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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

"
"Well, that's our only chance. Come on!"
We found the exit, and another, and a third. Which to take? They
were very similar to one another, except that the one in the
middle sloped upward at a gentle incline, while the others were
level.
"One is as good as another," I observed, and entered the one on
the left.
Once started, we advanced with a rush. The passage was straight
and narrow, clear of obstruction, and we kept at a steady run.
"They may have an hour's start of us," came Harry's voice at my
side.
"Or five minutes," I returned. "We have no way of knowing. But
I'm afraid we're on the wrong trail."
Still as I had said, one chance was as good as another, and we
did not slacken our pace. The passage went straight forward,
without a bend. The roof was low, just allowing us to pass
without stooping, and the walls were rough and rugged.
It was not long before we found that we had taken the wrong
chance, having covered, I think, some two or three miles when a
wall loomed up directly in our path.
"At last, a turn!" panted Harry.
But it was not a turn. It was the end of the passage. We had
been following a blind alley.


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