"Thank God!" came his voice, also in a whisper; and in another
moment he had reached my side.
A hurried word or two--there was no time for more--and I pointed
to the Incas on the raft, saying: "We want those spears."
"I was after them," he grinned. "What shall we do?"
"There's no use taking them while the Incas are away," I replied,
"because they would soon return and find them gone. Surely we can
handle two of them."
As I spoke there came a sound from the lake--a sudden loud splash
followed by a commotion in the water. I looked around the corner
of the boulder and saw that the spears again found their mark.
"Come," I whispered, and began to pick my way toward the ledge.
Harry followed close at my heels. It was easier here, and we
soon found ourselves close to the shore of the lake, with a
smooth stretch of rock between us and the fisherman's
landing-place. The urns, whose light was quite sufficient here,
were about fifty feet to the right and rear.
The Incas had made their kill and were paddling for the shore. As
they came near, Harry and I sank back against the boulder, which
extended to the boundary of the ledge.
Pages:
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241