Under the Andes. Rex Stout

is no art nor poetry in that wonderful sight; it is glorious war. The sun charges forth in a vast flame of inconceivable brilliance; you can almost hear the shout of victory. He who made the universe is no artist; too often He forgets restraint, and blinds us.

      I turned, almost regretting that I had come, for I had been put out of tune with my task. Then I mounted the donkey and slowly traversed the few remaining yards to the Peak.

      There, seated in the dazzling sunshine on the edge of a huge boulder near the eastern precipice, were the two I sought.

      Le Mire's head was turned from me as she sat gazing silently at the tumbling, gorgeous mass of clouds that seemed almost to be resting on her lap; Harry was looking at her. And such a look!

      There was no rival even in nature that could conquer Le Mire; never, I believe, did woman achieve a more notable victory than hers of that morning. I watched them for several minutes before I moved or spoke; and never once did Harry's eyes leave her face.

      Then I advanced a step, calling his name; and they turned and caught sight of me.

      "Paul!" cried Harry, leaping to his feet; then he stopped short and stared at me half defiantly, half curiously, moving close to Le Mire and placing his hand on her shoulder like a child clinging to a toy.

      His companion had not moved, except to turn her head; but after the first swift shadow of surprise her face brightened with a smile of welcome, for all the world as though this were a morning call in her boudoir.

      "Senor and Senora Ramal, I believe?" said I with a smile, crossing to them with an exaggerated bow.

      I could see Harry cocking his ear to catch the tone of my first words, and when he heard their friendliness a grin overspread his face. He took his hand from Le Mire's shoulder and held it out to me.

      "How did you come here? How did you find us?"

      "You forgot to provide Le Mire with a veil," said I by way of answer.

      Harry looked at me, then at his companion. "Of course," he agreed—"of course. By Jove! that was stupid of us."

      Whereupon Le Mire laughed with such frank enjoyment of the boy's simplicity that I couldn't help but join her.

      "And now," said Harry, "I suppose you want to know—"

      "I want to know nothing—at present," I interrupted. "It's nearly six o'clock, and since ten last night I've been on top of the most perfectly imbecile donkey ever devised by nature. I want breakfast."

      Velvet lids were upraised from Le Mire's eyes. "Here?" she queried.

      I pointed to the place—extreme charity might give it the title of inn—where smoke was rising from a tin chimney.

      Soon we were seated inside with a pot of steaming black coffee before us. Harry was bubbling over with gaiety and good will, evidently occasioned by my unexpected friendliness, while Le Mire sat for the most part silent. It was easy to see that she was more than a little disturbed by my arrival, which surprised me.

      I gazed at her with real wonder and increasing admiration. It was six in the morning; she had had no sleep, and had just finished a most fatiguing journey of some eight hours; but I had never seen her so beautiful.

      Our host approached, and I turned to him:

      "What have you?"

      There was pity in his glance.

      "Aigs," said he, with an air of finality.

      "Ah!" said Le Mire. "I want them—let's see—au beurre noire, if you please."

      The man looked at her and uttered the single word: "Fried."

      "Fried?" said she doubtfully.

      "Only fried," was the inexorable answer. "How many?"

      Le Mire turned to me, and I explained. Then she turned again to the surly host with a smile that must have caused him to regret his gruffness.

      "Well, then, fr-r-ied!" said she, rolling the "r" deliciously. "And you may bring me five, if you please."

      It appeared that I was not the only hungry one. We ate leisurely and smoked more leisurely still, and started on our return journey a little before eight o'clock.

      It was late in the afternoon when we arrived at the Antlers. The trip was accomplished without accident, but Le Mire was thoroughly exhausted and Harry was anything but fresh. That is the worst of mountain climbing: the exaltation at the summit hardly pays you for the reaction at the foot. We entered the broad portico with frank sighs of relief.

      I said something about joining them at dinner and left for my own rooms.

      At dinner that evening Harry was in high spirits and took great delight in everything that was said, both witty and dull, while Le Mire positively sparkled.

      She made her impression; not a man in the well-filled room but sent his tribute of admiring glances as she sat seemingly unconscious of all but Harry and myself. That is always agreeable; a man owes something to the woman who carries a room for him.

      I had intended to have a talk with Harry after dinner, but I postponed it; the morning would assuredly be better. There was dancing in the salon, but we were all too tired to take advantage of it; and after listening to one or two numbers, during which Le Mire was kept busy turning aside the importunities of would-be partners, we said good night and sought our beds.

      It was late the next morning when the precious pair joined me in the garden, and when we went in for breakfast we found the dining-room quite empty. We did not enjoy it as on the morning previous; the cuisine was of the kind usually—and in this case justly—described as "superior," but we did not have the same edge on our appetite.

      We were not very talkative; I myself was almost taciturn, having before me the necessity of coming to an understanding with Harry, a task which I was far from relishing. But there were certain things I must know.

      "What do you say to a ride down the valley?" said Harry. "They have excellent horses here; I tried one of 'em the other day."

      "I trust that they bear no resemblance to my donkey," said I with feeling.

      "Ugh!" said Le Mire with a shudder. "Never shall I forget that ride. Besides," she added, turning to Harry, "this morning I would be in the way. Don't you know that your brother has a thousand things to say to you? He wants to scold you; you must remember that you are a very bad boy."

      And she sent me a glance half defiant, half indifferent, which plainly said: "If I fight you, I shall win; but I really care very little about it one way or the other."

      After breakfast she went to her room—to have her hair dressed, she said—and I led Harry to a secluded corner of the magnificent grounds surrounding the hotel. During the walk we were both silent: Harry, I suppose, was wondering what I was going to say, while I was trying to make up my own mind.

      "I suppose," he began abruptly, "you are going to tell me I have acted like a fool. Go ahead; the sooner it's over the better."

      "Nothing of the sort," said I, glad that he had opened it.

      He stopped short, demanding to know what I meant.

      "Of course," I continued, "Le Mire is a most amazing prize. Not exactly my style perhaps, but there are few men in the world who wouldn't envy you. I congratulate you.

      "But there were two things I feared for several reasons—Le Mire's fascination, your own youth and impulsive recklessness, and the rather curious mode of your departure. I feared first and most that you would marry her; second, that you would achieve odium and publicity for our name."

      Harry was regarding me with a smile which had in it very little of amusement; it held a tinge of bitterness.

      "And so," he burst out suddenly, "you were afraid I would marry her! Well, I would. The last time I asked her"—again the smile—"was this morning."