Bob slumped down on the grass.
“We lost,” he murmured gravely. “Now we’re one pack animal short.”
“And there were quite a few valuable objects in the pack, too,” added Joe, “not to say anything about losing the animal.”
“Have to get along some way,” Dr. Rander said. “There is no use in thinking anything more about it.”
“Wonder what the mule thought about when he went under?” mused Joe. “It must have been terrible.”
They resolved to follow the old man’s suggestion and forget the loss as best they could. After all, it was lucky that one of them had not been the victim.
Again they took up the journey, this time keeping a closer lookout for other bogs. But Dr. Rander did not know this region any too well, and could not guide them as surely as he would have liked to.
In the fascinating mountains the time passed rapidly. It was two days after they had lost the mule when Dr. Rander pointed to something in the distant sky.
“That’s a condor,” he said, his eyes trying to make out the flying form more clearly.
“It is at that,” affirmed Bob, looking through his binoculars. “And what’s more, it’s white. A condor real, as sure as I’m standing here!”