All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 75: what you’re looking at

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tains; but the cuss began to lose his toe- hold on earth at once, and I had to quit. He began to roll his eyes and tell _hair- Taising tales in his, shivery Spanish about the spirits of the rocks—at least, the yarns seemed to raise /is hair; it fairly bristled. “Tf I hadn’t choked him off, he’d have scared himself to the point of refusing to go on with me. I gathered from what he said that he’d heard something from the village gossips of Huantar that had given him the jiggers, and his goat was getting out of control. Bob, in the name of time, who and what can that girl ber” ~ ‘“‘ Seems to me that some one else’s goat has slipped its tether, too, old fellow,” re- torted Jones banteringly. ‘I never thought it of you, Jim; but—lI’ve been there myself. From what you and Kate and Kelly have told me, the young woman must be a marvel. There is one consola- tion for you, Jim: she appears to be travel- ing in the same direction that we are. ‘‘ Kate says that when she hailed her yesterday she looked awful wishfully at Kelly, and Seemed to be put out when she discevered that he wasn’t some one else. Perhaps she’s constituted herself your guardian angel, Jim, and means to see you through.” Arnold flushed and had no reply to offer. Jim had come to South America to do all that in him lay to aid his friends in the recovery of Bobby Jones. Events ef the last three days had added another objective to his future. It was to find the beautiful wanderer who had crossed his path—to follow and to find her, though the search should prove as hopeless as the strange quest of Don Castro. | ’ That afternoon the party reached San Marces, the home of Enrique, a village of tapiales, or mud-walled hovels roofed with tiles or grass; with the ever present plaza- and church; and with a sewage system of open trenches or gutters dug along, and in places across, the roadway. As the sky threatened, and as they did not wish to submit their tents to the severe test of the torrential downpour of a cordil- leran rain-storm, the travelers could have wished San Marcos different. Luckily there was near the town a tambo, LAND OF THE SHADOW PEOPLE. 65 a building maintained by the Peruvian government for the accommodation of tran- sients, according to a usage which dates back to the days of the Incas themselves;| and thither the wayfarers betook them- selves. ‘“ Wish the government had to live in it,” groaned Jones when he saw it. A tambo is not a hotel. It has neither landlord nor maitre de cuisine, nor yet servants. This one had four walls of sun- dried mud and a part of a roof; and that, and the fact that it was out of nasal range of the village, were about all that could be said for it. The machachos tumed to and worked with a will to make it habitable for the night—and then it did not rain after all. ““ A dog’s limping, a woman’s pouting, and a cordilleran sky: be ye ever doubt- ing,’”’ quoted Don Castro, stepping in the morning from the inhospitable tambo into a smiling and cloudless dawn. By the advice of De Ulloa, the. members of the party attended the funeral of En- rique, which took place that morning in the little adobe church of San Marcos, and at which the presence of los Americanos, especially that of the golden-haired sexora, provided a feature to be talked of by the inhabitants of the place for many days afterward. | “It will make us friends among the Cholos, who are none too well disposed toward strangers,” explained the don; “ and will make a good impression upon our own men, who do not labor entirely for the gold of the patron.” _sShortly after the departure from San Marcos, the weather proverb of Don Castro was exemplified with a vengeance. Within an hour the sky became overcast, a chill wind tore down from the snow-caps of the cordillera, bringing with it a drive of rolling mists, and then a cold, pelting rain. As no adequate shelter offered the way, it was decided to push on to the village of Puntou. Such rainproof articles as had been provided were brought into play, and the riders settled dispiritedly in their sad- dles to jog on through the downpour. Even the stolid arrieros had to grin at the spectacle of Grimshaw. The bulk of the cCoOmiclbooks C©