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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"


"Gad!" exclaimed Harry, resting on his spear. "And here's a
pretty job. Look at that! I wish they'd carry off the dead ones."
"Ugh! The nasty brutes! I was never so frightened in my life,"
said Desiree.
"You frightened us, all right," Harry retorted. "Utterly
fungoed. I never ran so fast in my life. And all you had to do
was shake your spear at 'em and say boo! I thought it was the
roommate of our friend with the eyes."
"Have I been eating those things?" Desiree demanded.
Harry grinned.
"Yes, and that isn't all. You'll continue to eat 'em as long as
I'm the cook. Come on, Paul; it's a day's work."
We dragged the bodies down to the edge of the stream and tossed
them into the current, saving three or four for the replenishment
of the larder.
I then first tried my hand at the task of skinning and cleaning
them, and by the time I had finished was thoroughly disgusted
with it and myself. Harry had become hardened to it; he whistled
over the job as though he had been born in a butcher's shop.
"I'd rather go hungry," I declared, washing my hands and arms in
the cool water.
"Oh, sure," said Harry; "my efforts are never appreciated.


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