James Foster - Secrets of the Andes

“LOOK!The bridge is out! Stop the car – quick!” Bob Holton’s voice was unsteady as he gazed ahead at the place of danger.

Acting on the instant, Joe Lewis pushed the brake pedal to the floor and waited breathlessly, his mind filled with thoughts of tragedy.

The wheels of the small automobile locked, but the momentum carried the car on at a sickening pace. Despite the fact that the tires were new, they slipped over the road easily.

An instant later the youths saw that the distance between themselves and the washout was not great enough. In but a few seconds they would be plunging down the embankment into the swollen river.

There was not a moment to lose. Opening the doors as rapidly as possible, the chums jumped from the car and rolled over on the ground, their faces wet with perspiration.

And they were none too soon. The car sped on, reached the edge of the river bank, and then plunged out of sight.

There was a loud splash as it struck the water, and then all was quiet. The sun continued on its downward path, the faint wind played through the trees. Nothing but two lone boys were left to tell of the misfortune.

“Well,” sighed Joe, at last breaking the silence, “we sure had a tough break, didn’t we?”

“Lucky to get off with our lives, though,” Bob reminded him. “That was about the closest shave I’ve ever had. Wonder why the highway commission didn’t put out a sign?”

“Probably didn’t know the bridge was out. Not many cars go over this road, and it would not be exceptional for this to go unnoticed for quite a while.”

“We’ll sure make a report of it,” said Bob, getting to his feet and brushing off his mud-stained trousers.

Joe laughed unwillingly.

“That’ll be like locking the barn after the horse has been stolen,” he grunted. “Come on,” he went on, “let’s go over to the river bank and see if we can catch a glimpse of the coupé.”

The youths walked over and stared into the swiftly moving water. It had rained in torrents two days before, and the river was now almost a rapids.

“Car’s nowhere in sight,” said Joe Lewis gloomily. “But” – his face lighting suddenly – “it’s insured. So I guess there’s no use worrying.”

“Maybe not about the automobile. But how are we going to get back to Washington?”

“We’ll have to hike to the main highway, I guess,” Joe answered. “It’s about five miles away, too.”

The youths were returning to their homes in Washington, D. C., after having spent a delightful week-end in Virginia. Their accident came upon them in a rather out-of-the-way spot, a great number of miles from the city of their destination.

“If it hadn’t been for that hill,” remarked Joe, as he and his friend walked back up the road, “we would have seen this place in time to stop the car.”

“The hill is here, though,” returned Bob with a grim smile. “So that’s that.”

The boys paused a moment at the spot where they had jumped from the doomed automobile. With one last look at the washout, they turned and began climbing the grade.

“Five miles is a good distance to walk,” grunted Joe, “especially when we want to get home before long.”

“That last you said made the first all right,” laughed Bob Holton, “because on the Sahara and in Brazil we often hiked, not five miles, but several times that far without stopping.”

The friends were refreshed after the idle weekend trip and worked their legs like pistons. Despite their serious predicament, they observed the wonders of autumn with the eye of a nature lover.

Leaves of yellow and brown were lying about the ground in profusion, while others on the trees were almost ready to fall. There was a cool afternoon breeze that gave evidence of winter being not far off.

“Think there’s a chance of getting a ride with somebody?” asked Joe, as the youths followed the curving road.

Bob shook his head.

“Fellows in this part of the country are pretty careful about picking up strangers,” he returned. “Too many stick-ups and robberies. Still we might see some soft-hearted person who would not be afraid to take a chance with us.”

“The question is, though,” began Joe, “will we get in with somebody before night? It’s three o’clock now, and we may have to do a great deal of thumbing before anybody will stop and let us in.”

The road wound through a rather isolated section, with only an occasional farmhouse looming up from behind the trees. It was indeed a poor place to be stranded.

The sun was well down to the horizon when the youths finally reached the through highway. Although they had done their best, they had found it difficult to avoid the many large mud puddles that often reached nearly across the road.

“Now to get down to business,” said Bob, gazing far down the highway. “We’ll surely find a car before long that will pick us up.”

“Here comes one now,” observed Joe. “It’ll be here before long. Come on, let’s get out farther.”

The boys waited for the automobile to come nearer. Then they signaled the driver. But the latter appeared to pay no attention to the young men. A moment later the car whizzed on up the road.

Bob and Joe looked at each other. Their faces clearly showed that they expected the worst.

“Could hardly blame him, though,” remarked Bob. “So many innocent-faced crooks walk the highways that it’s unsafe to pick up anyone.”

“But you know the old proverb,” grinned the other youth. “‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.’ According to that, we – Look! Here comes another car. Maybe we’ll have better luck this time.”

Again the chums signaled, and were delighted to see that the car was coming to a stop. At a motion from the driver, who was the only occupant, they climbed inside.

“How far ye goin’?” the stranger asked. He was a short, fat man who looked capable of great mirth.

“To Washington,” replied Bob. “We had an accident with our car not far from here.”

“Accident, hey? Not hurt, I hope?”

“No. We were able to jump out in time. You see, we came unexpectedly on a spot where the bridge was washed away. Caused by the recent rain, no doubt.”

“Oh. Tough luck, wasn’t it? And the machine – was it insured?”

“Luckily it was,” replied Joe with a chuckle. “Though we may have trouble in proving it.”

“Fight it to the finish!” said the man, shifting his cud of tobacco to the other side of his mouth. “If you have to, take it to court.”

“I hardly think that will be necessary,” Joe said with a smile. “The insurance company bears a good name.”

“Wonder if this guy’s Scotch?” mused Bob to himself. Only recently the youth had read a good joke about a man of that nationality.

For the next half-hour the three carried on a varied conversation. It was at last broken as they neared a small town.

They had almost entered the city limits when a slowly moving freight train halted them. Reluctantly they settled back and waited.

“This will mean a big loss of time,” remarked Joe, as he gazed far down the track at the seemingly endless string of cars. “I’m anxious to – ”

“Listen!” commanded Bob, leaning forward wonderingly. “Did you hear anything? There it is again.”

“It’s a muffled cry for help, coming from one of those freight cars.” Joe had opened the door of the sedan.

With a parting word for the driver, the youths left the automobile and ran down the track, straining their ears for a repetition of the cry.

“There it is again!” declared Joe. “Sounds like a young boy. In that third freight car up there.”