“That all seems very simple,” said Harvey.
They had few adventures during this stage of the journey. Several times wild animals crossed their paths, but the young men had learned wisdom on the trip from Chicla to Huari, and Señor Cisneros was an old woodsman, so they were always on the lookout. Game continued plentiful, although the country grew more open each day.
The Marañon changed from a slow-running stream to a broad, rapid-coursing river; in places were cataracts, and the shore line became uneven, boulders being piled so high that the way between them was difficult to find. In this rough country they were once all day going three miles and were exhausted when night came. Harvey and Ferguson had large blisters on their feet, and the other two proposed that they rest for the twenty-four hours following; but the Americans were too anxious to proceed, being so near the journey’s end, and the next morning, binding pieces of a handkerchief around the bruised places, they announced themselves able to push ahead.
This was the twelfth day from Huari, and all agreed that at any time they might come upon the great rock that marked the way to the mine. They were certain they had not passed it unobserved, for since the fifth day from the village they had not moved a step forward after dusk or until morning was well advanced. When compelled to make detours, one or more of them had ascended every half hour to some eminence, like a tree or a high mound, and had carefully surveyed the right bank to the water’s edge.
Toward four o’clock on this day Hope-Jones and Harvey were walking somewhat in advance of the others. The boy was limping slightly and was in more pain than he would admit to his companion, who had urged him not to go any further, to which Harvey had replied, “One more mile and then I’ll give in.”
The lad was singing, to keep up his courage, and the words were those of the familiar Sunday-school hymn:—
“Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war.”
Suddenly he stopped, gave a yell, and his face turned pale.
“What is it?” exclaimed Hope-Jones. “Are you hurt?”
“Look! Look! Look!” and the boy pointed straight ahead, between two trees. There, bathed in sunlight, the Englishman saw that which made his heart beat like a trip-hammer—a high boulder that shone as purest marble.