CHAPTER XII
The Pangs of Soroche
“FOR the love of Mike!” cried Bob Holton. “Whatever happened?”
“Plenty!” came from Joe quietly. “We had a fight.”
“A fight?” Mr. Wallace was perplexed.
“Yes, and a big one at that,” said Karl grimly. “But we licked them.”
“Licked whom?” demanded Bob, becoming impatient. “Come on. Tell us about it.”
Mr. Holton got to his feet.
“Look over there,” he directed, pointing to a spot near the tail of the monoplane.
Bob and Mr. Wallace looked.
Lying prone on the ground was a man, a native Colombian, evidently still dazed from a blow. He made not the slightest move, although it was apparent that he was not hurt seriously.