanish. And the aviator knew not one word of Quichua.

“Suppose we take turns watching it,” suggested Mr. Holton. “I’ll take the first watch of, say, two hours. Bob, you can take the second, and so on until we can make some other arrangements.”

“And while Dad’s staying here with the ’plane,” began Bob, “I’d like to look around a bit. Anybody want to go with me?”

“Sure.” Joe was anxious to see the sights in this strange land.

“Don’t be gone long, boys,” cautioned Mr. Lewis. “We all want to be on hand when the train arrives from Mollendo.”

The chums walked south over a level plain, hoping to see something of interest before long.

They had not long to wait. In a little open grassy stretch beside a wall of rock was a herd of ten or twelve llamas, grazing peacefully. These animals were about 4 feet high, with long necks and a head like that of the camel.

“Let’s go up and see them,” said Bob, moving over to the herd.

“Better not,” warned Joe. “They might be dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Those things dangerous? Wait a minute and I’ll show you how peaceful they are.”

Bob had walked up to the foremost black animal and now began to stroke its woolly back.

Then an unexpected and unpleasant thing happened. The llama turned suddenly on Bob and spat violently in the youth’s face.

CHAPTER XV

Attacked by Indians

BOB shook his head to rid himself of the sickening saliva. He wiped his face with his handkerchief, with his hands, with anything he could find. At the same time he stepped out of reach of the treacherous animal.

When he had completed rubbing, he turned sheepishly to Joe.

“Guess I learned my lesson,” he said quietly. “But who’d ‘a’ thought it of the brutes?”

“Isn’t wise to do anything unless you know what you’re doing,” Joe reminded him.

“I’ve a notion to go over and wring its neck!” snorted Bob, glancing at the llama, which had resumed its grazing as if nothing had happened.

“Better not,” Joe warned him. “You might not be able to do it. And the Indian that owns them might come out.”

“Let him come!” Bob was confident that he could manage both the llama and the Indian.

He decided to let the matter drop, however, and continue the walk about the plateau.

As the youths hiked farther, they passed the grassy region and came to a higher slope that was dotted with occasional patches of cacti, thorn bushes, and stunted trees. The Australian eucalyptus, a small tree, was abundant.

“Can’t raise anything here,” remarked Bob. “Almost as bad as it is on the Sahara Desert.”

The chums made a wide circuit about Cuzco, coming in sight of the monoplane from the opposite side.

“You’re just in time to stand guard,” Mr. Holton told Bob. “And while you’re doing that, the rest of us will look around a bit. We’ve all been busy studying maps of the Andes.”

The adventurers took turns watching the airplane and seeing the country all during the remainder of that day. If it were able to follow schedule, the train from Mollendo, bringing the others of the expedition, would arrive the next afternoon.

At that time all the air travelers but Mr. Lewis were in the railroad station waiting. Mr. Lewis had remained at the field to guard the ’plane.

“It’s coming,” said Mr. Wallace, and a minute later the train pulled up and stopped.

Dr. Rust and the other scientists stepped off, to be met by the naturalists and the youths.

“I think it might be wise,” began Mr. Holton, “to establish a temporary camp here near Cuzco, perhaps in the field by the monoplane. Is everyone with me in this?”

Professor Allan nodded.

“I am in favor of it,” he said. “Until we make further preparations for our work in the mountains it would be wise to put up our tents there.”

At the field they found Mr. Lewis waiting for them. He also agreed to follow Mr. Holton’s suggestion.

Four tents were pitched in a semicircle beside the airplane. The expedition’s supplies were placed systematically inside, and then began a discussion about the coming exploration.

“We who are after Inca ruins have decided to set off for the region near Mount Panta,” Dr. Rust said. “In our opinion, there is an opportunity to find wonderful Inca remains in this section. Most likely we will stay within twenty miles of that mountain for three or four weeks. Where we will go then we will have to decide later.”

“Now of course you archæologists want to know as nearly as possible where we naturalists will be,” began Mr. Holton. “I don’t know whether everyone will agree,” he went on, “but I know of a place that supposedly abounds with wild creatures. And I would suggest that we head for that spot.”

The others looked at him inquiringly.

“This morning while I was out scouting around I came across an American who was just returning from a hunting trip in the Andes,” Mr. Holton resumed. “He informed me that the valley of the Comberciato is teeming with wild game. According to his estimate, that’s about a hundred miles from here, northwest. It – ”

“I’ve heard of it, too,” cut in Mr. Wallace, his face beaming with scientific enthusiasm. “Why not go there? We’ll probably find it worth our while.”

“I’m willing,” came from Joe’s father.

“Then let’s call it settled,” Mr. Holton said. “We’ll start out as soon as possible.”

“Here’s where Mr. Sutman and his airplane come in,” remarked Professor Allan. “By the use of the ’plane, we can keep informed as to the whereabouts of the other division of the expedition. It will prove a valuable asset to our equipment.”

Bob and Joe and Mr. Dunn took it on themselves to go back to the railroad station and have the many boxes of food and supplies removed to the camp. The scientists had purposely left them in charge of the agent until after deciding the course of the expedition and had carried only the lighter bags and cases to the camp.

The railroad agent, when asked of a means of transporting the boxes, pointed outside to a large cart drawn by a mule. Walking lazily at the side was an Indian.

“He will do it for you,” the railroad man said in poor Spanish.

Then, knowing that the Americans could not speak the Quichua language, the agent called to the native and asked if he would be willing to take the boxes.

The Indian merely nodded and went into the building after the first load. In all, there were about seventy-five cases, and he knew it would be necessary to make several trips.

“That mule doesn’t look any too willing to pull the load,” observed Joe with a laugh. “Be funny if he’d stop still when only about halfway there.”

When the cart was loaded with about fifteen or twenty of the boxes, the Indian called for the animal to pull ahead. But the stubborn mule refused to budge.

“Now what will he do?” mused Joe, looking at the impatient Indian.

He soon saw. The native removed five boxes and carried them back into the station. Then, with the cart lighter, he again attempted to make the mule move ahead.

But apparently it was still too much of a load, at least for comfort.

“That crazy donkey just doesn’t want to go, that’s all.” Mr. Dunn had been taking in the incident with a great deal of interest.

The Indian was becoming impatient. He had apparently removed all he was going to from the cart and intended to resort to force.

Walking to one side, he pushed with all his strength on the balky animal, at the same time saying something in Quichua that the whites guessed was not pleasant.

Slowly, very slowly, the mule struggled forward, snorting as if in rage. Gradually he quickened his pace, but never exceeded a walk.

“At this rate it’ll take us the rest of the afternoon to get everything in camp,” muttered Bob, amused and yet angered at the stubborn beast.

The youth guessed fairly right. The sun was almost ready to sink below the horizon when the last box was unloaded from the cart, after five trips had been made to carry all of the supplies.

“Too late to do anything tonight,” said Mr. Lewis, as the Indian, mule, and cart disappeared over the plateau. “I suppose we’d better take it easy, anyway. We’ll have some busy days ahead of us.”

Early the next morning the explorers were up preparing for the mountain journey.

“The first thing now is to get mules,” said Mr. Wallace. “And,” he added with twinkling eyes, “they’ll have to be faster than the one that carried our stuff last night.”

“You forgot.” Dr. Brown, the physician, was moving up to Mr. Wallace. “The first thing isn’t to get mules,” the doctor continued with a smile. “Medical attention always comes before anything else.”

“That means a physical examination?” asked Bob.

“Yes. And it also means vaccination against smallpox and typhoid fever. Those two diseases are very common in this part of Peru.”

Dr. Brown had attended to everyone but the youths and Mr. Wallace. But it did not take long to finish with them.

“Now as I was saying,” began Mr. Wallace, “the next thing is to get mules. And I know where we can find them. I inquired yesterday and found that a wealthy Peruvian who lives at the edge of Cuzco can let us have as many as we need. He will also see that we get native guides.”

“Don’t forget that we need about twenty-five mules – for both parties of the expedition,” Professor Allan reminded him.

“I haven’t,” the naturalist returned. “We can get as many as we need. Suppose we do it now.”

Mr. Wallace, Dr. Rust, and Professor Kelley set out at once to get the pack animals.

Meanwhile, Bob and Joe took movie cameras and walked leisurely up the hillside, intending to photograph anything that would come before them.

The boys had not gone far when they came upon a large group of Indian men, dressed in short, coarse trousers, hand-woven shirts, and brightly colored blankets. On their heads were the flat “pancake” hats which are common in this region.

“Here’s a good chance to take movies,” said Joe happily. He had brought the camera to his shoulder and pointed it toward the Indians, turning the crank steadily.

Suddenly the natives rushed angrily at the youths and made a grab at the motion-picture cameras.

CHAPTER XVI

Just in Time

“LET go!” cried Bob, in his excitement forgetting that the Indians could not understand English.

The group had completely surrounded the youths, and one man was holding tightly to Bob’s camera.

The two chums knew that they had little chance against so many. But they fought doggedly to save the moving-picture machines, which were the only two they had.

With one supreme effort, Bob pushed the Indian nearest him to the ground and turned to find an opening in the crowd of natives.

But they were all about him, pushing and grabbing and striking to the best of their ability. It was plain that they were determined to take possession of the small boxes that the whites carried.

If it had not been for the necessity of holding onto the cameras, Bob and Joe could have put up a good fight, and perhaps driven the Indians away. But as it was they found themselves at a sore disadvantage.

“Help!” cried Joe, raising his voice to a shout. “Help! Help!”

Several seconds later a figure showed itself at the brink of the hill and came toward the fighting group.

“It’s Dad!” Joe cried happily. “Now there’ll be a fight!”

Mr. Lewis was soon joined by Mr. Holton and Karl Sutman. Like a flash the three grasped the meaning of the scuffle and rushed to the aid of the chums.

They dived headlong into the furious mob, using their fists to great advantage. One big fellow Mr. Lewis knocked flat on his back in a daze.

“Here, take my camera,” directed Bob, speaking to Karl. “Run as fast as you can back to camp. I want to take a lick at some of these beggars.”

Karl did as asked and dashed out of the mob for the tents. The last Bob saw of him he was rounding a bend and heading toward the monoplane.

Then Bob faced the man who had grabbed his camera.

“Take that!” the youth snarled, sending the Indian crashing to the ground.

The other natives, seeing that they were unable to hold their own against these whites, took to their heels and disappeared in the distance, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.

“Well, we licked them.” Mr. Lewis was panting for breath. His face was red from fatigue, his clothes torn and wrinkled.

And the others were no better off. They had put up a game fight, determined to drive away their enemies.

“What was their motive for attacking you?” inquired Mr. Holton, wiping his face with his handkerchief.

“Beyond us,” Joe answered him. “We just looked at them and pointed our cameras at them – ”

“Oh.” Mr. Holton seemed to understand everything. “That’s all you did, huh? Well, you did enough to excite their anger. Those natives are decidedly against having their pictures taken. They believe that any evil which might befall their pictures will come upon them later.”

“So that was it?” Bob laughed. “Well, we’ll know enough not to try the same thing again. Anyway, we got several feet of film exposed, and that’s better than nothing.”

The adventurers made their way down the hill, to be met by Karl and the others of the expedition, who had come to learn of their friends’ misfortune.

“Quite an encounter,” commented Mr. Dunn, when he was told the details. “These Indians are bad characters when their anger is aroused.”

Back at the camp, the explorers got everything in readiness for the expedition to depart as soon as Mr. Wallace, Dr. Rust, and Professor Kelley returned with the mules and guides.

It was nearly noon when Bob caught sight of a long line of mules heading toward the camp. They were coming slowly and leisurely, but always closer. Near the rear were the three explorers and two natives, who had been driving the animals.

“I see you met with success,” said Mr. Buenagel, addressing Mr. Wallace.

“Success is right!” the naturalist was beaming all over. “Don Chusmena here” – indicating a small Peruvian who had been conversing with several natives – “has generously offered to let us use twenty of his mules. They are all fine specimens, worthy of making the mountain trip. And the price is right.”

The mules were driven up to the camp and herded together in a group.

Mr. Wallace introduced Don Chusmena to the others. The Peruvian in turn acquainted the Americans with the Indians who were to act as guides for the expedition. He assured them that the natives knew every foot of ground in the Andes country. One Indian was to lead Dr. Rust and the other scientists who were to search for Inca ruins. The other native would guide Mr. Lewis and any others that might be in the party of naturalists.

Both Bob and Joe had decided to stay with the expedition and not fly in the monoplane with Karl Sutman. Mr. Holton, however, intended to accompany the aviator and Dr. Brown, the expedition’s physician. Karl and the two men were to fly on ahead and look for Inca ruins from the air, keeping in touch with the others. It was intended that Karl head for the valley of the Comberciato, where he and Mr. Holton and the physician would await the others of the naturalist party.

“That leaves you and Mr. Wallace and Dad and I together,” remarked Joe. “I’m sorry your father isn’t going with us.”

Bob nodded.

“He’ll meet us at the Comberciato River, though,” the youth said.

“But that won’t be until two weeks from now, at least.” Joe would have been better satisfied if Mr. Holton had intended to go on foot instead of in the airplane.

Mr. Lewis and Mr. Wallace desired to get their division of the expedition started as soon as possible. But since it was so late they thought it best to wait until the next morning.

“That’ll give us time to look around some more,” said Joe, picking up a motion-picture camera. “Come on, Bob. There’s a lot to be seen around Cuzco.”

“Be careful boys,” warned Mr. Holton. “Don’t try to photograph any more Indians, or you may get into a bigger scrape than the one this morning.”

“Leave it to us,” laughed Joe. “We’ll be all right.”

The youths headed west toward the river Almodena. They resolved to cross it and proceed northward to the Fortress of Sacsahuaman and other Inca ruins.

From the river there was a narrow road that led up the plateau to the high hill that overlooked the city. As this hill stood between the boys and the ruins of the fort, which were located high upon another cliff, they found it almost necessary to climb to the top and then down the other side.

“Now for the ruins,” said Bob eagerly, pointing to the top of the low mountain that was before them.

The youths had begun the difficult climb to the summit and had rounded a turn in the rocks when they caught sight of an old man climbing slowly up the dangerous ridge.

“Look!” cried Joe in terror. “He’s falling!”

The old man’s foot had slipped, and he was trying as best he could to balance himself on a narrow ledge.

His efforts were in vain. The next moment he began to plunge helplessly downward.

With the quickness of a cat, Bob stepped forward and, bracing himself as best he could, he threw himself against the man. The impact of Bob’s heavy body stopped the man’s fall and sent him against the side of the cliff. It bruised his face and shoulders, but he was safe.

After a few moments of resting, the old man looked up, wild-eyed and white with fear. There was an expression of intense gratitude on his wrinkled face as it was turned toward Bob.

“You saved my life!” he cried in excellent English, gazing fearfully below. “And I want to reward you. I want to tell you of some Inca secrets – secrets of the Andes!”

CHAPTER XVII

The Old Man’s Tale

AT once Bob and Joe were breathless with interest. They had often heard of Inca secrets but had thought them nothing more than myths. Now, as this strange old man stood before them, the youths wondered if there might have been some truth in the fantastic tales told of Inca mysteries.

The old man hesitated for several minutes, staring off into space. Then, when the youths were becoming impatient with the long silence, he continued, speaking in a low voice.

“Far, far away, in the heart of a huge mountain, is a narrow tunnel that leads to a large cavern of Inca secrets.” Again the stranger hesitated, looking below at Cuzco.

“Why doesn’t he hurry?” thought Joe, almost saying the words aloud.

Finally the old man continued.

“This cave is so large that it occupies the entire mountain,” he went on. “It is lighted with a strange brilliance, that comes mysteriously from the outside. But ah! The Incas were marvelous inventors. They could do many things that we Americans cannot do.”

“Then you are an American?” inquired Bob quickly.

The old man nodded.

“I spent my early years in the United States,” he explained. “Graduated from college and set out to be a scientist. Then I became interested in Inca ruins and came here to look for them. My entire lifetime I have spent in these mountains, looking for ruins and treasure.”