“At least a mile more,” Dr. Rander returned. “It is very long.”
But if it were a mile, it seemed to the youths like several times that much, for in the damp, odorous tunnel the time passed very slowly.
“Will we ever reach the other side?” Joe was tiring.
At last the passageway became light, and then an opening loomed up and let in the fresh air of the outside.
“Hurrah!” Joe was delighted. “But—where are we?”
On all sides of the travelers were towering peaks more lofty than any they had yet seen. Some of the mountains were narrow and pointed, with snow at their summit; others were merely huge rounded mounds of rock. All were magnificent, inspiring thoughts of grandeur.
The youths and the old man were on a narrow shelf that was perhaps five thousand feet above what looked like a tiny winding ribbon of water. It passed in and out among the mountains, stretching far out of sight in the distance.
“That is the Apurimac River,” pointed out Dr. Rander, following the boys’ eyes. “It turns on northeast and finally comes near Mount Panta——”
“That’s where Dr. Rust and the other archæologists are,” interrupted Bob, and then added: “Wonder if they found any Inca ruins?”