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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"


"They're stopped," he cried gleefully, "at least for a little. A
piece of rock as big as a house gently slid from above onto their
precious heads. It may have blocked them off completely."
We hurried forward then; Harry helped Desiree, while I painfully
brought up the rear. At every few steps they were forced to halt
and wait for me, though I did my utmost to keep up with them.
Harry had taken my spear that I might have both hands to help me
over the rocks.
Climbing, sliding, jumping, we left the Incas behind; no sound
came from the rear. I began to think that they had really been
completely shut off, and several times opened my mouth to call to
Harry to ask him if it would not be safe to halt; for every
movement I made was torture. But each time I choked back the cry;
he thought it was necessary to go on and I followed.
This lasted I know not how long; I was staggering and reeling
forward like a drunken man, so little aware of what I was doing
that when Harry and Desiree finally stopped at the beginning of a
level, unbroken stretch in the lane, I stumbled directly against
them before I knew they had halted.
"Go on!" I gasped, struggling to my feet in a mania.


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