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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

I heard
Desiree shout something at me, but didn't catch the words.
My first stone found its goal. The two rafts, side by side not
forty feet away, were a fair mark. The stone was nearly the size
of a man's head and very heavy; I had all I could do to get the
distance.
It struck the raft on the right fairly; the thing turned turtle
in a flash, precipitating its occupants onto the other raft. The
added weight carried that, too, under the surface, and the six
Incas were floundering about in the water.
I expected to see them turn and swim for the landing opposite;
but, instead, they headed directly toward me!
The light from the urns was but faint, and it was not easy to
distinguish their black heads against the black water; still, I
could see their approach. Two of them held spears in their hands;
I saw the copper heads flash on high.
I stood at the edge of the lake, wondering at their folly as I
waited; they were now scarcely ten feet away. Another few strokes
and the foremost stretched out his hand to grasp the slippery
ledge; my spear came down crushingly on his head and he fell back
into the water.
By that time another had crawled half onto the ledge, and
another; a blow and a quick thrust, and they, too, slipped back
beneath the surface, pawing in agony, not to rise again.


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