Chapter VII.
THE FIGHT IN THE DARK.
I returned to consciousness with a sickening sensation of nausea and unreality. Only my brain was alive; my entire body was numb and as though paralyzed. Still darkness and silence, for all my senses told me I might have been still in the spot where I had fallen.
Then I tried to move my arms, and found that my hands and feet were firmly bound. I strained at the thongs, making some slight sound; and immediately I heard a whisper but a few feet away:
"Are you awake, Paul?"
I was still half dazed, but I recognized Harry's voice, and I answered simply: "Yes. Where are we?"
"The Lord knows! They carried us. You have been unconscious for hours."
"They carried us?"
"Yes. A thousand miles, I think, on their backs. What—what are they, Paul?"
"I don't know. Did you see them?"
"No. Too dark. They are strong as gorillas and covered with hair; I felt that much. They didn't make a sound all the time. No more than half as big as me, and yet one of them carried me as if I were a baby—and I weigh one hundred and seventy pounds."
"What are we bound with?"
"Don't know; it feels like leather; tough as rats. I've been working at it for two hours, but it won't give."
"Well, you know what that means. Dumb brutes don't tie a man up."
"But it's impossible."
"Nothing is impossible. But listen!"
There was a sound—the swift patter of feet; they were approaching. Then suddenly a form bent over me close; I could see nothing, but I felt a pressure against my body and an ill-smelling odor, indescribable, entered my nostrils. I felt a sawing movement at my wrists; the thongs pulled back and forth, and soon my hands were free. The form straightened away from me, there was a clatter on the ground near my head, and then silence.
There came an oath from Harry:
"Hang the brute! He's cut my wrist. Are your hands free, Paul?"
"Yes."
"Then bind this up; it's bleeding badly. What was that for?"
"I have an idea," I answered as I tore a strip from my shirt and bandaged the wound, which proved to be slight. Then I searched on the ground beside me, and found my surmise correct.
"Here you go, Hal! here's some grub. But what the deuce is it? By Jove, it's dried fish! Now, where in the name of—"
But we wasted no more time in talk, for we were half starved. The stuff was not bad; to us who had been fasting for something like thirty-six hours—for our idea of time was extremely hazy—it was a gorgeous banquet. And close by there was a basin full of water.
"Pretty decent sort of beggars, I say," came Harry's voice in the darkness. "But who are they?"
"Ask Felipe," I answered, for by this time I was well convinced of the nature and identity of our captors. "As I said, dumb brutes don't bind men with thongs, nor feed them on dried fish. Of course it's incredible, but a man must be prepared to believe anything."
"But, Paul! You mean—"
"Exactly. We are in the hands of the Incas of Huanuco—or rather their descendants."
"But that was four hundred years ago!"
"Your history is perfect, like Desiree's geography," said I dryly. "But what then? They have merely chosen to live under the world instead of on it; a rather wise decision, a cynic might say—not to mention the small circumstance that they are prisoners.
"My dear Hal, never allow yourself to be surprised at anything; it is a weakness. Here we are in total darkness, buried in the Andes, surrounded by hairy, degenerate brutes that are probably allowing us to eat in order that we may be in condition to be eaten, with no possibility of ever again beholding the sunshine; and what is the thought that rises to the surface of my mind? Merely this: that I most earnestly desire and crave a Carbajal perfecto and a match."
"Paul, you say—eat—"
"Most probably they are cannibals. The Lord knows they must have some sort of mild amusement in this fearful hole. Of course, the idea is distasteful; before they cut us up they'll have to knock us down."
"T…
