Secrets of the Andes

“Treasure?” cried Joe. “Is there treasure here?”

“Undoubtedly there is,” was the answer. “In fact I believe I have found some.”

The young men were all excitement.

“Tell us about it!” begged Joe.

“I am not certain that I have found any,” the stranger said. “But I came across a sort of bin that is covered with a heavy stone block. Alone I am not able to lift it off. I firmly believe that in the bin is something valuable. This is in that cave I told you about.” He stopped and glanced about; then, satisfied that no one else was near, he continued: “It is a long, hard journey to this wonderful place. There is a secret trail, that is known only to myself. And to add to that, there is a single entrance to the cave. It cannot be opened until you press a hidden button.”

He stopped a moment and gazed thoughtfully at the young men.

“You saved my life,” he went on, looking at Bob gratefully. “For this I will gladly give you half of any treasure in the bin, if we can find any. Will you make the trip with me?”

For a few moments the youths said nothing. They wondered if there was really any treasure in the bin. And they wondered, too, if it might be possible to locate still more in the near-by mountains.

“I am willing to go,” said Bob at last. “It won’t put us out any, I’m sure. I think we can arrange it some way. Maybe Dad – ”

He got no further, for at that moment the old man raised a hand for silence.

“Of course your dad is all right,” he said conclusively. “But I do not wish to take anyone but you and your friend here with me. Even your father might without thinking tell someone about this secret, and then we would lose everything. And I want no one else to know.”

“Then,” began Bob, “you want only Joe Lewis here and myself – my name is Bob Holton – to go with you?”

“You are right,” came the reply. “And my name is Rander —Doctor Rander. I would be much better satisfied if only we three went.”

“I think it can be arranged,” Bob told him. “What direction do we have to go?”

“East. Almost straight east from Cuzco. But of course there are many roundabout paths that we must follow, and much of the way is over no trail at all.”

“We’ll let you know a little later, if that is all right,” said Bob. “Where can we get in touch with you?”

Dr. Rander explained that he was staying in a little adobe hut at the other edge of Cuzco and that he had a sufficient number of mules to carry the provisions needed.

“How soon do you want to start?” inquired Joe, who was anxious to make the trip.

“I am ready any time,” the old man said. “If you wish, we will start tomorrow.”

Bob explained that they would talk it over with their fathers and call on their friends that night. With this, the youths headed back to camp, not desiring to lose more time even in seeing the ruins at the top of the hill.

“What do you think of it?” asked Bob a little later, as he and his friend came in sight of the monoplane.

“I think a lot of it,” Joe answered. “Why, it will be wonderful!”

“Don’t be too sure that we can go,” Bob reminded him. “It all depends on what our dads think. If they’re afraid to let us leave the expedition and start out with this Dr. Rander, why, I suppose that will end it all. And the old man won’t let anyone else go with us.”

“Funny he’d tell us about that secret, isn’t it? If he had kept still, he’d have had all the treasure for himself. But then, I suppose he was so glad you saved his life that he was more than willing to let you in on it. Then, too, he’s not sure of finding it.”

At the camp, the boys found their fathers and others awaiting them.

“What do you think of the ruins?” asked Mr. Holton, as the chums came up.

“We don’t know much about them,” returned Joe. “But there’s something else we want to tell you.”

While the men listened, Joe told of seeing the old man climbing up the steep hill and of Bob’s saving his life when he fell. He told of the secret treasure that the stranger said was in the Andes, and of the old man’s desire for the two youths to accompany him in the mountains. He finished by saying that he believed it might be worth while to go.

“Perhaps you’re right,” came from Mr. Holton. “It might pay you to go with him. Do you think he can be trusted?” Mr. Holton had great faith in the judgment of his son and Joe.

“Don’t know why not,” said Bob. “He seemed so glad that he had not fallen down the cliff that he was happy to tell us about the treasure.”

“There isn’t a chance of his being crazy, is there?” asked Karl Sutman, who was also listening to the conversation.

“Oh, of course there’s a chance,” replied Bob, “but I’d be willing to bet anything that he isn’t.”

“We can go with him, can’t we?” queried Joe, glancing especially at his father. “We may find treasure, after all.”

“I see no reason why you shouldn’t,” came from Mr. Lewis. “Of course you’ll be careful. And there’s very little danger of getting lost, with all the native huts scattered about. What do you think, Howard?”

“Like you,” Mr. Holton replied. “After all, Bob and Joe are able to take care of themselves. If Karl will stay in the vicinity of Cuzco until they get back, it will ease matters some. Or, if the boys will be gone too long, Karl can come on with the rest of the expedition to the valley of the Comberciato, and then return later to pick up Bob and Joe in Cuzco.”

“I’ll be glad to do it,” Karl Sutman said, and so the matter remained settled.

That evening Bob and Joe went to Dr. Rander’s hut at the edge of Cuzco. The old man seemed glad to see them, offering them the best chairs he had.

“Now about the secrets,” he began, after he had closed the door and made sure that no one was near. “First of all, we must keep it strictly to ourselves. If, while on our way, anyone should ask why we are going into the mountains, we must not tell them.”

“For one thing, we’re going to take movies of the country,” said Joe, and then explained this in full to the old man.

The youths spent all evening at the old man’s hut. When at last they were ready to leave, they had agreed on one thing: They were to start early the next morning.

As they walked silently back to the camp, gazing up at the starlit sky, Bob and Joe wondered what would be their adventures for the next few weeks. Would they actually come into possession of valuable treasure?

CHAPTER XVIII

Starting Into the Mountains

EARLY the next morning the youths were up getting ready for the long journey into the unknown. They had all their possessions packed when Dr. Rander came with mules and provisions.

He was introduced by Bob and Joe to the other members of the expedition, who, particularly Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis, recognized him as a capable explorer.

The youths made arrangements for Karl Sutman to meet them in a town called Pasaje, at the end of a sufficient time. The aviator was to have his monoplane ready to take the youths to the locality occupied by other divisions of the expedition.

“Now do be careful and don’t take any chances,” warned Mr. Holton, after additional boxes of food had been strapped on the backs of other mules. “Remember, slow traveling with safety is far better than rapid going with danger.”

“We’ll be all right,” Joe assured him, as the mules were being placed in line. “And Karl will fly us to your locality in due time. Don’t forget that you are to be careful too.”

With fond farewells, Bob and Joe and the old man drove the mules toward the rim of mountains that skirted the eastern horizon. They rounded a high hill and lost sight of their relatives and friends.

For some time the youths were silent with their thoughts. Who knew whether they would ever see those dear ones again? Even at best, there were untold hardships and dangers in the mountains that lay before them. Would they be able to meet any crisis?

It was some time before the boys resumed their natural peace of mind. But when they did, they were eager to take in all the sights of this wonderland.

There was a wide trail that led eastward from Cuzco. Over this the pack train went at a slow but steady gait that promised to eat up the miles sooner than it might be thought possible.

“Wonder if we’ll see any big game?” remarked Bob, as he and Joe walked near the rear of the pack train. “I’d like especially to bag one of those white condors Dad was talking about. You think there are any?”

“Possibly,” replied Joe. “But if there are, it isn’t likely that we’ll see one.”

The three adventurers followed a well-beaten path to the town of Puquiura, which they found nothing more than a group of native mud huts.

“Not much life here,” observed Joe, as the caravan of pack animals passed on through the village.

“I suppose this is typical of all the towns in these mountains,” came from Bob. “Just a bunch of dirty mud dwellings.”

Led by Dr. Rander, the Americans wound around a narrow trail that reached steadily upward. They were making fairly good time, and if nothing prevented, they expected to arrive at a much larger town before noon.

“I think I’ll try riding my mule,” announced Bob, who, along with his friends, had been walking beside the mounts.

“Better watch out,” cautioned Joe. “Those little animals are treacherous sometimes.”

Bob called to Dr. Rander to wait for him. Then, pulling his mount out of the line, he placed his foot in the stirrup and threw his leg across the sturdy little mule’s back.

But just then something happened. The animal wheeled about, and, throwing its hind feet high in the air, it leaped forward with a snort of resentment.

“Help!” cried the amused and yet worried Bob.

“What do you want me to do?” inquired Joe, taking in the scene with interest.

“Grab hold of his tail! Do anything!” Despite his serious predicament, Bob could not help laughing, although he was angered.

“Get hold of his tail, huh? Not much.” Joe intended to derive as much amusement as possible from his friend’s plight.

All joking was cast aside a moment later when, at an unexpected moment, the mule gave a quick turn to the left and threw Bob to the ground. The youth caught the fall with his arm, and so escaped injury, but his anger was as strong as ever.

“I’ll fix you, you – ”

Bob did not finish the words, for at that moment the mule leaped forward and galloped off at a rapid pace.

“After him!” Bob cried, dashing ahead as fast as his legs would carry him.

A more amusing sight could hardly be found. Joe’s laughter mingled with the sound of rapidly moving hoofs, and even old Dr. Rander joined in the merriment.

“Think he’ll catch him?” queried Joe, as pursuer and pursued vanished behind a heavy cloud of dust.

“I believe so,” the old man returned, straining his eyes to make out the figures ahead. “The mule will soon tire of such fast running. He isn’t used to it.”

Dr. Rander was right. Five minutes later Bob appeared from around a hill leading the now calm animal. There was a smile of triumph on the youth’s face as he faced his friends.

“Now that everything has worked out all right, suppose we forget that anything happened,” grinned Bob, as he placed the mule back in the line.

“You going to try riding him again?” asked Joe with a laugh.

“Not on your life. I value my hide too much for that.”

They set forward, heading for the distant high peaks, which were always visible.

An hour of steady climbing brought them to a high plateau, which was bordered by mountains. From this elevation the explorers could command a good view of Cuzco, which seemed but a miniature city in the distance.

“I don’t feel so well,” groaned Bob, whose face was becoming pale. “I can’t get my breath without wheezing. And my stomach seems out of order.”

Dr. Rander happened to be near when Bob complained, and lost no time in attending to the youth.

“You probably have soroche, or mountain sickness,” he said, noting that Bob’s pulse was unusually rapid. “Do you think you can keep on to the next town?”

“Sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll have to lie down somewhere.” The stricken Bob was visibly becoming worse with every minute.

“Wonder if I’ll have another touch of mountain sickness?” mused Joe, as his friend stretched out on a blanket that Dr. Rander had spread on the hard ground.

There was nothing to do but wait for the youth to recover. The old man explained that often patients remained ill for several days, and that there was a possibility of Bob’s sickness being lengthy.

In view of this, they thought it best to make camp and prepare to stay as long as necessary. There was no use making arrangements to continue the journey until Bob’s condition improved.

“Here, take this pill.” Dr. Rander held a little white tablet and a cup of water. “It will make you well sooner than anything else.”

But it was not soon enough for Bob. All the remainder of that day he moaned on with a splitting headache and terrible nausea. It was worse, he said, than sea sickness, of which he had experienced a touch on his first ocean voyage.

The next morning, although still weak, Bob was greatly improved. The ill effects had gone, and once more he had an ambition again to get to the trail.

But Dr. Rander protested.

“You are not strong enough yet,” he said. “We’ll wait till noon and see if you’re improved sufficiently by that time.”

By the time the sun was directly overhead, Bob was his old natural self again. He was overly anxious to make up for lost time.

Lunch over, the explorers again took to the trail, driving the staunch little mules along at a rapid pace.

“Now lead me to those secrets of the Andes!” said Bob, as Cuzco faded from view.

At length the adventurers came to another town, which Dr. Rander called Cameras. They would much rather have encircled the settlement, but as there was no other trail, they passed on through.

“Let’s leave the mules here near the edge of town,” suggested Joe. “I’d like to go back to that little store that we just passed. Might be able to get something we can use cheap.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Bob.

Dr. Rander announced that he would stay with the mules and catch a short rest. He cautioned the boys not to stay too long.

The store that Joe referred to was nothing more than an adobe hut filled with curios of the Andes. They purchased a few articles as souvenirs and started back to the edge of town, where the old man was waiting.

Suddenly there came the sound of rough voices, and a moment later a dozen shots rent the air.

CHAPTER XIX

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.