“That is impossible. I left great quantities, although I washed all I could carry in a bag I wove of the grass. This is a rocky place.”
“That’s right, but perhaps you passed it—”
“Impossible,” the brother put in.
“Well, then it must be further along. You probably were so excited that you didn’t notice how far you came. Didn’t you leave a mark on the rocks or something?” Austin was mighty sorry for the little band and he couldn’t make out how the place could be lost. The only thing he could think of was that Pedro had made a mistake in his reckoning, and being an airman he knew any number of aviators did the same sort of thing and got miles out of their courses.
“I paced it,” Pedro told him.
“You sure that you didn’t tell anyone? Mrs. Gonzalas said that while you were in town—I mean Cuzco—that you heard rumors of platinum discoveries. She said that was why you told the fib so I’d bring you.”
“That is true. At the fiesta many were drinking and two men talked of platinum over a table. Them I heard, and later I saw others whisper together, then hurry away—one left his wine.”
“Great Scott, but there is no sign of anyone coming here.”
“No one has been here. There is not a track but our own,” said Pedro.
“Well, now, come to think of it, while I was at the fiesta I heard a couple of men talking. One said that he had found platinum, but he didn’t say where it was. He looked like a tough customer. Said that he had been in an airplane smash-up, the pilot was killed and this fellow wandered around for days before he dragged himself to a trapper’s cabin. The hunter helped him get home, I mean to Cuzco, and he was put into a hospital. I don’t know how long he was there, but he was positive he found platinum. Said that during the war he’d gone with a secret commission into Russia to get some so he knew it well. He was telling it to a fellow he was having lunch with. Did you see any airplane flying over while you were here, or see a smash-up?”