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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"


Sometimes, when we were all awake, Desiree was left on guard
alone; but Harry and I were never both asleep at the same time.
An estimate of the time we spent thus would be the wildest guess,
for time was heavy and passed on leaden feet. But I should say we
had been imprisoned for something like four days, possibly five,
when the monotony came to an abrupt end.
I had come off watch, and Harry and Desiree had taken my place.
Before I lay down I had taken some water to the prisoner, for we
had some time before admitted the necessity of giving him drink.
But of food he had had none.
Harry told me afterward that I had slept for two or three hours,
but it seemed to me rather as many minutes, when I was awakened
by the sound of his voice calling my name. Glancing at the
doorway, I sprang to my feet.
The stone was slowly rising from the floor; already there was a
space of a foot or more. Desiree and Harry stood facing it in
silence.
"You have seen nothing?" I asked, joining them.
"Nothing," said Harry. "Here, take one of these clubs.
Something's up."
"Of course--the stone," I observed facetiously, yawning.
"Probably nothing more important than a bundle of quipos.


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