"
"No," retorted Bob, "not if it is a little at, a time. But you're
bricks--both of you--if I thank you I'll cry." The tears were again
in his eyes.
"Well, it wasn't the thing to do, I suppose," said Ned turning away,
"but you looked so hungry to go, and I knew what it meant. So I
thought we'd just give you a little ride up to the camp."
"Yes, of course," answered Bob slowly as his hopes fell. "Put me
out wherever you like," he added.
"You can go up now and have a look around," said Ned at last, "both
of you. I'll take the wheel."
The relieved boys scrambled onto the bridge deck. Night was coming
on and the mountains to the west were already black. Evening
shadows were lengthening on the sloping plains beneath and a gentle,
rising breeze flapped the flag and pennant and swayed the bag above
them. Beneath, the Chusco wound its half dry course and off to the
east a blue haze, melting into the unending sand, told of a treeless
and waterless waste.
"And there," exclaimed Alan at last, pointing off to the northwest
where snow-capped, ragged peaks rose out of a black jumble of
mountains, "are the Tunit Chas and the land of our dreams.
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