“We ought to be almost there, Buddy,” Jim remarked as he looked up from his work and glanced at the chart. “That must be Lima beyond us. Suppose you shoot over east a bit.”
“All right.” Bob changed the course and turned the plane’s nose in toward the mountains.
“Want to change?”
“Don’t care if I do. The sun has been kind of glaring.” They shifted places again and Caldwell heaved a sigh of relief.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were getting fagged?”
“Didn’t think of it. This surely is some country.” They drove on swiftly, and finally Mr. Austin flashed the signal.
“My friend’s home is east of the city. He wrote me that one of his neighbors has a plane, so there must be a landing space near by.”
“We’ll look for it, Dad.” By that time the mountain city and the great lake Titicaca came into view. Bob pulled down his cap glasses and did some close observing, and finally he pointed out a place which should be convenient for landing. It was after two o’clock when they brought the “Lark” down on a broad field which looked as if it were a part of a plantation. They waited a few minutes to glance around, and presently a young man came striding toward them.
“May I serve you gentlemen?” he asked politely.
“Are we near the Pedro De Castro place?” Mr. Austin inquired.