CHAPTER VIII—JACK HAS A MISHAP
Of that trip during the ensuing days there is little of moment to record. Sometimes they advanced less than five miles a day. Sometimes, where the going was easy, through a valley leading in their general direction, perchance, where there was little underbrush and the benchland along the stream gave firm footing, the distance travelled was considerably more.
But, whether the going was easy or hard, whether few miles were covered or many, there was not a foot of it all that was not intensely interesting to the boys, and not only to the three New York lads, but to Ferdinand as well.
Steadily they mounted higher into the mountains, skirting precipices of which sometimes the bottom could not be seen. On one occasion, as they made camp at night upon a lofty meadow against the shoulder of a mountain on one side, and with a precipitous drop on the other, they looked over the edge into the abyss and drew back frightened.
“Why, you can’t even see the bottom,” exclaimed Jack. “It’s hidden by the clouds.”
Which was true; for five hundred feet below lay a fleecy stratum of cloud, through which on the edges projected the tops of trees, but which in the middle was as unbroken as a placid sea. Across the valley the sun was setting in the west, its rays red as blood upon the side of the mountain behind them and upon their faces. Then the sun seemed quite suddenly to slip below the mountain top, the sky became colder in appearance, and a chill wind swept down out of the mountains, while the cloud sea below began to stir and toss a little under the wind’s fretting.
“By Jiminy,” said big Bob, “I’ll bet it’s so deep down there, if I toss this stone overboard you’ll never hear it fall.”
He suited action to word. The stone ripped through the clouds and the boys held their breath to listen. Not a sound came back to them.
“Whew,” shivered Frank. “Come on, let’s get away from the precipice before some demon pushes us in. Up here I begin to believe in demons and warlocks, kobolds and gnomes.”
They hurried toward the fire which Carlos and Pedro had built.
On another occasion, as they were climbing early one morning out of a high valley over the shoulder of a mountain, Jack slipped on a rock that turned under his foot, and, falling to his side, began sliding down hill. Not far away was another precipice, with a sheer drop into a rocky ravine where there were not even any trees to break his fall.
Mr. Hampton made a leap for his son, but he was too far away to be able to reach him in time. Jack meanwhile was clawing desperately at the ground, in an attempt to stay his downward progress. Frank, who was nearer than Mr. Hampton, also started for Jack, impeded, however, by the necessity of watching his own footsteps to prevent slipping. It was big Bob, however, who saved his comrade, and he did it in a novel way.
At a glance, his quick eye took in the situation. He saw that the ground sloped so sharply that whoever should run to Jack’s rescue might merely hasten his descent by further loosening the loose rocks that lay everywhere about and sending them down on the sliding figure.
Further, would there be time for a man to reach Jack? He believed not.
But by his side, over a pack on the mule with which he had been keeping pace, hung a coiled lasso. Two years before, during their stay in New Mexico, Bob had been fascinated by the manipulations of the lasso, of which his cowboy friends were capable. He had worked under their tutelage, and had acquired considerable dexterity. On his present trip, he had amazed the monks by his skill, and had kept his hand in with constant practise.
Seizing the lasso, he measured the distance, swung once, twice, thrice around his head, and then let fly. The coil straightened out through the air. The noose descended over Jack’s upflung arm and trunk. His feet braced, Bob let the rope out gently, while Jack slid a matter of several feet more.
Thus Bob prevented too great strain being put upon the rope that might upset him, and also refrained from injuring his chum.
Jack came to rest, outstretched, one arm pinioned by the lasso, which passed beneath the other armpit. His feet were already over the edge of the precipice.
“Give me a hand, Frank, and you, Mr. Hampton,” panted Bob.
They sprang to obey.
Inch by inch at first, Jack was pulled back from the brink, until he was sufficiently far removed from it to warrant him in gaining his feet. Then he made his way, limping, helped by the steady tug on the rope, back to his comrades.
“Bob, you saved my life,” he said. “I won’t forget.”
Then he sat down weakly, and dropped his head to his hands.
“Here, Jack,” said his father, “take a sip of this. It will steady you,” and he set a flask to Jack’s lips.
Presently, Jack regained his feet, and with a shake, pulled himself together.
“I’m all right now,” he said. “But—for a moment or two there—I felt as if I still were on the brink and just toppling over. I tell you, that was no joke. There wasn’t even a stunted bush to grab at as I slid down.”
Day succeeded day, sometimes sudden storms forcing them to seek shelter in mid-day, before they contemplated going into camp. These storms in the mountains come up suddenly. The sky would darken, thunder roll reverberatingly along the hills, lightning flash, and then would come a tremendous downpour of rain. Quickly as the storm arose, however, it went as quickly.
Always as they pushed ahead, they climbed higher into the mountains.
“But, Dad,” protested Jack one day, “can it be the Enchanted City was among these lofty peaks? Would de Arguello’s expedition, for instance, have gotten so high?”
“Patience, Jack,” explained Mr. Hampton. “Tomorrow, I believe, we start descending. We are almost at the top of a range of mountains now. Today, several times, I caught glimpses of a snow-clad range beyond—so far away, indeed, that I believe there must be a great central valley between. Somewhere in there, if our vague directions left by de Pereira are of any value, lies the Enchanted City.”
That a great central valley did intervene between that range and the next was proven next day when, coming through a pass, they discerned a tossing, forest-clad wilderness of scarp and mountain, lake and river, cut up by mountains irregularly scattered about, spread out below them. The next regular chain of mountains, paralleling that through which they had been making their way, lay far beyond, and their peaks were white with snows.
“We shall have difficulty exploring this wilderness below us,” said Don Ernesto. “This is beyond any regions where white men go. There are hostile branches of the Auraucanos down there—somewhere. Somewhere down there, too, lies the Enchanted City, however. And if it is to be found, we shall find it. Game and water, at least, shall not be wanting. Come.”
They set off as into a promised land.