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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

It was
merely a tribute from one of nature's gamblers to the man who
"played fair, even with death"; nevertheless, there was feeling
in it, and the eternal mercy of woman.
For all that was visible to the eye the verdict made not the
slightest impression on the rows of silent Incas. Not a movement
was seen; they might have been carved from the stone on which
they were seated.
Their black, hairy bodies, squat and thick, threw back the light
from the flaming torches as though even those universal rays
could not penetrate such grossness.
Suddenly they rose--the king had moved. He picked the purple
cord from the ground, and, after passing his hand over it three
times, handed it to an attendant who approached.
Then he stretched out his hand, and the Incas, who had remained
standing, turned about and began to disappear. As before, the
cavern was emptied in an incredibly short space of time; in two
minutes we were alone with those in the alcove.
There was a sound behind us. We turned and saw a great slab of
stone slowly slide to one side in the floor, leaving an aperture
some three feet square. Evidently it had been closed behind us
when we had ascended; we had had no time to notice it then.


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