“He’d follow us, anyhow,” Tom said.
“He won’t make as much trouble if he is with us as he might the other way,” Cliff agreed, “he could be watched.”
“If his natives could carry some of our things,” Mr. Whitley said, “we could discharge our own: they have not proved trustworthy.”
“That is my idea,” Bill nodded, “he has more muscle in his carriers than he is using. Shall we join forces?”
They decided to travel in company. The spokesman was Bill. He explained to Senor Pizzara that their own bearers had tried to run away with their supplies; if he would let his carriers take heavier loads so they could discharge their own, they would agree to his plan. He was eager to accept the proviso.
Over the swaying bridge of osier and plank that spanned a chasm they passed as one party; their own men went the other way with just enough food to last until they reached the foothills.
Huayca they kept with them. He was not openly guarded but either Bill or Mr. Whitley kept watch at night and he made no effort to escape.
Pizzara asked to see the map; there was no reason to refuse. He promised solemnly that he would help them in their effort to rescue Cliff’s father if he still lived; he would provide one more to aid their plans, although these did not confide to him during the journey.
Up, ever up they toiled. Great cliffs of granite and porphyry, massive and awe-inspiring, lined the path. Vast chasms yawned beside the way. As Cliff expressed it, they were pygmies going through Nature’s giant workshops, where heat and frost, sun and rain, earthquake and volcanic upheaval, tore apart what had been built and threw the odds and ends everywhere.
Colder and colder grew the sharp winds as they climbed into the snowy land above the timberline.