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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"


"You--you saw it--" Harry stammered.
I nodded, scarcely able to speak.
"Then--perhaps now--"
"Yes," I interposed. "Let's get out of here. It's horrible. And
yet how can we go? I can hardly stand."
But Harry was now the one who argued for delay, saying that our
retreat was the safest place we could find, and that we should
wait at least until I had had time to recover from the strain of
the last half-hour. Realizing that in my weakened condition I
would be a hindrance to them rather than a help, I consented.
Besides, if the thing reappeared I could avoid it as Harry and
Desiree had done.
"What is it?" Harry asked presently.
We were sitting side by side, well up against the wall. It was
an abrupt question, with no apparent pertinence, but I
understood.
"Heaven knows!" I answered shortly. I was none too pleased with
myself.
"But it must be something. Is it an animal?"
"Do you remember," I asked by way of answer, "a treatise of
Aristotle concerning which we had a discussion one day? Its
subject was the hypnotic power possessed by the eyes of certain
reptiles. I laughed the idea to scorn; you maintained that it was
possible.


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