“Be careful boys,” warned Mr. Holton. “Don’t try to photograph any more Indians, or you may get into a bigger scrape than the one this morning.”
“Leave it to us,” laughed Joe. “We’ll be all right.”
The youths headed west toward the river Almodena. They resolved to cross it and proceed northward to the Fortress of Sacsahuaman and other Inca ruins.
From the river there was a narrow road that led up the plateau to the high hill that overlooked the city. As this hill stood between the boys and the ruins of the fort, which were located high upon another cliff, they found it almost necessary to climb to the top and then down the other side.
“Now for the ruins,” said Bob eagerly, pointing to the top of the low mountain that was before them.
The youths had begun the difficult climb to the summit and had rounded a turn in the rocks when they caught sight of an old man climbing slowly up the dangerous ridge.
“Look!” cried Joe in terror. “He’s falling!”
The old man’s foot had slipped, and he was trying as best he could to balance himself on a narrow ledge.
His efforts were in vain. The next moment he began to plunge helplessly downward.