Prev | Current Page 133 | Next

Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

And of course they are
watching us at this minute--every minute. We must wait."
His only answer was a groan of despair.
In some manner the weary hours passed by.
Harry lay silent, but not asleep; now and then he would ask me
some question, but more to hear my voice than to get an answer.
We heard or saw nothing of our captors, for all our senses told
us we were quite alone, but our previous experience with them had
taught us better than to believe it.
I found myself almost unconsciously reflecting on the character
and nature of the tribe of dwarfs.
Was it possible that they were really the descendants of the
Incas driven from Huanuco by Hernando Pizarro and his horsemen
nearly four hundred years before? Even then I was satisfied of
it, and I was soon to have that opinion confirmed by conclusive
evidence.
Other questions presented themselves. Why did they not speak?
What fuel could they have found in the bowels of the Andes for
their vats of fire? And how did sufficient air for ten thousand
pairs of lungs find its way miles underground? Why, in the
centuries that had passed, had none of them found his way to the
world outside?
Some of these questions I answered for myself, others remained
unsolved for many months, until I had opportunity to avail myself
of knowledge more profound than my own.


Pages:
121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145