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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
Rimac below,” and he pointed to the chasm, “he would see whitened
bones between every mile post.”
That evening they reached Chicla, 15,645 feet above sea level, and
were entertained at the home of the railroad superintendent, who
had charge of the upper division of the line. Chicla is a little town of
huts nestling in a small valley and surrounded by mountain peaks.
The nights are always cold, and for only a few hours during the day
does the sun’s face escape from behind the towering peaks and
shine upon the village.
At the supper table Harvey complained of a drumming in his ears,
and a few minutes later he hastily left the table because of a severe
nosebleed. Ferguson felt something damp on his cheek not long
after, and using a handkerchief he noticed that it bore a crimson
streak. Blood was flowing from his right ear.
The superintendent assured them that there was no cause for alarm,
and that every one suffered from the effects of rarefied air when
coming into a high altitude.
“The pressure is less on the body up here,” he explained, “but within
your veins and cells is air at the pressure received at sea level. This
overpressure air, in endeavoring to escape, forces the blood with it.
In a few hours the symptoms will have passed away. None of you
has heart trouble, I trust?”
“No,” they answered.
“Then you will soon be all right.”
They passed a restless night, but in the morning felt much better,
and viewed from the veranda of the house the coming of the day
without a rising sun in sight, for, the superintendent explained, it
would be ten o’clock before the rays would shine from over the
mountain peaks in the east. The valley was soon filled with a mellow
light, and on the western hills rested a shadow that slowly crept
downwards.
After breakfast they watched from the veranda a train of llamas
coming down the mountain side, bearing panniers filled with silver
ore.
“Those are wonderful beasts,” said the superintendent.
“Yes,” remarked Hope-Jones; then he added: “Until recently, I
believed they belonged to the same family as the domestic sheep of
Europe and North America, but I ascertained by reading that they
are more closely allied to the camel.”
“So I have heard, and so examination would convince even one not
versed in natural history. They are much larger than sheep, are
powerful and more intelligent; besides, they can go for a long time
without water and endure as heavy burdens as a mule.”
“I understand that their flesh is good to eat.”
“Yes, it is quite palatable. So the llama is valuable for three purposes
—as a beast of burden, for its long, silken wool, and for its flesh.”
An hour later Hope-Jones, Ferguson, and Harvey bade the
superintendent good-by, after thanking him for his hospitality, and
started on their journey to the northeast. While in Chicla they had
secured canvas for a shelter-tent. It was unnecessary to carry poles,
because these could be cut each evening; and the additional burden,
divided among the three, was not heavy.
The first day’s travel was uneventful until toward sundown, when
snow commenced to fall, and Harvey for the first time saw the
crystal flakes beneath his feet, and swirling through the air. They
had attained quite an altitude above Chicla, how much higher they
did not know, not having brought instruments. But in the morning
they would commence to descend again to the region of the
Montaña, the great table-land valley of Peru which lies between two
parallel spurs of the Andes at an altitude of six thousand to eight
thousand feet—a valley rich with forests and with smaller vegetation,
a valley through which flows the river Marañon, and is inhabited by
the Ayulis Indians; and in this valley somewhere on the river
Marañon, was a great white rock that marked a nature’s storehouse
of gold.
They pitched their shelter-tent, lighted a fire, and ate a hearty
supper of food they had carried from Chicla; then, after talking for
an hour, they went to sleep, lying close together, wrapped in both
blankets, for the night was cold.
 CHAPTER II.
THE MONTAÑA OF PERU.

E arly next morning the three adventurers were awakened by a

mournful cry. A long, shrill note sounded near the shelter-tent
and was followed by three others, each deepening in tone. They sat
up and rubbed their eyes, then looked at one another, as if to ask,
“What is that?”
Again the long, shrill note, and again the three mournful echoes,
each deeper than the one preceding.
“What a ghostly noise!” said Hope-Jones.
“Oh, I know what it is!” exclaimed Harvey, rising, his face brighter.
“It’s the alma perdida.”
“Alma perdida! That’s the Spanish for ‘lost soul.’”
“Exactly. That’s why the bird has such a name, because of its cry. It’s
an alma perdida—a bird, that is piping so dolefully. Come, see if I
am not correct.”
He pushed aside the flap of the shelter-tent, sprang without, and
was followed by the young men. In the light of early day they saw a
little brown bird, a tuft of red on its head, perched on a scrub bush,
not a hundred yards away. Even as they looked the shrill note was
repeated, and then the doleful ones of deeper sound.
“Shoo!” said Ferguson; and as the bird remained perched on the
bush, he threw a stone. The red-tufted body of brown rose from the
branch and disappeared.
“’Good riddance to bad rubbish,’” said Ferguson. “We don’t want any
such croakers at our feast; which, by the way, reminds me of
breakfast.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Harvey. “It’s cold!”
Indeed it was cold for these travellers from the warm coast-belt, the
mercury standing at about thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit.
“Let’s run and get wood for a fire, then we’ll feel warmer,” said
Hope-Jones. “There’s a dwarf tree over there. Surely some dry
branches are beneath it. Now for a two hundred yards’ dash! One!
two! three!”
Ferguson won, Hope-Jones second, and Harvey a close third. The
run started their blood well in circulation, and they fell to gathering
chips of bark and dried twigs with a will, returning to the tent each
with an armful. They placed four stones equidistant from a centre,
so that a few inches were between them, and in the spaces piled the
wood.
“Be careful with the matches!” said Ferguson. “Only one for a fire.
Harvey, take from your box first.”
The boy stooped over and the two young men stood to the
windward of him, forming a shield. In a few seconds a crackle was
heard, then a thin line of blue smoke rose from between the stones,
and tongues of flame licked the pieces of granite.
“More wood!”
It was added, and in a minute a merry blaze was burning briskly.
They held their hands over the flames, and they stood on the
leeward side, not minding the smoke which blew in their eyes, for
the heat was carried to their bodies, dispelling the chill that had
come after the run. Although the morning was somewhat warmer
than had been the evening before, it was still very cold for these
residents of the sandy coast-line. Here and there patches of snow
still lay on the ground, but the white crystals were fast melting
under the glow of coming day. The sun was not so tardy here as at
Chicla, for no high peaks were in the east, and even as they stood
around the fire a shaft of light was thrown across the valley in which
they had rested during the night.
“What shall we have for breakfast?” asked Hope-Jones.
“Fried bacon and corn bread,” promptly answered Ferguson.
“But how shall we cook the bacon?” asked Harvey.
“I’ll show you;” and the Ohioan unstrapped his knapsack and took
therefrom his tin plate, which he placed on the four stones.
“How’s that for a frying pan!”
They had taken certain provisions from Chicla, because the
superintendent said it might be a couple of days before they could
reach that part of the Montaña where game abounded, and the
carrying of these edibles had devolved upon Harvey, his companions
having burdened themselves with the canvas of the shelter-tent.
Another minute, and a fragrant odor came from the dish that was
resting over the flame.
“I wish the corn bread could be made hot,” said Harvey, as he
proceeded with the further opening of his knapsack.
“It will be—in a jiffy,” was the reply. “Just clear away some of the fire
on the other side.”
This was done, the sticks and embers being pushed back, and
Ferguson commenced with his jack-knife, hollowing out a space in
the thin soil. Taking Hope-Jones’s and Harvey’s tin plates, he placed
the bread between them, then laying them in the shallow
excavation, rims together, he raked over some earth and on top of
this a layer of hot coals.
“By the time the bacon is cooked our bread will be ready,” he added.
While this was being done Hope-Jones had visited a little spring near
by and had filled their cups with sparkling water. Ten minutes later
they were seated around the fire, enjoying the breakfast, and all
agreed that they had never tasted a more appetizing meal.
By half-past seven dishes were washed, the tent taken down,
knapsacks and bundles packed, and they started, with a compass as
a guide, toward the northeast, between two mountain peaks—for in
that direction lay the Montaña. It was easy walking, llama trains
having made a pathway, and the country soon became more regular,
for they had passed the region of gorges, precipices, and chasms;
although still among the mountains, the high peaks towered behind,
those in front becoming lower as they progressed.
They were travelling a down grade, and as they pushed on there
were continual signs of change in the vegetable world. At the point
where they had encamped for the night grew only a few shrubs and
dwarf trees, whose gnarled branches told of a rigorous climate. But
soon cacti thrust their ungainly shapes above ground, the trees
became of larger size, and a long grass commenced to appear. And
as above they had walked upon a gravel, which had crumbled from
the rocky mountain side, so further down appeared a soil richer in
alluvium as they proceeded. By eleven o’clock all the towering
mountain peaks were behind them. They were nearing the table-
land country and were among the foothills of the first spurs of the
eastern slope.
“O for a luncheon with potato salad!” exclaimed Harvey.
“Sighing for potatoes in Peru is like sighing for coals in Newcastle,”
said Hope-Jones.
“Why so?”
“Because Peru is the home of the potato. It was first discovered
here. Didn’t you know that?”
“Yes, but I had forgotten it for the moment. One is so accustomed to
terming them ‘Irish potatoes.’”
“Who discovered the vegetable in Peru?” asked Ferguson.
“The Spaniards, in the seventeenth century. Large tracts of land in
the Montaña country were covered with potato fields, and the
Indians could not recall when they had not formed a staple of diet.”
“How did the term Irish potato originate?”
“Sir Walter Raleigh is responsible for that, I believe. The potato was
planted on his estate near Cork and flourished better in that soil
than in any other of Europe.”
The noon hour having arrived and the conversation tending to
increase their hunger, the three adventurers looked about for a
spring, and in the distance seeing a clump of willows and verdure of
unusual brightness, they hastened to the spot and found a little
mountain stream rippling over pebbles. As they approached a
number of parakeets flew away, chattering, their brilliant plumage
causing them to appear as rainbow darts above their heads.
“An ideal spot!” said Hope-Jones.
“And here’s shade. We didn’t want shade this morning, did we?”
“Hardly. But the day has grown warm.”
While speaking they cast knapsacks and burdens one side and threw
themselves down on the grass for a brief rest before preparing the
noonday meal. The murmur of the brook had as an accompaniment
the hum of insects and the piping of finches—for they were nearing
the table-land, which pulsated with life; far different from the drear
of the early morning, which was punctuated only by the doleful
notes of the alma perdida.
“I can almost think myself in an American harvest field,” said
Ferguson, rolling on his back and clasping his hands over his head.
Hope-Jones placed a blade of coarse grass between his thumbs, held
parallel, then blew upon the green strand with all his might.
“What on earth is that?” exclaimed Ferguson, jumping to his feet,
and Harvey came running from the stream.
“You said something about a harvest field, so I stood in the kitchen
door and sounded the horn for dinner,” was the laughing response.
“What shall it be?”
“The same as this morning, with the addition of hard-boiled eggs;
that is, providing Harvey hasn’t broken the eggs.”
“Indeed, I haven’t,” protested the boy, and he commenced to
unstrap his knapsack.
A fire was soon started and the eggs were placed over the flame in a
large tin cup. After being thoroughly boiled, they were put in the
stream to cool, and bacon was fried as in the morning; but the corn
bread was eaten cold, “by way of a variety,” so Ferguson said.
“I hope we may find some game this afternoon,” said Harvey, as he
cracked an egg-shell on his heel.
“We undoubtedly shall, for it cannot be far to the Montaña proper.”
An hour later they resumed their burdens, and with swinging steps
continued on down the hillside. The grass became more profuse,
and soon formed a velvet carpet under the feet. It was dotted with
the chilca plant, which bears a bright yellow flower, of the same
color as the North American dandelion; and in places could be seen
the mutisia acuminata, with beautiful orange and red flowers, and
bushes that bore clusters of red berries.
“The landscape is becoming gorgeous,” said Hope-Jones.
Trees were now larger, and vines of the semi-tropics clung to the
trunks and to the branches. Little streams were of frequency, all
running toward the east instead of to the west, as had been
observed when on the other side of the cordillera; and so, late in the
afternoon, the sun commenced to go down behind the hills, which
seemed strange to those who were accustomed to see it sink in the
ocean.
“Sh!” exclaimed Hope-Jones, suddenly, then—“Drop down, fellows!”
They sank into the grass.
“What is it?” asked Harvey.
“Look over there, in that clump of trees.”
They saw something moving under the branches, then a form stood
still.
“It’s a deer. I suppose it’s the Peruvian taruco. Can you bring it down
at this distance, Ferguson? If we go nearer, we shall probably see
our supper bound away.”
“I’ll try, but it’s a good range; almost six hundred yards, don’t you
think?”
“All of that.”
“Then I’ll adjust the sights for seven hundred.”
He threw himself flat on the grass, pushed his rifle before him,
resting the barrel on a stone, took aim for a minute, then fired. The
deer sprang into the open, gave a second bound, rising from all four
hoofs, and, twisting convulsively, fell dead.
“Bravo! At the first shot!” yelled Hope-Jones, and jumping up, he ran
forward, closely followed by the others.
“What shall we do now?” asked Harvey.
“Fortunately I hunted quite a little when a lad in the States,” said
Ferguson, whipping out a long knife and cutting the animal’s throat.
“In a half hour we can skin it,” he added.
“Say, fellows, I have an idea. What better place can we camp than
here?” asked Hope-Jones.
They were near a grove of tall trees, the bark of which was white,
and in marked contrast with the dense green foliage. These were the
palo de sangre, or blood-wood of the upper Marañon, from which is
taken timber of a red color that is fine-grained, hard, and receives a
good polish. The trees were not many in number, but they arched
over a little brook, and tall grass grew between the trunks.
“It’s a splendid spot,” replied Ferguson, “and I have another plan to
add as an amendment to yours.”
“What’s that?”
“To remain here all to-morrow.”
“And lose a day?”
“No; I think we should gain thereby. I confess that I’m dead tired.
The first day’s tramp always tells the most. Besides, we had a
wearisome trip on the railroad, and for a week before leaving Callao
we were continually on the jump. So a day’s rest from tramping will
do us all good; but I don’t mean to idle away the time, for we can
find plenty to do.”
“What, for instance?”
“Cut up that deer and smoke some strips of the flesh to carry with
us. We may not always be so lucky, and smoked venison isn’t at all
bad when one’s hungry.”
The amendment was accepted, and they at once went into camp.
It lacked two hours of sundown. The air was pleasant and warm,
and the sweet odor from flowers was carried to their nostrils by a
light breeze. Hope-Jones cleared a space for the tent and cut props
for the canvas. Harvey fetched water from the brook and gathered
firewood; and Ferguson, rolling up his sleeves, commenced to skin
the deer, then cut a large steak from the loin. In an hour a bed of
live coals was glowing, and, using a ramrod for a spit, the Ohioan
commenced to broil the venison. Soon savory odors rose, and Hope-
Jones and Harvey stood quite near, smacking their lips.
“This is the best dinner I ever ate in my life,” said the boy fifteen
minutes later, as he sat on the log of a tree, his tin dish between his
knees.
They crawled into the shelter-tent early that evening, right glad to
rest, and the two young men were soon in dreamland. But Harvey
tossed about uneasily and his eyes refused to close; he was too tired
to sleep. For a long time he lay awake, listening to the monotonous
notes of the yucahualpa, which sings only at night, and at last, the
tent becoming oppressive, he took his blankets and stole quietly
without. It was bright with starlight, but there was no moon. A
breeze from the west moved the broad leaves of the blood-wood
trees, and the sound of their rustling was like the roar of breakers on
a distant beach.
The boy stepped to a fallen tree, from the trunk of which branches
protruded, but the leaves were gone. Wrapping one blanket
completely around him, he lay down, his head resting in a fork
several inches above the ground; then he drew the other blanket
over him and the next minute was asleep.
 CHAPTER III.
A SNAKE AND A PUMA.

“W here’s Harvey?”
Hope-Jones, aroused by Ferguson, rose to an upright position and
looked around. The flap of the shelter-tent had been thrown back,
and the gray light of early morning was stealing in.
“Not here? Perhaps he has gone to the brook.”
“Yes; probably for a bath. I guess I’ll follow him.”
They lazily drew on their knickerbockers, laced their shoes, and went
outside, yawning as they stepped on the grass, for the sleep was still
in their eyes. The next instant their attitude changed—from heavy
with drowsiness every sense became alert, every muscle contracted
and their nerves throbbed, their cheeks from red turned ashen pale.
For Ferguson had clutched Hope-Jones’s arm and had whispered,
“Look!”
A hundred yards from where they stood lay Harvey, sound asleep,
his head resting in the fork of a fallen tree and his face upturned.
Two feet above this upturned face—a handsome, manly face—
something was waving to and fro like a naked branch throbbed by
the wind; only this something moved with a more undulating
motion. It was a snake. The body was coiled around the limb of the
tree that rose from the fork, and the flat head and neck waved at
right angles.
“Sh! It may strike if alarmed!”
Both men sank to their knees.
“What’s it waiting for?” whispered Hope-Jones.
“I don’t know.”
“What can we do? Shall I risk a shot?”
“No. Your gun would scatter and perhaps hit Harvey. We must try
the rifle.”
“You do it, then. I never could hit that target.”
“I’ll try,” said Ferguson, clenching his teeth; and he crawled quickly
into the tent, and, returning with the weapon, threw himself flat on
the grass in the position he had taken the evening before while
aiming at the deer.
The light had grown, so that twigs on trees stood out plainly. They
could see that the snake was of a brown-green, the head very flat,
and in and out between the jaws moved a thin tongue, vibrating as
does a tightly stretched string that has been pulled with the fingers.
“Why don’t you fire?” whispered Hope-Jones, who had thrown
himself down beside Ferguson.
“Wait. I can’t hit that. No one could.”
The day was growing fast. Harvey slept without moving, and above
his face, no nearer and no farther away, moved the flat head with
pendulum-like regularity.
All at once, a ray of light glanced from the rising sun through the
trees and fell on the face of the sleeping boy—a line of golden light,
reaching from forehead to chin. Harvey moved. That instant, the flat
head ceased swaying, the portion of the body free from the tree
arched itself like the neck of a swan and the snake was immovable,
poised to strike. But before the fangs could be plunged into the
victim, a rifle rang out, and the snake fell forward, writhing, upon
the neck and shoulders of the boy, and he, at a bound, freed himself
from the blankets and started for the woods on a run, yelling: “I’m
shot! I’m shot!”
Hope-Jones and Ferguson followed and caught up with him at the
edge of the brook. Beads of perspiration were standing out on his
forehead, and his face was pale.
“Where are you hurt, Harvey?” asked Ferguson, anxiously.
He looked at them in amazement, for as a fact he had just
awakened. The yell and the exclamation were only part of a
nightmare, which had been caused by the discharge of the firearm.
Meanwhile Hope-Jones was feeling of him carefully, his arms, his
body, and examining his head and neck.
“He’s as sound as a dollar,” he finally said.
“Of course I am,” Harvey replied rather sheepishly. “What’s all the
row about, anyway?”
“Come, we’ll show you,” and the young men led him back to the tree
and pointed to the dead snake.
Harvey did not understand even then what the scene meant. He saw
his blankets lying to one side, where he had tossed them, and he
saw the reptile in the place where he had slept. Then Hope-Jones
related what had happened, and the lad turned pale again when the
Englishman ended by saying:—
“Had not Ferguson’s aim been true you would be a dead boy,
because I can recognize this snake as of a poisonous species,
although I do not know the name.”
He turned the broad head over, and it was seen that the rifle bullet
had entered the mouth and shattered the upper fang.
Harvey was silent for several minutes while Ferguson stooped over
and measured the reptile, announcing that it was seven feet two
inches long; then the boy said:—
“I can never, never find words to thank you.”
“Don’t mention that, Harvey,” was the reply, “but remember and
keep with us at night. We’re in a strange land now, and there’s no
telling what we may meet.”
“I suppose we have all been careless,” said Hope-Jones. “Back in the
sierra there was no animal life, except the llama and a few goats; we
are in the Montaña now and it’s different. However, let’s change the
subject and have breakfast.”
The fire was lighted, another venison steak was cooked, and with it
they ate the last of the corn bread. After breakfast Ferguson set to
work on the deer, cutting the flesh into strips, and while he was
doing this Hope-Jones and Harvey, following his direction, built a
little smoke-house with three boughs and started a slow fire within.
Later the strips of flesh were hung on pieces of twine that had been
stretched across the top, and the place was closed, except for a
small opening, through which the fire could be replenished during
the day. After this the three went to the brook side and washed such
clothing as was necessary, which was hung on bushes to dry.
The noonday meal consisted of fried eggs and cold venison; then,
after tending the fire in the smoke-house once more, the three lay
down for a siesta. The afternoon was quite warm, the drone of
insects could be heard, and they had a refreshing sleep for two
hours.
But the sun was not to set without further adventure, which, like
that of the morning, brought in its train a lesson to the three who
were unaccustomed to the wilds of the Peruvian interior. Harvey,
who was the first to awaken, believed that he might find some wild
fruit in a clump of trees which grew about a quarter of a mile to the
east, and so he left the camp at three o’clock and soon crossed the
open space. He found himself in a little grove, the size of that in
which the tent was pitched. But the trees, which had appeared
different at a distance, were the same, and, disappointed, he was
about to return, when his attention was attracted by a purring
sound, like that made by kittens when their backs are stroked; and
looking down he saw, almost beneath his feet, three little animals
that were at play, catching each other with their paws by the tails
and ears, and rolling over and over. They were not much taller than
kittens, but were more plump, and their bodies were broader. The
hair was a brownish yellow, spotted with brown of a deeper tint, and
their little tails were ringed with the same color.
The boy watched them a few minutes, then thinking what a surprise
he could give Hope-Jones and Ferguson, he lifted one in his arms. It
was quite heavy and gave forth a peculiar whine when taken from
its companions. Harvey held it close and started back to the camp,
walking briskly.
He had gone about a hundred yards when there came from behind
him a hideous howl that made his heart jump into his throat and his
hair stand on end, while chill after chill passed down his spinal
column. Glancing over his shoulder he saw an animal bounding after
him, mouth wide open and foam dropping from yellow fangs. It was
the size of a lion. Giving a scream, the boy started toward camp at a
speed he had never equalled. For a few seconds he was so dizzy
from fright that he seemed to be floating in air. Every muscle was
stretched to its utmost, and he bent far forward, calling at the top of
his voice, in the hope that his companions might hear.
Another awful howl sounded, this time nearer, and he could hear the
footfalls of the animal close behind; the next second he could hear it
panting, and then, just as he felt that the next breath would be his
last, reason came to him, and he dropped the little animal which,
without thinking, he had held tight in his arms.
The instant he did so the footfalls ceased and the panting grew less
distinct. He cast a swift glance over his shoulder and saw that the
animal had stopped beside her cub and was walking round and
round the little yellow creature and licking it. The sight gave him
hope, and he ran on toward the camp, ran as he had not even when
that terrible breathing was so close, for then fear had partly
benumbed him and at times he had staggered.
He was halfway between the groves when the animal’s cry sounded
again and acted on him like the spur on a horse. He glanced back.
The creature had left her cub.
“Perhaps she thinks I have another one of her pups,” was the
thought that flashed through Harvey’s mind, and the inspiration
came to dash his hat to the ground, which he did, and a few
seconds later he looked back over his shoulder once more. Yes, the
animal had stopped, but only for an instant, to sniff the piece of
woollen, and then had bounded forward.
The boy plainly saw the tent ahead, but he could not make out the
figure of a person near the canvas. Where were Hope-Jones and
Ferguson? Could he reach the grove? But of what use to do so,
unless they were there to aid him? His heart beat wildly; perspiration
flooded his face and stood out in cold beads; he felt cold all over,
although he was running at a speed that should have given him
fever heat, and the day was very warm.
At that instant a man appeared near the tent, and Harvey gave a yell
such as he had never uttered. The man stood out plainly in the
afternoon light, and Harvey saw him turn. Simultaneously he heard
the footfalls of the animal and the hoarse panting. The grove was
near, the tent was near, the man was near, and he was immediately
joined by another. They were waving to him. What could they mean?
It was a signal, but he did not understand. The heavy breathing
came nearer and nearer. The men were running toward him,
throwing their hands out to the left. All at once he understood, and
he darted to one side. The second after he did so the crash of a rifle
rang out, then the deeper sound of a shot-gun.
When Harvey looked up again Hope-Jones was pouring water on his
head and Ferguson was saying:—
“It’s a puma and of the largest size!”
“Well, young man, have you had enough adventures for one day?”
asked the Englishman, when the boy sat upright.
“I guess I have,” he replied in a somewhat dazed voice.
“You tackled quite a contract over there,” said Ferguson. “How did it
happen?”
Harvey told them, stopping now and then during the narrative, for
he was not yet wholly over his fear, nor had he quite recovered his
breath.
“I guess you will keep close to us in the daytime as well as at night,”
said Ferguson, when he had finished.
“Yes, I think I shall,” the lad said somewhat dismally. “What was it
you said chased me?”
“A puma of the largest species. Do you wish to see it?” and Ferguson
led the way a few steps to the right where the carcass of the animal
lay in the long grass.
Its legs were drawn up close to the body, proof that it had died in a
convulsion, and Harvey shuddered as he looked at the long, sharp
claws that protruded from soft, spongelike feet. These were the feet
he had heard striking the ground in pursuit. The puma somewhat
resembled a leopard, and measured forty-five inches from the nose
to the root of the tail, and the tail was as long as the body. The head
was rather small, the ears large and rounded. The skin was a tawny,
yellowish brown, and the lower part of the body a dirty white.
“Ugh!” exclaimed Harvey, shuddering.
They walked back to camp. After supper Ferguson said:—
“I move we adopt a couple of rules, to apply for the remainder of
the journey.”
“What are they?” asked Hope-Jones.
“First, that we keep within hailing distance of one another.
“Second, that one of us always has a gun in hand.”
“Agreed,” said the Englishman, and Harvey nodded his head in
approval.
 CHAPTER IV.
IN THE COILS OF A BOA.

“C ross the mountains to Oroya, then go north to Huari, and in

three days you will reach the great forest of cinchona trees,”
repeated Hope-Jones, quoting old Huayno.
“Yes, but we have gone around Oroya, as advised by the
superintendent,” said Ferguson.
“That’s why we have kept a northeast instead of a north course.”
“We should sight Huari to-morrow.”
“Yes. We should.”
It was the fifth day of their journey from Chicla, and they were
plodding along in a rain, rubber coats buttoned close to the chin.
The llama path was very narrow and wound in and out among tropic
verdure. Everything was dripping with moisture, large drops rolling
from palm leaves, bushes throwing spray as they were released after
being pushed one side by the pedestrians, and the long grass wound
around their stockings until they became wringing wet. It had been
impossible to light a fire at noon, and so they had dined on strips of
smoked venison.
“We must find some dry wood to-night and hang our clothing near a
blaze,” said Harvey. The next minute he had darted ahead, then to
one side.
“Remember rule number one!” called out Ferguson.
“All right,” came back the answer.
They caught up with the lad in a minute, and found him standing
under a clump of trees that were about fifteen feet in height and
which had broad, flat tops. As they neared the spot a fragrance as of
incense was borne to their nostrils through the rain.
“Here’s a feast after all the dried deer meat!” called the boy, who
had hung his knapsack on a branch, placed his shot-gun against the
trunk of the tree, and was already climbing.
“What is he after?” asked Hope-Jones.
“I’m sure I don’t know. What have you found, Harvey?” called
Ferguson.
“Chirimoyas.”
“Then we’re in luck. My mouth waters at the very thought of the
fruit. But I never saw the tree before,” he said, looking up at their
young companion.
“The trees grow in plenty of places near Lima,” Harvey replied. “I
recognized them at once from a distance. Here, catch!”
The fruit he dropped down was heart-shaped, green, and covered
with black knobs and scales, much as is a pineapple, and was about
two-thirds the size of the latter.
When Harvey had detached a half dozen he descended, and despite
the inclement weather they sat down for a feast, this being the first
of fruit or fresh vegetable they had tasted since leaving Chicla.
Although it was damp no rain fell on the place where they rested, for
the broad leaves of the trees were so interlaced as to form a natural
umbrella that made a perfect watershed.
The skin of the chirimoya is thick and tough, and their jack-knives
were called into use, but once within the shell a treat indeed was
found. Internally the fruit is snowy white and juicy, and embedded
within the pulp are many seeds, but these are as easily removed as
are the seeds of a watermelon.
“My, this is delicious!” said Harvey, smacking his lips.
“Picking chirimoyas from trees is better sport than picking up puma
cubs from beneath them, is it not?” asked Hope-Jones.
“Somewhat,” said the lad, as he buried his face in the fruit and took
so large a mouthful that his cheeks were distended.
“Be careful lest you choke,” warned Hope-Jones; then turning to
Ferguson he asked:—
“How would you describe the flavor should you wish to do so to a
person at home?”
“I couldn’t. It is finer than the pineapple, more luscious than the
best strawberry, and richer than the peach. There is no fruit with
which I could make comparison. Can you think of any?”
“No.”
They enjoyed the repast with which nature had provided them, then
Ferguson urged that they take up their march again.
“What’s the matter with remaining here?” Harvey asked.
“It’s too damp. We all would have colds in the morning. No, we must
find a dry spot, even if we have to keep going till late at night. As it
is, perhaps we had better each take a couple of quinine pills. Here, I
will stand treat,” and he commenced to unstrap his knapsack.
“Chirimoyas for the first course and quinine for the second,”
remarked Harvey. “Who wouldn’t call that a genuine Peruvian meal?”
Then they resumed their way in the rain, which continued falling
heavily, dripping from the trees overhead.
Since morning they had been descending into a valley that was
lower than any part of the Montaña which they had as yet traversed;
indeed, they were at an altitude of only five thousand feet above sea
level; and as they were on the eastern slope, where there is no
trade wind to cool the air, the temperature had become tropical.
Soon the path would mount again, and a climb of three thousand
feet was in front before Huari could be reached; but for the time
being they were threading a region that was as dense with
vegetation as that which borders the Amazon. Huge vines and
creepers almost hid the trees from view, and green moss hung in
long festoons. In places were groves of palms, in others trees of
wondrous growth that were completely covered with brilliant scarlet
flowers. Occasionally, between branches, they saw rare orchids.
In the jungle at the sides of the path could be heard the croaking of
frogs, and on the bark of trees sounded the sharp notes of
woodpeckers. At times a brilliant-colored snake crawled across the
path. But they saw little else of animal life, although the occasional
rustle of leaves ahead told that something savage had slunk away.
“Probably a puma,” said Hope-Jones once, when they had stopped to
listen, and had brought their guns into position. “But there is no
cause for alarm. A puma rarely attacks a man unless brought to bay,
or unless,” and he cast a side glance at Harvey, “some enterprising
person endeavors to kidnap a cub.”
“Will you ever forget that?” asked the boy, and they laughed.
Since the day of the lad’s dual adventures little of moment had
befallen the travellers. They had remained in company, and at night
had selected spots in scant groves, which they had inspected
thoroughly before pitching the shelter-tent. They were cautious
during the day as well. As for human beings, two or three Indians
had been met, but they were stupid specimens, who did not speak
Spanish, and who manifested little curiosity at meeting a white man.
“They are a sneaky lot,” Ferguson had said. “Notice how low their
brows are and how narrow the forehead.”
At times they saw a hut perched on a hill above the roadway, but
they did not care to investigate, and passed them by. These places
of habitation were constructed somewhat like the North American
Indian’s tepee, of boughs wound with animal hides.
But this all had been at a higher altitude. In the valley which they
now trod, and which was a tropic jungle, there was no sign of man
save the narrow path—and the path at times was almost lost to sight
in the dense growth—which told that occasionally llama trains
passed that way.
Toward four o’clock in the afternoon they reached the lowest part of
the valley, and at that hour the clouds cleared away and the sun
came out, causing the leaves to glisten as if studded with diamonds,
and the air became heavy with the perfume of flowers and the
exudations from plants and vines.
Coaxed by the sun, hundreds of butterflies drifted lazily from the
sides of the jungle and moved as if borne by light currents of air
from flower to flower. Some were white, their large wings dotted
with golden yellow; others were purple, fringed with black; others
the color of the dandelion, and still others were crimson. In and out,
between these slow-moving seekers of perfume, darted
hummingbirds like dashes of many-colored lightning, and the torn air
sounded a faint note as they passed. This sunlight also brought
lizards of many hues into its warmth, and chameleons which when
prodded changed color, from green to red or to purple, depending
upon the stage of anger. Meanwhile the atmosphere grew heavier
with the tropic odors which the warm rain had coaxed from the
vegetation.
“My, but I’m sleepy!” said Hope-Jones.
“So am I,” answered Harvey, who was bending over his knapsack
and placing therein the rubber coat, of which he stood no longer in
need. “Can’t we camp hereabout?”
 “Ran ... to the side of his friend,
whom he seized by the collar.”

“Miasma! chills! fever!”

“What’s that, Mr. Ferguson?”
“I said miasma, chills, and fever. That’s what would befall us should
we remain here for a night. Beyond,” and he pointed to the hill that
rose on the other side of the valley, “we shall doubtless find a place
for the tent. However, we may as well rest here a bit, and I spy a
seat over there which I propose to occupy.”
Saying this he cast aside his knapsack and rifle, then walked ahead a
few yards and to one side, where he dropped upon what appeared
to be a mass of twisted vine, as large as the limbs of the average
tree.
The instant that Ferguson sank into the seat, Hope-Jones, who had
been looking ahead curiously, let fall everything that he had in hand
or on his back, and springing from Harvey’s side with a bound, ran
as if on a race-course to the side of his friend, whom he seized by
the collar and not only lifted to an upright position, but threw with
all the strength he possessed to the ground, by the path side, and
ended by catching him by the legs and dragging him some distance.
Ferguson was very quick-tempered, and the moment he jumped to
his feet he darted at his companion with his fist clenched, roaring
out at the top of his voice:—
“I’ll fix you! What do you mean? That wasn’t any joke.”
Harvey had run up, and he sprang between the young men,
wondering what had caused this; and a glance at Hope-Jones’s face
surprised him the more, for it was pale as that of a corpse, whereas
Ferguson’s was red, and he was blowing with indignation.
“I’ll teach you!” he repeated. “Get out of the way, Harvey.”
But Hope-Jones had found his voice by this time, and instead of
resenting his friend’s language he gasped: “It’s a boa! It’s a boa!”
“What’s a boa?” and Ferguson glanced around.
“You sat down on a boa! It’s coiled up over there!”
Then the young man who had been dragged along the path so
ruthlessly turned as pale as had his companion, and so did the lad
who had endeavored to act as peacemaker. Meanwhile the three
were retreating rapidly to the point where they had dropped their
knapsacks and rifles.
“A boa!” repeated Ferguson. “I can hardly believe it!”
“Yes. I once saw one coiled up like that in a menagerie, and the
thought that your seat was alive came to me the instant you sat
down. As I drew near I made out the scales, which resemble the
bark on a tree, and I also saw the head. Its eyes are closed, and it’s
evidently in a torpor after gorging. You sat right down in the coils,
and it’s a wonder it didn’t wake and squeeze the life out of you.”
Ferguson shuddered, then throwing an arm around his chum’s
shoulder, he said:—
“Forgive me, old man.”
“Why, of course. I don’t blame you in the least. I wouldn’t have
blamed you if you had struck me. In which case we would have
fought and afterward would have discussed matters. I expected as
much the moment I laid a hand on you, but there wasn’t time for
explanations at that stage of the game.”
“I should say not.”
They resumed their burdens and walked forward again along the
footpath, but they kept at a respectful distance from his majesty the
snake, which remained as when first spied by Ferguson, motionless.
“I don’t wonder that I was fooled,” said he, halting for a look at the
enormous reptile. “It looks exactly like branches or a huge vine
coiled; now, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does,” assented Harvey, “but down below I can see the head.
What enormous jaws!”
“Like a shark’s.”
“And they say that the jaws will stretch still wider, for they are
fastened together by ligaments that are as elastic as rubber.”
“Yes, they will stretch so that it can swallow a young deer.”
“Perhaps that’s what it’s gorging on now.”
“Perhaps. You notice that hump below the neck? That’s as far as the
prey has moved down toward the creature’s stomach.”
“Are you going to try a shot?”
“No, Harvey. Why should I? The boa hasn’t harmed us, and should I
only wound it, one of us might suffer, for it’s said they move with
wonderful rapidity for a short distance.”
“Would it not be a good plan to hasten and climb the hill yonder?”
suggested Hope-Jones. “It won’t be safe to sleep in this valley to-
night, and goodness only knows what we’ll stumble over next.”
The others evidently thought so also, for they quickened their pace,
and giving the boa a wide berth they pushed ahead. An hour later
they were threading their way by the side of a little stream up the
hillside. After walking some distance Harvey said:—
“Mr. Ferguson?”
“Yes, my lad.”
“Are you going to quiz me any more about that puma cub?”
“No, Harvey. I’ll call the account square, if you will.”
Hope-Jones laughed. “It looks very much as though I should have
plenty of amusement with both——”
Ferguson and Harvey stood stock still. Hope-Jones had vanished
from sight.
 CHAPTER V.
HUARI, AND THE STORY OF THE BEAUTIFUL
COUNTESS.

“B -r-r-r-r!” came a voice.

“What on earth has happened?” asked Ferguson, in amazement,
bending over a large hole that had suddenly yawned at their feet.
“B-r-r-r! Help me out, fellows! I’m stifling!”
They threw themselves face down at the edge of the cavity, and
reached their hands below, but could not feel anything.
“Quick, Harvey! Give me the pick! Catch that, old man!” he called,
pushing the iron arms into the opening. A pressure was felt and a
hoarse voice replied:—
“That’ll help. I can crawl up the side that slopes.”
The next minute Hope-Jones was with them again, blowing dirt from
his mouth and saying unpleasant things about the animal that had
dug the hole at the path side. His ears were filled with loam, black
earth had sifted back of his shirt collar, and such hair as projected
beneath his cap was tangled with the soil. As for his clothing, it was
streaked. Fortunately, his shot-gun, knapsack, and pick remained
fastened to his back, and although dirty, he was none the loser
because of his drop below the surface. Ferguson and Harvey
brushed him off as best they could, then the three resumed their
way up the hill.
“I didn’t see any hole,” remarked the Englishman, a few minutes
later.
“It was at the side of the path; most of it in the jungle, and leaves
had fallen over the edge,” Ferguson replied.
“Mr. Hope-Jones?”
“Yes, Harvey.”
“Will you cry quits on the puma cub?”
“Certainly, my lad.”
“Hope-Jones!”
“Yes, Ferguson, I know what you are about to say. Boa, puma cub,
and holes are barred subjects evermore.”
And they shook hands in a chain.
The path ascended rapidly and the vegetation became less tangled
as the travellers proceeded; so too the atmosphere grew somewhat
more bracing, for the heavy odor of the valley did not mount to any
height. With the setting of the sun the new moon shone for several
hours above the horizon, and the silvery rays from the crescent,
together with the starlight, illumined their way so they were able to
make rapid progress until about ten o’clock, when the ground
becoming quite dry—for the rain of the valley had not extended this
far—they pitched the shelter-tent and built a rousing fire, near which
they placed their damp clothing. Toward midnight they turned in
“tired to the bone,” as Harvey expressed it, and none awakened until
the sun was two hours’ high. Then, looking down into the valley,
they saw a billowy mist, which completely hid even the tallest trees.
“There’s miasma for you!” exclaimed Ferguson, pointing to the vapor.
“As we passed through it, perhaps we should take some more
quinine.”
They acted on the suggestion, then, after a hurried breakfast, set off
on the road again, for they were anxious to reach Huari that day,
and the morning start had been late. The road was up grade until
the noon hour, then became level again, and the vegetation was the
same as on the other side of the valley, before they had plunged into
the riot of undergrowth. Toward three o’clock they saw smoke rising
lazily ahead and concluded they must be nearing a town. A half hour
later they came upon a number of huts on the outskirts. Fields of
maize and cotton were under cultivation, and brown men, half
naked, were at work in them with primitive tools—ploughs that were
but sharpened boughs of the ironwood tree, trimmed wedge-
shaped, and drawn by small oxen; shovels made from the same
wood; and other agricultural implements with which they were
strangers, fashioned from stones that had been worn to sharp
edges. All the men wore beards, some quite long.
The huts became more numerous, and naked little children, standing
in the doorways or running about in the narrow streets, stared at the
travellers, while the older boys and girls, who wore loin cloths or
skins of animals fastened as tunics, called in the Indian tongue to
persons who were within the dwellings. They met few men and
fewer women; the better class of the former wore trousers and a
poncho (a blanket with a hole cut in the middle, through which the
head is thrust, and which falls over the shoulders); whereas the
poorer class were content with the upper dress that came to the
ankles: but the women wore gowns of gorgeous color, though they
were ill-shapen and no attempt was made to fit the figure.
The travellers neared the centre of the town before they met a
“white man,” or one who did not belong to the Indian race. His
features were proof that he or his ancestors had come from a
foreign land, being in marked contrast with the thick, stubby nose,
narrow forehead, and broad lips of the Ayulis. Hope-Jones doffed his
cap and addressed him in Spanish.
The Peruvian, who had been staring at them since they had come in
sight, at once joined them, and not only shook hands, but placed his
right arm around the shoulders of each in turn, patting him on the
back, meanwhile speaking rapidly, with much sibilation of the s’s and
rolling of the r’s, conveying in the most flowery language his delight
at their visit.
So they had journeyed all the way from Lima! How tired they must
be! But what matter? He had comfortable beds at his house and
they must rest for a week, or a month if necessary, and be his guest
the while. What, could only remain one night? Surely, they would be
courting illness by thus hurrying along. No matter, he would speak of
that later. They must accompany him now.
He placed his hand in Hope-Jones’s arm, and gathering his poncho,
which was quite long, much as a woman would her skirts, he turned
in the direction from which he had come and led the way, explaining
as they walked that there were few white men in Huari, “and,” he
added, “some of them you would not wish to meet.”
At the word “bed” Harvey had become very much interested, so, for
that matter, had Ferguson and Hope-Jones, and they were not at all
loath to accept the invitation which had been so insistently given.
After travelling five minutes and entering what was evidently the
better section of the Montaña town, they stopped before a one-story
building, bordered by verandas, that was spread out over much
ground and was surrounded by fruit trees. It was the most imposing
structure they had yet seen in the village, though, like others, it was
built of adobe, reënforced with bamboo.
The host and his companions were met by an Indian woman, who
appeared to be of better class than those the travellers had seen on
the streets, and she was presented to them as Señora Cisneros. Her
greeting was spoken in excellent Spanish, and although not quite as
demonstrative as her husband’s, it was none the less sincere. The
travellers were led to two connecting rooms, and after discarding
their burdens and returning to the cool veranda, they were asked if
they would not like to drink some cold coffee.
“We have learned the art of coffee-making from the Brazilians,” said
Señor Cisneros, “and, believe me, the beverage is better cold than
hot. Would you like to observe our arrangement? But perhaps you
are tired?”
Hope-Jones confessed that he was tired, but Ferguson and Harvey
manifested interest in the Brazilians’ teachings; so while the
Englishman remained on the veranda, chatting with the señora, the
two young Americans accompanied the host to the rear of the house
and into an arbor that was covered with trailing vines. It was a cool
spot, far enough from buildings to be affected by all breezes, and in
the centre stood an immense earthen vessel, the height of a man
and at least four feet in circumference. A foot and a half from the
bottom was a spigot.
“This jar is made of porous clay,” said the señor, tapping the vessel,
“and as a slight amount of the liquid filters through, evaporation
cools its contents. Once every three months we boil coffee by the
barrel. It is poured in here, permitted to settle for a week, and all
sediment goes to the bottom. You will notice that I draw the liquid
from some distance above,” and he placed a pitcher beneath the
spigot, turning which, a dark, clear liquid flowed.
“Taste it?” and he filled a small cup, then another. “Is it not cold?” he
added.
Ferguson and Harvey found the beverage delicious, and expressed
wonder that it could be coffee.
“Wait until some sugar is added,” said the Peruvian, as pitcher in
hand he led the way back to the house.
For a half hour they rested on the veranda, sipping cold coffee
sweetened with brown sugar, and eating paltas, which Señora
Cisneros had placed on a little table. They related their adventures
to host and hostess, and, without revealing their reason for visiting
the interior, told that they were in search of gold.
Señor Cisneros shook his head. “Perhaps there is gold,” he said, “but
I have found no trace of any.”
Then he told that for years he had been engaged in silver-mining,
and that his llama trains passed over the road which they had
travelled.
“When the railroad pierces the interior,” he continued, “there will be
much profit made by those who extract metals from the ground, but
with the present method of transportation one does well to gain a
livelihood.”
The señora was very anxious to hear about Lima. She had been
there once, but only for a few days, soon after her marriage.
After a time the host ordered hammocks swung on the veranda, and
in these Hope-Jones, Ferguson, and Harvey rested until a few
minutes before dinner. It seemed good to sit down in chairs, at a
table, and to taste other food than the game and fruits of the
woods, to say nothing of having crockery dishes to eat from instead
of the tin plates. They were early in bed, and after a refreshing
night’s sleep between sheets, which, though coarse, were cool and
clean, they awoke with renewed determination to continue their
journey.
But while they were enjoying more of the señor’s delicious coffee—
heated this time—rain commenced to fall; huge drops came in
sheets and leaden clouds hung low; so they were nothing loath to
accept an urgent invitation to remain another day and night. Señora
Cisneros, learning of the scant stock of clothing they had taken with
them, insisted upon overhauling their knapsacks, and she passed
several hours of the morning with needle and thread, darning and
mending. In the afternoon she packed them some food from her
well-stocked larder, sufficient to last and add variation to their
mountain bill of fare for several days.
The next morning dawned warm and bright, and the adventurers
started early, after thanking host and hostess time and again; and
they promised themselves the pleasure of a longer visit on their
return. They were passing from the town and were waving their
caps to Señor Cisneros, who had accompanied them to the outskirts,
when Ferguson said:—
“He’s a splendid fellow. I wish he were going with us.”
“So do I,” said Hope-Jones. “He would be a jolly companion.”
Harvey came suddenly to a halt.
“What’s the matter,” the young men asked.
“I happened to think of something. Cisneros is a miner.”
“Yes.”
“And he knows this country.”
“Yes.”
“He’s honest.”
“He has every appearance of being so. What are you driving at?”
“And he told us that his silver mines were not paying very well,”
persisted the boy.
“Yes.”
“If we find gold we’re going to find a great deal, are we not?”
“So old Huayno said. But why are you wasting time standing here
and asking all these questions?”
“Because I move we turn back.”
“Turn back! Why?”
“And ask Señor Cisneros to join us.”
“Tell him the secret?”
“Yes, and take him in on shares. One quarter for each.”
Ferguson slapped his hand on his thigh. “Bully for you, Harvey!
That’s a splendid idea. I wonder it never came to me.”
“It never entered my mind until the last time he waved his hat,” said
the boy, looking pleased at the approval he had been given, for
Hope-Jones had spoken as warmly in favor of the project as had the
American; and the three at once commenced to retrace their
footsteps. They found their erstwhile host on the veranda of his
home, bidding adieu to his wife, for he had planned a trip to a
neighboring village.
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