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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

With unarmed
savages for foes, one man could have held it against a million.
But they came and I met them. I stood within the crevice, some
three or four feet from its end, and when one appeared in the
opening I let him have the spear. Another rushed in and fell on
top of the first.
As I say, they appeared to be deprived of the power to reason. In
five minutes the mouth of the crevice was completely choked with
bodies, some, who were merely wounded, struggling and squirming
to extricate themselves from the bloody tangle.
I heard Harry's voice at my back:
"How about it? Want some help?"
"Not unless they find some gunpowder," I answered. "The idiots
eat death as though it were candy. We're safe; they can never
break through here."
"Are they still coming?"
"They can't; they've blocked the way with their smelly black
carcasses. How is Desiree?"
"Better; she's awake. I've been bathing her ankle with cold
water. She has a bad sprain; how the deuce she ever managed to
hobble on it even two steps is beyond me."
"A sprain? Are you sure?"
"I think so; it's badly swollen. Maybe only a twist; a few hours
will tell.


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