And close by there was a basin full of water.
"Pretty decent sort of beggars, I say," came Harry's voice in the
darkness. "But who are they?"
"Ask Felipe," I answered, for by this time I was well convinced
of the nature and identity of our captors. "As I said, dumb
brutes don't bind men with thongs, nor feed them on dried fish.
Of course it's incredible, but a man must be prepared to believe
anything."
"But, Paul! You mean--"
"Exactly. We are in the hands of the Incas of Huanuco--or rather
their descendants."
"But that was four hundred years ago!"
"Your history is perfect, like Desiree's geography," said I
dryly. "But what then? They have merely chosen to live under the
world instead of on it; a rather wise decision, a cynic might
say--not to mention the small circumstance that they are
prisoners.
"My dear Hal, never allow yourself to be surprised at anything;
it is a weakness. Here we are in total darkness, buried in the
Andes, surrounded by hairy, degenerate brutes that are probably
allowing us to eat in order that we may be in condition to be
eaten, with no possibility of ever again beholding the sunshine;
and what is the thought that rises to the surface of my mind?
Merely this: that I most earnestly desire and crave a Carbajal
perfecto and a match.
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