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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"


We went first toward the spot where lay the remains of "our
friend with the eyes," as Harry called him, and we were guided
straight by our noses, for the odor of the thing was beginning to
be--to use another phrase of Harry's--"most awful vile."
There was little to see except a massive pile of crumpled hide
and sinking flesh. As we approached, several hundred of the
animals with which Harry had filled our larder scampered away
toward the water.
"They're not fighters," I observed, turning to watch them
disappear in the darkness.
"No," Harry agreed. "See here," he added suddenly, holding up a
piece of the hide of the reptile; "this stuff is an inch thick
and tough as rats. It ought to be good for something."
But by that time I was pinching my nostrils with my fingers, and
I pulled him away.
Several hundred yards farther on we came to the wall of the
cavern. We followed it, turning to the right; but though it was
uneven and marked by projecting boulders and deep crevices, we
found no exit. We had gone at least half a mile, I think, when we
came to the end. There it turned in a wide circle to the right,
and we took the new direction, which was toward the spot where we
had left Desiree, only considerably to the left.


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