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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

I
stood on one side and Harry on the other, not caring to expose
ourselves immediately in front.
Suddenly he left his post and ran to one of the stone seats and
began prying at the blocks of granite. I saw at once his
intention and our mistake; we should have long before barricaded
the door on the inside. But it was too late now; I knew from
experience the difficulty of loosening those firmly wedged
blocks, and I called out:
"No good, Hal. We were fools not to have thought of it before,
but there is no time for it now. Come back; I couldn't stop 'em
alone."
Nevertheless, he continued his exertions, and succeeded in
getting one of the blocks partially free; but by that time the
doorway was almost completely uncovered, and he saw the folly of
attempting further.
He resumed his post on the right of the door--I was on the left.
The stone appeared to be going faster. It reached the top--
passed it--and quickly swung in toward the wall and disappeared,
probably to rest on a ledge above.
We stood waiting, tense and alert. The open doorway gaped on the
black, empty corridor, into which the light from our single urn
shone dimly.


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