The Phenomenology of Dance 15 Anv Edition Maxine

Sheets-Johnstone - PDF Download (2025)

https://ebookultra.com/download/the-phenomenology-of-
dance-15-anv-edition-maxine-sheets-johnstone/

Visit ebookultra.com today to download the complete set of

ebooks or textbooks
We have selected some products that you may be interested in
Click the link to download now or visit ebookultra.com
for more options!.

Sheets Brenna Thummler

https://ebookultra.com/download/sheets-brenna-thummler/

The SAGE handbook of feminist theory 1st Edition Johnstone

https://ebookultra.com/download/the-sage-handbook-of-feminist-
theory-1st-edition-johnstone/

Asian Dance 2nd Edition World of Dance Elizabeth A. Hanley

https://ebookultra.com/download/asian-dance-2nd-edition-world-of-
dance-elizabeth-a-hanley/

African Dance 2nd Edition World of Dance Elizabeth A.

Hanley

https://ebookultra.com/download/african-dance-2nd-edition-world-of-
dance-elizabeth-a-hanley/
Ukraine 2nd Edition Sarah Johnstone

https://ebookultra.com/download/ukraine-2nd-edition-sarah-johnstone/

Term Sheets Valuations Alex Wilmerding

https://ebookultra.com/download/term-sheets-valuations-alex-
wilmerding/

Dance Masters Interviews with Legends of Dance 1st Edition

Janet Lynn Roseman

https://ebookultra.com/download/dance-masters-interviews-with-legends-
of-dance-1st-edition-janet-lynn-roseman/

The Mythology of Dance 1st Edition Harry Eiss

https://ebookultra.com/download/the-mythology-of-dance-1st-edition-
harry-eiss/

Infinite Jest 10 Anv Edition David Foster Wallace

https://ebookultra.com/download/infinite-jest-10-anv-edition-david-
foster-wallace/
The Phenomenology of Dance 15 Anv Edition Maxine
Sheets-Johnstone Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Maxine Sheets-Johnstone
ISBN(s): 9781439912614, 1439912610
Edition: 15 Anv
File Details: PDF, 4.20 MB
Year: 2015
Language: english
The Phenomenology of
Dance
Maxine Sheets-Johnstone

The Phenomenology of

Dance
Fiftieth Anniversary Edition

Foreword by Merce Cunningham

TEMPLE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Philadelphia | Rome | Tokyo
TEMPLE UNIVERSITY PRESS
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19122
www.temple.edu/tempress

Copyright © 1966, 1979, 1980 by Maxine Sheets-Johnstone

Copyright © 2015 by Temple University—Of The Commonwealth System
of Higher Education
All rights reserved

First edition published 1966 by the University of Wisconsin Press

Second edition published 1979 by Dance Books Ltd. (London) and 1980 by
Arno Press (New York)
Fiftieth anniversary edition published 2015 by Temple University Press

Foreword by Merce Cunningham reprinted with permission of the Merce

Cunningham Trust

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Sheets-Johnstone, Maxine.
The phenomenology of dance / Maxine Sheets-Johnstone.
pages cm
Reprint of the ed. published by University of Wisconsin Press, Madison,
1966.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4399-1261-4 (hardback : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-1-4399-
1262-1 (paper : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-1-4399-1263-8 (e-book)
1. Dance—Philosophy. 2. Phenomenology. I. Title.
GV1595.S5 2015
793.301—dc23
2014044763

The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the

American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of
Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992

Printed in the United States of America

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 To the unending wonders of movement—

and to past, present, and future dance artists, educators, and students

whose creative spirit and energies have brought and continue to bring

those wonders to life

 Contents

Foreword ix
Preface to the Fiftieth Anniversary Edition xi
Preface to the Second Edition xxxi

1 Perspective 1
2 Phenomenology: An Approach to Dance 7
3 A Phenomenological Account of the Illusion of Force 25
4 The Plastic Components of Virtual Force 39
5 Abstraction 47
6 Expression 62
7 Dynamic Line 69
8 More on Dynamic Line: A Phenomenological Concept
of Rhythm 81
9 The Imaginative Space of Dance 91
10 Educational Implications: Dance Composition 105
11 Educational Implications: Dance as Art 116

Notes 125
Bibliography 133
Index 139
 Foreword

D
ance is movement, and its opposite, in time and space. It is
this continuously changing fact that gives its structure—
its permanence in fluidity—and provides a fascination that
impels a good many people to be concerned with it: choreographers,
performers, teachers, and spectators.
It is its own necessity, not so much as a representation of the
moving world, rather as a part of it, with inherent springs.
Mrs. Sheets has chosen here to involve herself with just that
aspect of the art that makes up its life and primal force—its moving
phenomena—and that, in turn, allows us to have a look into the con-
stant energies.
In a time when many of the college and university dance depart-
ments over the United States are dealing with the possibility of includ-
ing a more direct professional training, Mrs. Sheets’s remarks about
the arrival of professional dancers on the academic scene as teachers
and as professional workers, and the ensuing exchange with the educa-
tors, are pertinent.
The continuing aliveness of dance in any situation lies in the indi-
vidual dancer’s solution to the persistent and elusive daily quest for its
x \ FOR EWOR D

instant-by-instant behavior, and Mrs. Sheets is pointing out that to

look directly at this is a way for the dance in the academic situation to
further its already strong and historical achievement.

Merce Cunningham
New York
July 17, 1965
 Preface to
the Fiftieth Anniversary Edition

I
deeply appreciate the decision of Temple University Press to publish
this third edition, nearly fifty years after the publication of the first
edition of The Phenomenology of Dance. I am deeply honored as well
by the value and near classic status that reviewers have placed on the
book. The decision by the press together with the value and esteem
given the book by reviewers are a tribute to phenomenology and its
rigorous and challenging methodology, for it is that methodology that
has guided the descriptive analyses in the book and that has allowed it
to stand the test of time.
In the intervening years, ongoing experiences in movement and
dance have deepened and broadened my reflections on dance, move-
ment, and bodies, and of course the art of dance itself has evolved. As
I noted in the Preface to the Second Edition, symbolic forms of dance
were the mainstay of modern dance in America prior to the revolu-
tionary shifts in focus in the 1960s, and it was the dynamic structure
of these symbolically expressive forms that was the focus of the origi-
nal book. To acknowledge and celebrate the creative explorations and
energies that fuel the changing art of dance, I would restate what I
later wrote in that Preface, namely, that there are revisions I would
make with respect to “some absolute statements . . . which presume
xii \ Preface to the Fiftieth Anniversary Edition

an unchanging world of dance.” I would add now too that in addition

to the changing art of dance itself, academic programs in dance have
grown as have academic writings on dance, movement, and bodies.
Scholarship on these topics has indeed grown. In effect, what this pres-
ent Preface affords is the opportunity not only to reflect and critically
examine once again what I originally wrote in the pages that follow,
but to cite advances in my ongoing research and writings on dance,
movement, and bodies, particularly in the context of questioning the
experiential validity of contemporary writings by philosophers on the
sense modality that is kinesthesia or its outright neglect. Kinesthesia
is, after all, at the very heart of dance as a formed and performed art.
What this Preface furthermore affords is the opportunity to spell
out in finer detail the value of a phenomenological methodology and
just what is involved in carrying out the methodology. Accordingly,
in addition to questioning and answering to contemporary writings
by philosophers—both phenomenologists and analytic philosophers—
this Preface presents a prolegomenon of sorts to phenomenological
methodology as a discipline in its own right, one warranting both
respect and distinction from post-structuralist and, in general, cultural
relativist studies. Before engaging readers in these introductory mat-
ters, I turn attention to the text itself, specifically to possible lexical
emendations I thought of making and to straightforward phenomeno-
logical emendations I would definitely make were I to rewrite several
paragraphs of Chapter 2 having to do with a “bodily schema” and a
consequent neglect of kinesthetic experience and kinesthetic memory.
The possible lexical emendations concern several sentences in
Chapter 2 that contain dated if not politically incorrect language. Deep
reflections of my own along with discussions with others have led me
to leave the text as it originally appeared—thus, for example, I have
retained the term “man,” as in “Man comprises temporality within
himself ” (p. 12). At the time I was studying dance and when I was
writing The Phenomenology of Dance, a popular and unquestioned adage
was “Man has always danced.” As noted in the opening sentence of an
article titled “‘Man Has Always Danced’: Forays into an Art Largely
Forgotten by Philosophers,” “If the statement ‘man has always danced’
were true, philosophers ought to have found a good deal more to say
about dance than the little they have said.”1 My critical remark was and
 Preface to the Fiftieth Anniversary Edition / xiii

surely remains warranted, but as I also stated in that article, “However

interesting it might be to concentrate attention on the former term
[‘man’] and critically assay its use as a sexually- or gender-biased term,
more elemental or foundational matters concern us.”2 The more elemen-
tal or foundational matters in the article concern the word “always,”
hence an investigation into the socio-historical evidence that would
sustain the claim that humans have always danced. In short, though
I initially opted to change “man” to “human” and to make other such
changes in this third edition, I subsequently chose to let the past be,
in light of both my faith in an enlightened present-day world and my
essential concern with the nature of dance as a formed and performed
art. I would hope that readers find that superseding focal concern of
similar overriding significance as they take up the phenomenological
analyses set forth in the original text that follows.
As to straightforward phenomenological emendations, I would now
correct what I attribute to a “bodily schema” in Chapter 2 and Chapter
9, namely, a pre-reflective awareness of the body’s spatiality. I would
properly and energetically highlight and elucidate kinesthesia in its
place—which I do here and now in the several paragraphs that follow.
In general terms, phenomenologists—and more broadly, present-
day philosophers as well as neuroscientists—can come closer phenom-
enologically to the body than do Merleau-Ponty and those following his
lead, specifically with what they offer in terms of a hypothetical “body
schema” and a consequent blindness to kinesthesia. In turn, present-
day philosophers and neuroscientists can delve deeper into first-person
experiential truths of what I term in the text that follows “corporeal
consciousness”; in particular, they can delve deeper into first-person
experiential realities of movement and thus experiential truths of kines-
thetic consciousness. Several articles and essays of mine since the origi-
nal publication of The Phenomenology of Dance attest to the validity of
this claim.3 The claim is in fact succinctly supported in an endnote
in the final chapter of the expanded second edition of The Primacy of
Movement, published in 2011 (the first edition was published in 1999).4
I paraphrase it in part as follows:

Contrary to the claim of Shaun Gallagher, Merleau-Ponty does

not “treat kinesthesia”;5 i.e., he does not examine phenome-
xiv \ Preface to the Fiftieth Anniversary Edition

nologically the experience of self-movement. If he had done

so, could he possibly have written of the body “[a]s a mass of
tactile, labyrinthine and kinaesthetic data,”6 for example, and
of the “massive sentiment I have of the sack in which I am
enclosed”?7 Most tellingly, could he have failed to follow up his
own query about movement, instead declaring, “[I]n thinking
clearly about movement, I do not understand how it can ever
begin for me, and be given to me as a phenomenon”?8 Clearly,
one can hardly claim that Merleau-Ponty “treats kinesthesia.”
Merleau-Ponty in fact wrote of dancing as a “motor habit” and
declared that “forming the habit of dancing is discovering, by
analysis, the formula of the movement in question.”9

The sidelining of kinesthesia by phenomenologists is in fact remark-

able in a basic everyday sense. Shaun Gallagher and Dan Zahavi, for
example, affirm that “the sense of agency is not reducible to aware-
ness of bodily movement or to sensory feedback from bodily move-
ment. Consistent with the phenomenology of embodiment, in everyday
engaged action afferent or sensory-feedback signals are attenuated,
implying a recessive consciousness of our body.”10 They not only cite
Merleau-Ponty (Phenomenology of Perception) as a reference but also
conclude, “I do not attend to my bodily movements in most actions. I
do not stare at my hands as I decide to use them; I do not look at my
feet as I walk.”11 Their apparent unwitting appeal to vision and neglect
of kinesthesia are both telling and puzzling. Why would one stare at his
or her hands in deciding “to use them” any more than one would look
at one’s feet as one walks unless there was a pathological condition of
some kind? One might indeed be inclined to think that Shaun Galla-
gher’s and neuroscientist Jonathan Cole’s study of Ian Waterman, a
person who “does not know, without visual perception, where his limbs
are or what posture he maintains,”12 and who indeed is written about
in terms of “an impaired body schema,”13 has unwittingly influenced
genuine phenomenological practice and in this instance compromised
it by hewing not to direct and immediate first-person experiential reali-
ties of movement “in deciding to use one’s hands” or in “walking,” for
example, but to pathological studies.
A further problem with “bodily schema” actually stems from its
 Preface to the Fiftieth Anniversary Edition / xv

close alignment with pathology and the not uncommon practice of

using pathology to explain the normal. Particularly with respect to
movement, one may properly ask what justifies starting with pathology
in order to understand the normal, the normal being what neuropsychol-
ogist Aleksandr Romanovich Luria lucidly described as kinesthetic and
kinetic melodies.14 In addition to critical remarks in The Roots of Thinking
in answer to the question,15 I follow up constructively on the question
in an essay on kinesthetic memory, asking, “If the purpose is to under-
stand everyday self-movement, why not start with a magnification of
such movement rather than with its diminishment? Why, for example,
not begin with dance, and ask whether motor theories, body schemas,
and body images are up to the task of explaining how such intricate and
complicated ongoing movement is learned and remembered?”16 To back
up my questioning, I turn in the essay to what Merce Cunningham
wrote of his dance Untitled Solo:

A large gamut of movements, separate for each of the three

dances, was devised, movements for the arms, the legs, the
head and the torso which were separate and essentially tensile
in character, and off the normal or tranquil body-balance. The
separate movements were arranged in continuity by random
means, allowing for the superimposition (addition) of one
or more, each having its own rhythm and time-length. But
each succeeded in becoming continuous if I could wear it long
enough, like a suit of clothes.17

I go on to point out that

Untitled Solo is hardly a motor habit and learning it was hardly

learning “by analysis, the formula of the movement.” Through
practice, the dance became a kinesthetically crystallized whole,
etched in kinesthetic memory and articulated by way of kin-
esthetic memory. Were one to take Cunningham’s description
as a transcendental clue to coordinated movement, one might
say that if one “wears movement long enough,” it can become
a kinesthetically articulated dynamic that spins continuously
from one’s body like the web of a web-spinning spider.18
xvi \ Preface to the Fiftieth Anniversary Edition

Beginning with extraordinary rather than diminished kinetic

capacities means beginning with “the things themselves”—intact
“things themselves”—and gaining direct knowledge about the inher-
ent qualitative dynamics of movement. In particular, beginning with
a magnification rather than a diminishment of movement, one begins
with the experiential reality of a kinesthetic melody and the kines-
thetic harmonics of a fluidly coordinated whole body, and one goes
from there to foundational dynamic understandings. In short, a focus
on the extraordinary has the power to bring dynamic understandings
to light because it amplifies rather than constricts subtleties and com-
plexities inherent in kinesthetic experience and kinesthetic memory.
What modern dance pioneer Doris Humphrey observed is of mo-
ment to recall in this context. She pointedly recognized the central-
ity of kinesthesia not only to dance but to life generally, calling
attention to its neglect and our need to resuscitate it. She observed
that “[w]hen man ceased to run and leap for his food the decay of
the kinesthetic sense began” and that the sensory modality of kines-
thesia “needs to be enlarged by education and training.” She then
pointedly remarked that “nothing else about us has been so much
allowed to atrophy.”19 Cunningham’s explicit recognition of the cen-
trality of kinesthesia is of equal moment. In pointing out that kines-
thesia is a common human sensory faculty, he affirmed that “the
kinesthetic sense . . . allows the experience of dancing to be part
of all of us.”20
The above discussion together with the decidedly knowledgeable
quotations from Humphrey and Cunningham attest to the need to
attend first and foremost to kinesthesia—first-person experiences of
movement—rather than to a hypothetical bodily schema. A hypotheti-
cal bodily schema cannot compete with the experiential realities of
self-movement, which is to say in particular that the spatiality of the
body discussed in Chapter 2 is definitively there—“pre-reflectively”
as specified—in the direct kinesthetic experience of self-movement.
Chapter 3 indeed substantiates this fact in fine detail in its description
of the linear and areal qualities of movement. These qualitative expe-
riential realities are there as well in kinesthetic memory.21 Randomly
arranged separate movements of arms, legs, head, and torso that were
 Preface to the Fiftieth Anniversary Edition / xvii

“essentially tensile in character, and off the normal or tranquil body-

balance,” for example, could hardly have become continuous short of
kinesthetic memory.
The above discussion and quotations are of further significance:
they lead us to a consideration of the near obfuscation of kinesthesia
by present-day philosophers in their focal emphasis on propriocep-
tion. Because the experiential source point for the descriptive analyses
in The Phenomenology of Dance is precisely kinesthesia, it is critical to
point out and to underscore the distinction between kinesthesia and
proprioception.
Scientifically documented evolutionary evidence attests to the
sharp bodily distinction between kinesthesia and proprioception.22
It shows that external proprioceptors such as the cilia of locusts and
polyps were originally the all-embracing norm in the Kingdom Ani-
malia. Over time, external proprioceptors were modified and internal-
ized in some creatures. In effect, proprioception shifted from being
rooted solely in tactile organs, a rootedness I term “surface recognition
sensitivity,” as in a surface sensitivity to air currents or to obstacles in
one’s path and to the topological bodily effects of the currents or obsta-
cles,23 to a rootedness in organs sensitive to deformations and stresses
within animate bodies themselves, as in the chordotonal organs of
arthropods, creatures such as lobsters that have articulable skeletons.
Such a shift not only protected sensory organs from environmental
wear and tear but opened possibilities for even further modification,
namely, the possibility of a directly movement-sensitive awareness. In
short, proprioception evolved in various forms of animate life over
eons of time from an external system of self-awareness-in-relation-to-
the-environment24 —as noted, an essentially tactile mode of movement
awareness—to an internal system of awareness by way of chordotonal
organs sensitive to bodily deformations and stress, an internal system
that itself was modified over time, becoming anchored in the neu-
rophysiological kinetic dynamics of muscles, tendons, and joints,
namely, in kinesthesia. In effect, a directly sensitive movement conscious-
ness was born.
In recent writings that take movement into consideration in the
context of mind or consciousness, and in recent writings that focus
xviii \ Preface to the Fiftieth Anniversary Edition

on dance specifically, proprioception is the key word. In effect, an

evolutionary heritage goes unrecognized and with it a due and proper
recognition of kinesthesia. In his original coinage of the word “pro-
prioception,” Sir Charles Sherrington emphasized its meaning as a
positional awareness: proprioception has to do with “the perception of
where the limb is.” Hence, and as its etymology indicates, propriocep-
tion is basically a form of self-awareness.25 Writings that consistently
align proprioception with position and posture appear to be based on
Sherrington’s original formulation. For example, Gallagher and Zahavi
define proprioception as “the innate and intrinsic position sense that I
have with respect to my limbs and overall posture,”26 hence the “sixth
sense” by which I know “whether my legs are crossed, or not, without
looking at them,”27 or as in the fact that “I perceive that something is
to my right or to my left only by having a proprioceptive sense of where
my right is and where my left is.”28
It is perhaps not surprising that in such writings, kinesthesia is by
and large simply connected with ownership, as in a recognition that
“this is my body that is moving.”29 This conception of kinesthesia is
problematic, and not only because it speaks of a third-person obser-
vational judgment about “my body” rather than offering a first-person
experiential description of self-movement. Though in an earlier publi-
cation one finds the claim, “I live, feel, and move my body,”30 in a later
publication one finds the claim, “I do not have observational access
to my body in action” but only “non-observational proprioceptive
and kinaesthetic awareness of my body in action.”31 Given such non-
observational confines, recognition of “ownership” as in “this is my
body that is moving” thus seems a rather doubtful accomplishment,
all the more so in light of the further claim, “The body tries to stay
out of our way so that we can get on with our task.”32 Moreover, what-
ever the meaning of a “non-observational proprioceptive and kin-
esthetic awareness of my body in action”—does “non-observational
awareness” mean simply “knowing without looking,” for example?—it
is surely apparent that when phenomenologically deepened under-
standings of movement and its qualitative dynamics are bypassed,
no substantive reference or discussion of kinesthesia takes place. Pro-
prioception and action are indeed focal topics or conceptual modes
 Preface to the Fiftieth Anniversary Edition / xix

of thought that occlude veritable investigations and understandings

of movement.33
Clearly, it is not proprioception but kinesthesia that provides us a
felt sense of the qualitative dynamics of our movement; its expansive-
ness, sluggishness, explosiveness, jaggedness; its changes in direction,
intensity, range, and so on. It is thus kinesthesia that is the bedrock of
our learning our bodies and learning to move ourselves to begin with, and
of our learning new abilities and skills as we mature. We could in fact
hardly get on with any task, not to mention choreograph or dance a
dance, had we not explored movement or learned the possible qualita-
tive dynamics inherent in the particular task or dance. Positions and
postures may play a role in those qualitative dynamics, but they are not
the foundational space-time-force realities of the task—or the dance.
Those realities are indeed not postural or positional, but kinetic. The
distinction between kinesthesia and proprioception is thus borne out
experientially. In short and in sum, in recent writings on movement in
relation to consciousness, or perhaps more truthfully, writings not on
movement but on postural awarenesses and, more broadly, on “action,”
“behavior,” and “embodiment” in relation to consciousness, a straight-
forward phenomenological investigation of movement is wanting.
Such an investigation is critical to real-life, real-time understandings
of the pan-human nature-given consciousness of movement, a con-
sciousness that grounds both the study and art of dance.
In recent writings that center specifically on dance, propriocep-
tion is claimed to be the sense modality through which we appreci-
ate the dance we see being performed before us: we “proprioceive”
dance.34 In particular, in seeing a dance, “we are proprioceiving the
dancer’s movements. . . . [O]ne proprioceives the dancer’s movements
and positions in virtue of seeing the dancer move.”35 In such an experi-
ence, “the audience” is given to “affective proprioception,” that is, it
“sees graceful movement, for example, and watching such movements
is enjoyable.”36 The definition these writers give to “proprioception”
unfortunately falls short of supporting the dual claims and even con-
futes them as does a subsequent reliance on mirror neurons to bridge
first- and third-person experiences of movement. Proprioception is
defined as “the sense by which we acquire information about the posi-
Other documents randomly have
different content
“Didn’t we see someone leave the shed a few minutes
ago?” Jack inquired.

Mrs. Rhodes shot a quick look at him as if to read any

hidden meaning behind his words. The Scout’s
expression of innocence reassured her.

“Only one of the workmen,” she replied indifferently.

“I’m waiting for the banana train.”

The woman’s deliberate lie made Jack and War more

than ever suspicious. Wisely, however, they did not
show their true feelings.

War picked up a discarded banana and began to strip

the peelings.

“Have one?” he invited, offering another to Mrs.

Rhodes.

She drew back with a gesture of distaste. “I can’t bear

bananas!”

“I suppose one would get tired of them,” commented

Jack politely. “Still you find this plantation interesting
enough to visit?”

The woman shrugged. “Why not?” she returned. “A

friend of my husband’s is a foreman here.”

Jack was quite certain that Mrs. Rhodes again was lying. 86
He believed that she had come to the plantation either
to keep the Scout party under surveillance or to meet
Ferd Baronni.

It seemed reasonable to believe, however, that the

latter had journeyed to Santa Marta on sudden impulse,
and had sought the woman after learning that she was
absent from her hotel. Their close association deeply
worried him. Why were the pair so determined to
prevent the Scout party from reaching the Last Chance
mine?

As if reading his thoughts, Mrs. Rhodes questioned

abruptly: “You’re still planning on your trip to the
emerald mine?”

“That’s our intention, unless we hear from Appleby

Corning.”

“You’ll find the trip most uncomfortable,” Mrs. Rhodes

said, fanning herself with a green banana leaf. “There is
no road. Only a trail. The temperature extremes—
intense heat in the valleys, and freezing cold in the
mountains, is most trying.”

“We don’t mind hardships,” Jack replied, amused by the

woman’s attempt to discourage them. “We’re used to
them.”

“I’m sure you are,” the woman returned. “Well, if I can’t

persuade you to give up the trip, let me advise you to
leave your valuables behind.”

“Bandits?” Jack asked.

“One in particular. Carlos has been terrorizing the

mountainside, robbing the pack trains and making travel
most precarious.”

“You are not afraid to make the journey, Ma’am?” 87

Mrs. Rhodes returned Jack’s steady gaze. “No, I have no

fear,” she responded briefly. “I have lived many years in
Colombia.”

“What takes you to the mine?” War asked rather

abruptly. “Your husband isn’t there any more, is he?”

The question plainly annoyed Mrs. Rhodes. She dropped

the banana leaf and moved quickly to the shed door.

“The train is coming now,” she announced. “After the

bananas are loaded, we can ride to the main gate. I
should imagine that you will find the rest of your party
waiting there.”

Jack and War made no further attempt to question the

woman. During the loading of the car, she moved some
distance away, coldly ignoring them.

“I thought she’d make more effort to try to convince us

we shouldn’t go on to the mine,” War remarked as they
watched the last of the loading. “I guess she realizes it’s
useless.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” Jack said grimly. “Mrs.

Rhodes is a clever woman. She’ll try again.”

“Why do you figure she and that company agent are so

bent on keeping us away from the mine?”

“I wish I knew,” Jack returned thoughtfully. “Something 88

is stirring there, that’s certain. Appleby Corning said he
was in trouble when he wrote Mr. Livingston. It may be
he’s mixed up in some mess the Rhodes’ have been
cooking. I’ll be relieved when we manage to get in
touch with him.”

A toot of the engine informed the Scouts that the

banana car was about to move out. They swung aboard
and rode to the main gate. There, as Mrs. Rhodes had
predicted, Mr. Livingston and the other Scouts anxiously
awaited them.

Enroute back to the hotel, Jack and War related the

conversation they had overheard in the banana shed.
Mr. Livingston was gravely concerned, and unable to
understand why Ferd Baronni had trailed the party to
Santa Marta.

“I distrusted that company agent at the start,” he

admitted. “Now I’m more than ever convinced that he’s
no friend of Appleby’s. If only Mr. Corning would get in
touch with us, some of this fog might clear.”

The Scouts reached the hotel and headed for the dining
room for a late lunch. As they crossed the lobby, the
clerk signalled Mr. Livingston.

“A wire for you,” he said, thrusting an envelope into the

Scout leader’s hand.

Quickly, Mr. Livingston read the enclosed message. His

face became a puzzle.

“Anything wrong?” Ken inquired anxiously.

“Plenty,” Mr. Livingston replied, offering the message for

the others to read. “This is from Appleby. He says an
unusual situation has developed at the mine. We’re
instructed to return to Cartagena.”

89
 Chapter 11
HITTING THE TRAIL

“Return to Cartagena!” Ken exclaimed after he had

reread the message delivered to Mr. Livingston. “Of all
the miserable luck, this is the worst!”

“I thought we were headed for the emerald mine,” Willie

added, sunk in gloom. “Why did Corning send for us
anyway, if he doesn’t want us here?”

Mr. Livingston was unable to explain the strange

communication. The failure of the mining engineer to
meet his party had worried him more than he had
confessed to the Scouts.

“Hey, before we start packing, let me put in my two

cents worth,” spoke up Jack. “How did Corning know we
were at this hotel?”

“That’s right!” Ken exclaimed, startled by the implication

of the other’s question. “Maybe the message is phony!”

“Sent by Mrs. Rhodes or Ferd Baronni,” suggested

Warwick. “Jack and I know they’re up to something!
They don’t want us to go on to the mine.”

“What’s more, Mrs. Rhodes promised the company 90

agent she’d take care of the matter,” Jack went on.
“Before we act hastily, shouldn’t we try to check on this
message?”
“I’ll do it myself,” Mr. Livingston offered. “Wait here for
me.”

For nearly two hours the Scout leader was absent from
the hotel. When finally he rejoined the Explorers, his
face was grave.

“Learn anything?” War eagerly greeted him as he

entered the bedroom where the Scouts awaited him.

“I did. The message, supposedly from Appleby, was

delivered to the hotel by a boy, but it never came from
the telegraph communications office.”

“Then Mr. Corning couldn’t have sent it?” questioned

Ken.

“I’m fairly certain he didn’t. The message must be a

fake.”

“Any idea who sent it?” asked Jack.

“An idea, yes. But no proof. We couldn’t trace the

message.”

“I take it, we’ll not obey the instructions,” Jack

remarked, well pleased by the investigation.

“No, I’m more than ever in favor of pushing on to the

mine above Emerald Valley. We can’t get there soon
enough to please me. I have a feeling Appleby didn’t
meet us because he’s in bad trouble.”

“How soon can we get out of here?” asked Ken quietly.

“We can catch a plane to Bogota in an hour. I’ve already

booked reservations.”
“Any chance Mr. Corning may show up here after we 91
leave?” speculated Willie, quickly starting to gather his
scattered belongings.

Mr. Livingston replied that the possibility seemed a

remote one. “Except for the enjoyment we’ve had in
seeing the banana plantations, I think it was a mistake
to come here,” he admitted.

“You believe Ferd Baronni deliberately threw us off the

track?”

“I’m afraid so, Willie. For some reason, he doesn’t want

us to go on to the mine—possibly for fear of what we
may learn. This trip to Santa Marta, I suspect, was only
to keep us occupied.”

“Then if we waited a month, you don’t think Mr. Corning

ever would show up here?”

“That’s my slant. I’ve been unable to locate any of those

close friends Appleby was supposed to have here. To be
on the safe side, I’ll leave a letter for him here at the
hotel. Now pack your duds, fellows. We haven’t much
time.”

The plane flight to Bogota proved an uneventful but

thrilling experience for the Scouts. Accustomed as they
were to air travel, they were awed nevertheless, by
breath-taking views of the vast Magdalena valley,
forests of deep green, and the great ranges of the
Andes which divided the land into isolated plateaus and
valleys.

At the capital city, the party lingered half a day before 92

taking a bus to a little Colombian village high in the cool
hills. During their brief stay in Bogota, Jack and Mr.
Livingston twice visited the mining company office. The
official in charge, they learned, had absented himself on
a week’s holiday.

“We can’t wait for him,” Mr. Livingston decided. “We’re

going on to the mine.”

Late the next morning, the bus deposited them in the

chilly little village which served as a take-off point for
the mine. The trail which the Scouts were to follow
wound sharply upward toward a line of rugged
mountain peaks and a narrow pass. Somewhere
beyond, lay the Last Chance mine.

Their lagging spirits revived by rolls and hot spiced

chocolate, the Scouts set about making arrangements
for mules to take them up the zigzag trail to their
destination.

From their Indian guide, Jose, Mr. Livingston learned

that Appleby Corning had not been seen in the village
for many weeks. His absence had occasioned no alarm,
for the engineer usually remained secluded at the mine
for months at a time.

“Senora come here today,” the guide reported.

“Senora?” Mr. Livingston repeated in surprise. “What

Senora, Jose?”

“The Senora that go on to mine. Wife of engineer

there.”

“Corning has no wife to my knowledge,” Mr. Livingston

replied. “You don’t mean the wife of McClellan Rhodes?”
“Si, Senor.” The little guide pulled his ruana more tightly 93
about his shoulders as protection from the chill wind.
“She leave on trail at dawn. Join husband there.”

The information that Mrs. Rhodes had gone ahead of

them was most disconcerting to the Scouts. Mr.
Livingston was especially troubled to learn that the
deposed engineer might be at the mine.

“This may explain though, why Appleby didn’t meet us,”

he told the Explorers. “With McClellan Rhodes on the
scene, he might hesitate to leave, even for a few days.”

“Mrs. Rhodes sure must have traveled like a house afire

to get here ahead of us,” Willie remarked thoughtfully.
Turning to Jose, he inquired: “So went on to the mine?
Not alone?”

“No, Senor, with a guide. Senora know trail well. Travel

light. Shoot straight like a man. Good traveler.”

“I hope you’re mistaken about her going to the mine to

join her husband,” Mr. Livingston said, frowning.
“Rhodes shouldn’t be there. At least it was my
understanding that Corning sent him packing when he
took over.”

“Senora go to be with husband,” the guide repeated. “At

emerald mine changes come fast. Today one engineer—
tomorrow another.”

The Indian’s information increased Mr. Livingston’s 94

eagerness to be away. He urged that the loading of the
animals be hastened.

After numerous and vexing delays, the Scout party

finally set off single file into the hills. Considerable
equipment had to be taken, for the Explorers repeatedly
had been warned that they must expect extremes of
heat and cold, often within an eight or ten mile stretch
of trail.

“Odd that a road never was built to the mine,” Willie

remarked as he trudged along.

“Not so odd,” Jack returned. “The government never

has been eager to make the mining area accessible.
Emeralds are too easily stolen.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Livingston backed him up. “About the

only equipment needed for emerald mining is a strong
back, a pick axe and a crowbar. Laborers are kept under
contract and during the period of their service, not
permitted to leave the area. That’s to prevent theft of
emeralds.”

“I’d like to find an emerald while we’re at the mine,”

War remarked eagerly. “A great big one!”

The others laughed. “Don’t worry,” Jack teased him. “If

you do find one, you won’t be allowed to walk off with
it.”

“For that matter, the size of an emerald isn’t as

important as its shape and color,” Mr. Livingston added.

Before the Scouts had been long on the steep, winding 95

trail, they noted evidence that Mrs. Rhodes, traveling
fast, was well ahead of them. At a spring they came
upon her heel marks, and Willie picked up a lacy
handkerchief with the letter “R” embroidered in one
corner.
“It’s Mrs. Rhodes, all right,” he asserted gloomily. “I’d
hoped Jose was wrong.”

“She’s making better time than we are,” Jack nodded in

chagrin.

Skirting outthrusts of rock, the Scouts continued to

follow a fairly well outlined trail. As the sun rose higher,
they could see sharp peaks with caps of snow outlined
against the blue sky. Climbing above the desolate little
farms to a world of chilly isolation, they met no one.
Higher and higher they struggled, marveling anew at
the remarkable stamina of the woman ahead.

“You got to hand it to her,” Willie admitted grudgingly.

“She’s tough.”

“Don’t waste any sympathy or admiration,” Jack

advised. “That old gal has a grim purpose that is driving
her on.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could toss a stick,”

Willie answered quickly. “The mere fact that she’s going
to the mine makes me suspicious.”

“If it’s true her husband is at Emerald Valley, that’ll

make two of ’em to gang up on us,” interposed War
soberly. “I guess Appleby Corning will be glad to see us
arrive. He may be in a spot.”
Descending into a valley area where the trail was nearly 96
obliterated by dense foliage and creepers, the Scouts
encountered rain. It let up by late afternoon.
Nevertheless, Mr. Livingston decided to camp early.

War and Willie soon had a fire going which enabled

them to dry out other wood for use during the night.
Damp clothing was hung on a quickly constructed rack
near the heat.

By the time supper was ready, everyone felt quite

comfortable. Jack and the guide looked after the pack
animals, while the other Scouts cleaned up the camp for
the night.

Returning to the fire, Jack stood for a moment with his

back to the flames. The night had closed in dark and
with a hint of more rain.

“Y’know, I’ve had an uneasy feeling the last hour or so,”

he confessed in a low voice.

Ken, busy laying out his eiderdown sleeping bag, quickly

raised his head. “Uneasy?” he repeated. “About going
on to the mine, you mean?”

Jack kept his voice low. “It’s not that, Ken. I’ve had an
odd feeling that someone has been trailing us, even
before we made camp.”

He expected Ken to laugh, but the other accepted his

remark seriously.

“I’ve had the same feeling, Jack. The foliage is so dense

here that one gets that closed in sensation. But who
would follow us? Not Mrs. Rhodes?”
“No, she couldn’t have doubled back because there’s no 97
other trail.”

“I’ve thought several times in the last hour that I’ve

heard a rustling among the foliage, Jack. Wild animals
probably. All the same, I think I’ll look around.”

“I already have, Ken. No sign of anyone.”

“We’re just being jittery.”

“Maybe,” Jack agreed, not completely convinced. “We’d

better keep a good fire going tonight, just in case.”

Feeding the dying flames with another cut log, he

started into the tent. Just then he was startled by a
slight rustling of leaves almost directly behind. He and
Ken both turned swiftly. Their pulses began to pound.

Against the dark foliage, a man stood clearly outlined.

He was armed. As they stood frozen, he spoke a sharp
command in Spanish, and came slowly toward them.

98
 Chapter 12
CARLOS THE BANDIT

Jack and Ken did not understand the words, but the
meaning was clear enough.

The smiling, hard-faced man who confronted them was

a bandit.

Before they could make any response to his command,

he fired a shot. The bullet nipped into the dirt at Jack’s
feet.

Thus warned that the grizzled little man was not one
with whom to trifle, the two Scouts quickly raised their
hands.

The shot had brought War, Willie and Jose out of the
shelter. They too were instantly covered and forced to
line up with their faces to a tree.

The bandit kept up a patter of Spanish which only Jose

could understand. Shaking with fear, he interpreted for
the others.

“The bandit is Carlos, who long has terrorized the hills,”

he told them nervously. “He says he will not harm
anyone, if his commands are obeyed. We are to turn
over all money and watches. If we refuse, he shoot to
kill!”

Willie and War began to empty their pockets. Jack and 99

Ken were more deliberate. Their delay brought an
exclamation of impatience from the bandit.

Carlos gazed sharply about the camp, evidently aware

that only five persons were accounted for. What had
become of Mr. Livingston, Jack wondered. He
remembered that the Scout leader had slipped away
from camp for a moment to bring in more fire wood.
Surely, he must have been alerted by the firing of a
shot!

Carlos swiftly scooped up the money and watches which

the Scouts reluctantly turned over. But before he could
stuff the loot into the pouch he carried at his belt, there
came a sharp command from the darkness behind the
bandit.

“Hands up or I’ll shoot!”

The voice was Mr. Livingston’s! The Scouts knew that

their leader was unarmed. Carlos, however, had no such
knowledge.

Startled, he whirled around and fired blindly into the

darkness.

In that instant, when the man’s attention was diverted

from the captives by the fire, Jack and Ken acted
together.

Lunging forward, they tackled the bandit below the

knees. He went down, and in the brief but fierce
struggle, they succeeded in knocking the weapon from
his hand.

With the agility of a jungle cat, Carlos squirmed from 100

Jack’s grasp. Slipping back into the foliage, he was
swallowed by the darkness.
Jack groped and finally found the lost weapon. He
started in pursuit.

“Let him go,” ordered Mr. Livingston, who had emerged

into the circle of flickering firelight. “We can’t possibly
overtake him, and it’s risky to try. He’ll have a horse
tethered somewhere near.”

As the Scouts listened, they heard the bold bandit’s

retreating footsteps. Then all became silent in the
forest.

“What if he comes back later, maybe with some of his

followers?” War asked anxiously.

“We have his gun, so I don’t think he’ll be back tonight,”

Mr. Livingston replied. “Good work, Jack! I thought you
and Ken would react as you did! Any of our stuff
missing?”

The Scouts took careful inventory. In his haste to

escape, the bandit had left behind all the cash and
jewelry.

“I doubt Carlos will try another raid tonight, knowing

we’ll be on the alert,” Mr. Livingston commented. “All
the same, we’ll set up a guard.”

The incident was more disturbing to Jose than to the

Scouts. For hours after the bandit had gone, he huddled
in his blanket, his back to a tree, fearfully watching the
shadows.

In broken English, he related to the Explorers that 101

Carlos was well known for his cruelty and bold ways.
Somewhere in the hills he maintained a hide-out with a
few faithful but disreputable followers. The Colombian
government had placed a price upon his head. But no
one ever had claimed the reward. Year after year, the
bandit continued to swoop down on luckless travelers.
Three times in the past year he reportedly had made
valuable hauls of emeralds which were being taken out
of the mine for shipment.

Despite Jose’s fears, no more was heard that night from

the bandit. The Scouts slept well, and as soon as the
sun came up, were on their way.

For several hours they pushed on, keeping an alert

watch for Carlos. At times, they imagined they heard a
soft rustling of the foliage along the trail, but they saw
no one. Jack had kept the bandit’s automatic as a
souvenir, disregarding Jose’s advice to discard it.

“You keep gun—Carlos come back for it,” the guide

predicted grimly.

“Let him,” Jack returned cheerfully. “Next time I’ll be

more alert.”

By noon, the party had reached a low ridge. As they

rested briefly, Jose pointed out a forested valley and a
fast-moving river.

“Last Chance mine,” he informed the group. “We be

there in next hour.”

“The mine is very old?” Mr. Livingston inquired.

“Si, Senor. It was worked before the Spanish Conquest 102

and many times lost. When the mine close, workers
move away—jungle close in. Mine have many names.”
“The Last Chance sounds pretty modern,” the Scout
leader remarked with a smile.

“Senor Corning give it that name when he come,” Jose

explained.

“I can imagine why,” Mr. Livingston remarked to Jack.

“He figured that if he didn’t make good here, the mine
might be closed again. At least the company which
employs him would lose its government lease.”

“With Carlos hovering around ready to swoop down, I

shouldn’t think mining would be very profitable,” Ken
contributed. “That old boy is a pest! Maybe Mr. Corning
sent for us to help him get rid of the hill bandits.”

“I doubt it,” the Scout leader rejoined. “Corning would

know how to deal with Carlos. No, I’m afraid the trouble
is more serious than that.”

Eager to reach the mine, the party went on, working

through vines which had overgrown the trail. After a
wearisome struggle, they emerged onto a wider path
which showed evidence of recent use.

Finally, they came out into a clearing which offered a 103

view of the mine. Spread before them at the edge of a
gorge were a cluster of wooden buildings with thatched
roofs. The largest, and most sturdily constructed, they
took to be the main office.

Weary and footsore, the arrivals left Jose in charge of

the animals, and tramped into the central building. Their
approach had been observed by native workmen. Yet,
there had been no one to welcome them.
“Corning may be sick,” Mr. Livingston remarked
anxiously.

He and the Scouts found themselves in an untidy two-

room office, furnished with a couch, a desk, a safe and
a filing cabinet. As they gazed about, a tall, lean man
with dark moustache came in through the door they had
just entered.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he greeted them, politely

but without a flicker of a smile. “Anything I can do for
you?”

“We’re looking for the engineer in charge,” Mr.

Livingston said after a moment of silence.

“Speaking.”

“Appleby Corning, I should have said,” the Scout leader

corrected himself.

“Corning no longer is in charge here.”

“Not in charge?” Mr. Livingston responded, startled.

“There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake, I assure you.”

“Is Mr. Corning ill?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the man replied somewhat 104

indifferently. “He’s not here. The last time I saw him
was six months ago.”

“Six months!” the Scout leader exclaimed. “Impossible!

Why, I’ve had letters from him and a couple of cables
since then.”
“Of that I wouldn’t know, Mr.—”

“Livingston,” the Scout official supplied. “Excuse me for

not introducing myself and the other members of my
party. Seeing you instead of my friend, rather gave me a
jolt.”

“I can imagine,” the other rejoined coldly. “I’m McClellan

Rhodes.”

“I guessed it,” Mr. Livingston returned. “You say you’re

in charge here? The company reassigned you?”

The engineer gazed at the Scout official with defiant,

unwavering eyes. “I took charge when I found
everything going to the dogs here,” he informed the
group. “Someone had to do it, you understand. If I had
waited to get authority from the company, the workers
would have been gone, and the mine stripped.”

“Where is Mr. Corning?”

“I wish I knew.”

“When did you take over here?” Mr. Livingston

demanded. His voice was sharper than he meant it to
be.

“About ten days ago.”

“Mr. Corning wasn’t here when you came?”

“He was not. As I told you, I found everything in a mess 105

—workers preparing to pull out. I stepped in to save the
mine for the owners.”

“What became of my friend?”

“I’ve told you I don’t know,” the engineer replied, no
longer hiding his impatience. “I have important work to
do now, and can’t answer any more questions. Corning,
I think, is dead. That’s all I can tell you.”

106
 Chapter 13
THE EMERALD PIT

“Just a minute, please,” Mr. Livingston interposed as the

mining engineer started to leave the office. “We’ve
come a long distance to see Appleby Corning. I feel I
must know more about his strange disappearance.”

Rhodes halted in the doorway, scowling. “I’m busy,” he

replied pointedly. “As I told you, work isn’t progressing
as it should. Whenever I turn my back, those
confounded Indians lean on their tools, instead of
working.”

“We won’t keep you long,” Mr. Livingston returned in a

quiet voice. “Just tell us what became of Mr. Corning.”

“I don’t know,” the engineer retorted in exasperation. “I

thought I made that clear.”

“Why do you say he’s probably dead.”

“Because he’s a captive of Carlos.”

“The bandit!”

“So I assume. I’d heard repeated reports that the mine 107
was being badly managed. I came here to see if I could
help. Lucky I did too. I found everything in chaos.
Bandits, led by Carlos, had dropped down on the camp
twelve hours earlier. They’d robbed the safe of emeralds
and taken Corning captive.”
“How long ago was that?” Mr. Livingston asked.

“Ten days ago.”

“What attempt have you made to trace Appleby?”

“None.”

“None?” The Scout leader repeated sharply.

“It’s useless,” the engineer informed him. “You don’t

know this country. Carlos is a devil. It would take a
small army to blast him out of his hide-out.”

“He didn’t seem such a bold demon when we brushed

into him,” Jack drawled, entering the conversation. “In
fact, he turned tail and ran like a coward.”

Rhodes turned to stare intently at the youth. “You

encountered Carlos?” he demanded. “Where?”

“On the trail. He was alone.”

“He tried to rob us,” contributed Ken, “but we were

fortunate enough to elude him.”

“Carlos doesn’t usually operate alone,” Rhodes informed

the group. “You were lucky he didn’t shoot you at sight.”

“If we’d known that he had taken Mr. Corning captive,

we’d have pursued him,” Mr. Livingston said. “Where is
his hide-out?”

“Oh, he has half a dozen of them back in the hills,” the

mining engineer returned vaguely. “He moves from one
to another. A reward has been placed on his head, but
no one ever collects.”
“You say you’ve made no effort to try to find Corning?” 108

“That’s right,” Rhodes retorted, “and I don’t like your

tone, Mister. You know what these mountain trails are
like.”

“We do.”

“I can’t send natives to look for him. They wouldn’t

venture a step. As for myself, it would be folly to leave
the mine. My first duty is to the operators.”

“So nothing is to be done?”

“I didn’t put it that way,” Mr. Rhodes returned, his eyes

flashing. “If your friend is still alive—which I seriously
doubt—there will be a ransom demand in time. It will be
prohibitive, of course. Whether or not it is met, will be
up to the mine operators, not to me.”

“I’m not satisfied to sit and wait, Mr. Rhodes. Appleby

and I were close friends. Something must be done.”

“Then you do it!” the engineer snapped. He started to

leave the office, then paused again. “I’ll put you up here
for a day or so, if you’re not too particular about your
accommodations,” he told the group. “One of the men
will show you to your quarters as soon as the place has
been fumigated.”

“Fumigated?” Mr. Livingston’s eyebrows jerked upward.

“For insects, you mean?”

“Not exactly. The last occupant died of some unknown 109

disease that’s been knocking the natives off like flies.”
“In that case, we’ll use our sleeping bags and remain
out-of-doors,” Mr. Livingston stated. “We have our
canvas shelters.”

“Suit yourself,” the engineer shrugged. “The nights here

get pretty cold though. After a couple of days, I think
you’ll be hitting the trail.”

No one made a reply. The engineer hesitated a

moment, and then without saying more, went out of the
building. The Scouts saw him descend a series of
roughly hewn stone steps into a pit where a dozen
natives were at work.

Mr. Livingston made certain that no one loitered near

the office, before he spoke. Then he said: “The situation
is a lot worse than I expected.”

“Rhodes may be lying!” Ken asserted.

“Do you think Appleby Corning really is dead?” War

asked anxiously.

“Something has happened to him, that’s evident,” the

Scout leader replied. “I was afraid of it when he didn’t
meet us or send word.”

“All the same, there’s something fishy about Rhodes’

story,” Jack insisted. “Why would he show up here at
exactly the right moment to check on the mine? Wasn’t
he discharged?”

“That was my understanding, Jack. Corning didn’t write

very much, you know.”

“The natural thing after being discharged would be to 110

clear out,” Jack went on. “Rhodes apparently didn’t do
that. He hung around, waiting for a chance to move in.”

“And maybe he created that chance!” suggested Willie.

“Maybe he did away with Corning himself! I’ll bet the
tale about Carlos swooping down here is a phony!”

“It might be,” Mr. Livingston conceded. “That part

should be easy to check, if we can talk with the natives.
Some of them must speak a little English.”

“Rhodes has moved in here to further his own interests,

and he doesn’t give a hoot what became of Appleby
Corning,” Willie expanded his theory. “It’s to his
advantage not to have him found.”

“That’s so,” agreed Jack. “Getting rid of Corning may

have been part of a well-planned scheme. If it’s true
that Rhodes came here only ten days ago, it’s unlikely
he’d have had time to get word to his wife.”

“Yet she knew he was in charge here days ago!” Ken

exclaimed. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t have made the
trip.”

“I’m terribly afraid Appleby has been the victim of

treachery,” Mr. Livingston nodded. “We’ve got to learn
what became of him, and not depend on Rhodes’ word
either.”

“We might drive him into a corner, and try to force the
truth out of him,” War proposed.

The others vetoed his suggestion. “That wouldn’t get us 111

anywhere,” Mr. Livingston objected. “Rhodes controls
the natives here. His word is law.”

“Can’t we organize search parties?” Willie asked.

“In this jungle growth?” Jack caught him up. “It would
be worse than looking for a needle in a haystack!
Without a clue as to Carlos’ hide-out, we’d lose
ourselves, and never find Corning.”

“That’s the way it looks to me,” Mr. Livingston admitted.

“Another thing, I’m not fully convinced that my friend
was seized by bandits. Our first job is to confirm that
fact.”

“Rhodes won’t do anything to help us,” Ken said.

“Where do we start?”

“While you fellows get settled, I’ll amble around to see

what I can learn,” Jack offered.

Once outside the office building, curiosity led him

toward the V-shaped pit where stocky Indians labored
with crowbar and pick. A vein of beryl lay exposed.

With infinite skill, the laborers shattered the rock, taking

care not to smash the calcite or the emeralds. Eagerly,
Rhodes examined the exposed gems. But the take did
not satisfy him. With an exclamation of rage, he struck
one of the workers in the face.

The fellow stumbled backward against the rocks. A

small object rolled from his gnarled hand. Only then did
Jack realize that Rhodes’ anger had been caused by the
native’s thievery.

The engineer seized the gem and dropped it into his 112
leather pouch. His gaze fell upon Jack who stood
watching.

“Get out of here!” he ordered harshly. “No one is

allowed near the vein except the workmen! Believe me,
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade

Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Let us accompany you on the journey of exploring knowledge and

personal growth!

ebookultra.com