Frank Walton - The Flying Machine Boys in the Wilds

The Flying Machine Boys were camping under the equator. The Louise and the Bertha , the splendid aeroplanes in which the lads had visited California and Mexico, lay on a great plateau some fifteen thousand feet above the level of the Pacific ocean, and two thin tents of light oiled-silk stood not far away.

Ben Whitcomb and Jimmie Stuart sat at the entrance of one of the tents shivering with cold, while Glenn Richards and Carl Nichols, in the interest of increased warmth, chased each other around a miserable little apology for a fire which alternately blazed and smoldered near the aeroplanes.

“I begin to understand now how those who freeze to death must suffer!” declared Ben, his teeth chattering like the “bones” of an end-man in a minstrel show.

“You give me a pain!” grinned Jimmie. “Here we are almost exactly under the equator, and yet you talk of being cold!”

The boy’s lips were blue and he swung his arms about his body in the hope of getting a livelier circulation of blood as he spoke.

“Under the equator!” scoffed Ben. “Better say ‘under the Arctic circle!’ What are we camping here for, anyway?” he added impatiently, springing to his feet. “Why not drop down into a region where the equator isn’t covered with ice a foot thick?”

“You wanted to pass a night up here!” laughed Carl, stopping in front of the two boys, his eyes dancing with mischief, his cheeks flushed from exercise. “You told us how you wanted to breathe the cool, sweet air of the hills! Now breathe it!”

“The cool, sweet air of the hills,” Ben retorted, “reminds me of the atmosphere of the big refrigerator at home.”

Glenn Richards now joined the little group and stood laughing at the disgusted expression on the face of his chum.

“Didn’t I tell you,” he exclaimed, “that Ecuador is the land of contradictions? When you come here, you bring a peck or two of quinine tablets, a bundle or two of mosquito netting, and a couple of bales of fans. You bring your summer clothing, and don’t expect to wear much of that. Then you go on a trip up-country and freeze to death where the ice is about nine thousand feet thick!”

“I know where all the heat goes!” Jimmie declared. “It pours out of those big peaks you see off there. How do you suppose the earth is going to keep any warmth in it when it is all running out at volcanoes?”

The boys were, perhaps, twenty miles north of Quito, almost exactly under the equator. From the plateau on which they were encamped several ancient volcanoes were in plain view.

“Huh! I guess the volcanoes we see are about burned out!” Carl declared. “At any rate, I don’t hear of their filling in any valleys with lava.”

“I guess about all they do now is to smoke,” Ben suggested.

“And that’s a bad habit, too!” Glenn Richards grinned.

“Now, I’ll tell you what we’d better do, boys,” Glenn said, after glancing disapprovingly at the small fire. “We’d better hop on the machines and drop down about ten thousand feet. I’ve got enough of this high mountain business.”

“All right!” Jimmie returned. “You know what you said about wanting experiences which were out of the way. If you think you’ve got one here, we’ll slide down to the green grass.”

It was late in November and the hot, dry season of the South American continent was on. Far below the boys could see the dark green of luxuriant vegetation, while all around them lay the bare brown peaks of lofty plateaus and lifting mountain cones.

As it was somewhere near the middle of the afternoon, the boys lost no time in packing their camp equipage and provisions on the aeroplanes. In order to find a suitable place for a camp lower down they might be obliged to traverse considerable country.

In describing this part of the continent a traveler once crumpled a sheet of paper in his hand and tossed it on the table, saying to a friend as he did so that that was an outline map of the northern part of South America. There were many gorges and plateaus, but only a few spots where aeroplanes might land with safety.

After quite a long flight, during which the machines soared around cliffs and slid into valleys and gorges, the boys found a green valley watered by the Esmeraldas river. Here they dropped down, and the shelter-tents were soon ready for occupancy.

“I suppose,” Carl grumbled as provisions were taken from the flying machines and brought to the vicinity of the fire, “that we’ll have to fight thousands of kinds of crawling and creeping things before morning!”

“Well,” Jimmie laughed, “you wouldn’t stay up there where the flying and creeping things don’t live!”

“My private opinion,” declared Glenn, “is that we ought to spend most of our time in the air! I wish we could sleep on the machines!”

“Where are we going, anyhow?” demanded Jimmie.

“We’re going to follow the backbone of the South American continent clear to Cape Horn!” replied Ben. “That is, if our flying machines and our tempers hold out!”

“I have an idea,” Glenn said, “that we’ll spend most of the time in Peru, which is probably the oldest country in the world so far as civilization is concerned.”

“That’s another dream!” exclaimed Carl.

“Look here,” Glenn exclaimed, “there are still temples and palaces in Peru which date back beyond the remotest reach of tradition. The earliest Incas believed that many of the fortresses, castles and temples which they found there were formed by the gods when the world was made.”

“That’s going back a long ways!” laughed Jimmie.

“There’s a lake in Peru called Titicaca on an island in the middle of which lies an ancient palace and many other structures,” Glenn went on. “Gathered about it are the remains of a civilization that was old when the people of Europe consisted of a group of semi-heathen tribes wandering from place to place. There are palaces surpassing anything to be seen on the Rhine, and castles which had fallen into decay before civilization began at the mouth of the Nile.”

“Go to it!” laughed Carl. “Make it good and old while you’re about it!”

“On the island of Titicaca,” continued Glenn, “are marvels in architecture which make the wonders of Egypt look like thirty cents! There are massive fortifications perched on the sides of almost perpendicular cliffs, and even to-day there are large stones carefully balanced on the verge of precipices, ready to be pushed off at a moment’s notice and sent crashing down on the legions of an attacking foe.”

“Those old fellows must have been fighters!” commented Ben.

“They were fighters, all right!” Glenn went on. “They ruled all that part of the world until the Spaniards came. They were very superstitious, the sun being an object of worship. The Temple of the Sun, on the island of Titicaca, was one of the most magnificent structures ever erected. Outside and inside the walls were lined with gold and precious stones. The temple was the pride of the Incas, but it was stripped of its rich covering by the Spaniards. The walls were torn down and rifled, and the sacred sun was seized and gambled for by the covetous invaders. Nothing that could be converted into money was overlooked. And since that time the Incas have become one of the lowest races on the face of the earth.”

“I suppose we shall be able to inspect a lot of these old temples?” asked Carl.

“Undoubtedly!” Glenn answered. “Some of them are deserted; some are occupied by native Indians, and some are said to be frequented by the spirits of those who erected them.”