Ten minutes later and the monoplane was soaring toward the region which
Andy had denominated as a "likely spot."
"Look at that big bird watching us from that pinnacle yonder!" exclaimed
Andy, as he lowered the glasses for a moment.
"I see him," replied his comrade. "And there's no doubt now but what that is a condor of the Andes. He thinks we must be some sort of bird, which we are, of course, and is wondering whether he ought to flap his wings and go up higher or hide behind that church steeple of rock."
"I only hope he don't take a measly notion to fight us, that's all," remarked the other, as he glanced anxiously toward where the Marlin was secured to the framework of the airship.
"No danger of that," Frank continued. "A condor is like our vulture or buzzard, a scavenger; and he lacks the bravery of the bald-headed eagle that attacked us when we came near his nest on the tip of Old Thunder Top. Look there, he's off, Andy, and at a good lively clip, too. Good-bye, old chap, and good luck!"
Andy had lost all interest in the great bird of the western Andes. He was focusing his attention upon the place that he had marked as a likely spot.
"Frank," he said, presently, in a husky voice, "could you drop a little lower and slow down some?"
"That's easy," replied his chum, readily enough. "What has struck you now, Andy?"
"It looks more and more promising to me," came the slow reply, as Andy kept the glasses up to his eyes.
"Then you can glimpse something like cliffs?" asked Frank.