“Maybe you won’t find things to laugh at—”
“We will as long as you’re around, old comic strip,” Jim told him, but he proceeded at the head of the awkward squad.
They seemed, as far as the boy could make out in the darkness, to be on a plateau, and he guessed it was somewhere in the coast range of the Andes. The spot on which they had landed looked like a great shelf, the outer edge of which must descend steeply. The wall they began to follow was high, made a long curve and appeared to be perpendicular. Once Arto stumbled, and in order to help them both, Jim’s hand braced against the massive rock and he discovered that its surface was surprisingly smooth. That fact made the boy decide that they were above one of the numerous streams which had worn its way to its present depths through countless ages of rushing among the jagged cliffs until it had cut the solid foundation.
“Please, I slip,” Mrs. Gonzalas said suddenly.
“I hold you,” her husband assured her. The two ahead paused a moment to assist if they could.
“Come on, she can’t slide off.”
“Why can’t you give us a bit of light?” Jim protested. He knew perfectly well that the ledge must be quite wide or it would never have been selected for a landing of the huge plane, but the woman couldn’t reason things like that; she had no means of knowing.
“Aw, well,” grumbled the General, but he went to the couple and proceeding beside them, using the smallest flash with its ray pointed directly on the route.
After that they made better progress for, although a chap may be perfectly positive that certain conditions must exist he will not fail to falter on his way if he cannot catch an assuring glimpse of where he is putting his feet. With seemingly endless piles of mountains mounting to the very heavens all about him, and knowing that perhaps only a few rods away the ledge drops off hundreds of feet, trying to walk forward in the darkness is a nerve-racking undertaking. Another thing that flashed through the boy’s mind was that Gordon was exactly the type of enemy to order that they be taken to the ledge and shoved over out of his way forever. More than once he had been frustrated in his endeavor to rid himself of the Flying Buddies, and with each failure his hatred was growing. Sending the innocent Gonzalas over with his neighbor from Texas would not deter him for a moment. Arthur would reason that they knew too much and therefore were a menace to him.
“Turn in that cut,” the admiral ordered.