“If Senor de Castro returns before I do, please explain where I have gone, and why,” Austin said hastily to the manservant, who seemed glad that a way had been found to help the stranger.
“Si, senor,” he agreed.
“Come along,” Jim urged and the two made their way to the hangar where Pedro Gonzalas was settled in the seat beside the pilot. “You have your stuff all right?”
“Mother of God be praised, it is safe.”
“Good.” Jim made a hasty inspection of the plane, hopped into his own seat, and gave her the gun and they rolled out. She required considerably more space than the “Lark” before her wheels left the ground, but at last she lifted gracefully and began to climb bravely into the air. They went up in a wide curve which brought them three thousand feet above the De Castro homestead, the machine’s nose screwing forward on an air-line for the well-known pass. Swiftly they thundered along, and then suddenly the man beside the boy wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it over because he knew nothing of the speaking tube.
“Cyat Pass,” Jim read and this surprised him.
When Gonzalas had said that he lived “below the pass” the boy had concluded that he meant the well-known one through the Andes. He glanced suspiciously at his companion, then he reasoned that the man’s home was at Cyat Pass, or below it; the fact that he had failed to give the name was not surprising. The mountains were full of narrow highways going through one spur or range to another and to each locality they were of equal importance. But one thing did bother him. If there was any sort of treachery afoot the De Castros and Bob would start a search for him in the wrong place. He took the tube and motioned to his companion how to use it.
“Where is it?” he asked.
Gonzalas made a rough sketch on the back of an envelope, and after a few more questions, Austin understood. As they flew he recalculated his course, and although he had not revealed the correct destination at once, Jim was convinced that there was nothing criminal about the chap at his side. Gonzalas glanced at him with anxiety which was genuine but as they rushed forward he became more and more composed. Several times his eyes wandered over the globe rolling beneath them and as he seemed to recognize familiar landmarks he was apparently relieved. The first hour slipped by and during the second they were flying over a part of the country dotted with fertile plains and great plantations. Then they turned sharply and soared with a roar that the echoes took up as they rushed along near the ceiling while mountain ranges tipped out of their vision, very much as telephone poles do when watched from a rushing train, but not quite so fast. The second hour had gone by when Gonzalas, his eyes alert, pointed to series of foot hills.
“There are buildings on that plateau under the ledge,” he announced.