“Let’s see,” said Joe, and took the glasses his friend handed him.
A few moments of observing and he nodded, giving the binoculars to the old man.
“You’re right,” Joe said to his chum. “And oh! Wouldn’t our dads and Mr. Wallace like to be here now! A white condor! One of the creatures they wanted most.”
“Maybe we can get it for them,” muttered Bob, grasping a shotgun. “Do you suppose there’s a chance?”
“Not unless it flies nearer,” returned Dr. Rander. “Even then the bird would probably fall to the bottom of the cañon, and that would mean a dangerous descent.”
“I’m going to see, anyway,” Bob persisted, following the soaring form through his powerful binoculars.
“Look what I’ve found,” called Joe, who had climbed down to a narrow ledge several yards below the others.
“Why—it’s a nest,” exclaimed Bob, upon descending to the shelf. “And look at those eggs. Sure are whoppers. Say,” he cried suddenly, “I bet I know everything now. This belongs to that white condor. Look. There’s a white feather. See it?”
“You’re probably right,” said Dr. Rander, moving down to the ledge. “Let us look about more. We may find something else of interest.”
But all searching was stopped a second later when Joe happened to glance up.