a great deal. Dick clasped their hands, and they, seeing him so pale and thin, said no word. Together they walked along for a few minutes, deep in thoughts. At last Mr. Montgomery turned to his nephew:
"What happened to Don Christobal? Do you know?"
"I thought he was with you." Dick's voice was toneless, detached from all things of this world.
It was only then that Natividad, without being asked, explained how he and Uncle Francis, after the frustrated attempt in the House of the Serpent, had been thrown into a dungeon in which they passed four days, and in which the illustrious scientist had at last become convinced of the reality of their adventure. At the end of those four days, finding the prison doors open and unguarded, they had fled.
Apparently all the Indians were bolting to the mountains from Cuzco, and the explanation for this they had found on reaching Sicuani. President Veintemilla, risking his all on one bold stroke, had surprised Garcia's forces in the middle of the Interaymi fêtes, and the four squadrons of his escort which remained faithful had cut up and routed the thousands of Quichua riflemen. Barely five hundred in all, but of Spanish blood, they had repeated Pizarro's ex-
