Jack, Ken and Willie drew aside to discuss their situation. In whispers, they agreed that without natives to help carry their leader, they never could make it. Even if they were lucky enough to find a canoe or balsa, they could not expect to get farther than the broken bridge.
“Hap’s got to rest a few minutes, no matter what we do,” Jack said, thinking it over. “Meanwhile, one of us should go ahead to look for a canoe. I’ll slip back to the spring to see where that other path leads.”
“Curiosity will prove your finish yet,” Ken predicted soberly.
“We may be close to the sacred Inca City, Ken. Before we leave here, I want to satisfy myself on that point.”
Further discussion ended with a decision that Jack should explore the trail leading from the spring. Willie would try to reach the river to look for a canoe.
“Both of you, hurry!” Ken advised. “If the natives return to their village and discover we’ve walked off—curtains!”
“If I’m not back in half an hour—before dawn—start for the river without me,” Jack advised grimly.
After the two Scouts had gone their separate ways, Ken settled down to wait beside Mr. Livingston and War. He was plenty worried. Hap kept throwing off a protective jacket. At one moment he suffered chills, and the next, seemed to burn with high fever.
“That medicine man’s dope wasn’t so wonderful after all!” War scoffed.
“Hap is better today, even so,” Ken replied. “If he had a day to get on his feet, we might make it out of here.”