“Either we were wrong about that car trailing us, or the driver pulled up somewhere,” Ken declared as he climbed into the back seat beside Jack.
“Quit worrying about it,” the other advised with a laugh. “If Captain Carter is following us, we’ll find out all too soon!”
By nine o’clock the Scout party had reached Cuya, nestled pleasantly in a valley below a range of snow-capped peaks. On Mr. Livingston’s map, the village had been marked as the first stop.
Here the Scouts were to pick up a guide with whom arrangements had been made. The next stage of the journey would be undertaken by burro.
At the Peru Hotel, a dingy structure, the boys were shown to their rooms. While the others rested, Mr. Livingston and Jack went downstairs to talk to the hotel clerk and check on details for the next morning’s departure.
“Where will I find a guide named Miquel?” the Scout leader inquired.
The clerk spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Senor, I deeply regret, you not find him. Miquel leave Cuya three hours ago.”
“He left?” Mr. Livingston repeated in dismay. “But he had orders from Father Francisco to meet us here! He was paid in advance to have everything ready for our departure.”
“Miquel say he go to visit grandmother in another village.”
“When will he return?”