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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

He
began within two hours to insist on exploring the cave, and would
hardly take a refusal.
"I won't stir a foot until I am able to knock you down," I
declared finally and flatly. "Never again will I attempt to
perform the feats of a Hercules when I am fit only for an
invalid's chair." And he was forced to wait.
As I say, however, my strength was not long in returning, and
when it started it came with a rush. My wounds were healing
perfectly; only one remained open. Harry, with his usual
phenomenal luck, had got nothing but the merest scratches.
Desiree improved very slowly. The strain of those four days in
the cavern had been severe, and her nerves required more pleasant
surroundings than a dark and damp cavern and more agreeable diet
than raw meat, to adjust themselves.
Thus it was that when Harry and I found ourselves ready to start
out to explore the cavern and, if possible, find an exit on the
opposite side from the one where we had entered, we left Desiree
behind, seated on a pile of skins, with a spear on the ground at
her side.
"We'll be back in an hour," said Harry, stooping to kiss her; and
the phrase, which might have come from the lips of a worthy
Harlem husband leaving for a little sojourn with friends on the
corner, brought a smile to my face.


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