Submitting to the inevitable, Jack removed the duffle bags, one by one. High Hat then permitted himself to be led. Jack laboriously repacked him, and the burro went on again without complaint.
“Keep going, you fellows ahead!” he advised good naturedly. “I don’t want to have another brush-to with High Hat.”
Three times though, when the party was halted by minor rock slides, Jack was compelled to go through the same tedious procedure of unpacking and repacking the burro. His patience sorely tried, he was glad when Mr. Livingston called an early halt for the day.
Camp was made by a stream, a rugged cliff wall serving as windbreak. Nearby, the party saw considerable evidence of earlier Inca life. Mr. Livingston pointed out the ruins of an ancient bath where clear water still flowed. The Scouts themselves came upon niches in the wall where idols once had been placed.
According to pre-arranged plan, Jack and Ken put up the tents, while Mr. Livingston and Willie started a fire and prepared the evening meal. War set off to search for additional firewood.
Twenty minutes later he hastened back, his arms laden. He was breathing hard and laboring under great excitement.
“What’s the matter, War?” Jack teased, driving in the last tent stake. “Did you see an Inca priest lurking behind a rock? Or maybe you’ve already found the secret entrance to the hidden city!”
War dropped his firewood. “You needn’t be funny!” he retorted. “I saw something else that gave me the jim-jams.”
“A llama?” Ken asked with a grin. “Maybe a caravan of ’em?”
“Aw, cut it out, fellows! I’m serious. I was standing at the edge of the cliff, looking down, when I saw a flash of light.”