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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

He had tried to cry
aloud, but had been unable to utter a sound. And suddenly, as
before, the eyes had disappeared, leaving him barely able to
stand.
"No wonder the Incas wouldn't follow us in here," he finished.
"We must get out of this. I'm not a coward, but I wouldn't go
through that again for my life."
"You take Desiree," said I. "I want that water."
He led us around the wall several hundred feet. The ground was
level and clear of obstruction; but we went slowly, for I could
scarcely move. Harry kept his eyes strained intently on all
sides; his experience had left him more profoundly impressed even
than he had been willing to admit to me.
Soon we heard the low music of running water, and a minute later
we reached the stream Harry had found.
The fact that there was something to be done seemed to infuse a
new spirit into Desiree, and soon her deft fingers were bathing
my wounds and bandaging them as well as her poor material would
allow.
The cold water took the heat from my pumping veins and left me
almost comfortable. Harry had come off much easier than I, since
I had so often sent him ahead with Desiree, and myself brought up
the rear and withstood the brunt of the attack.


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