by J C Ryan
“Stay, guard,” he said, setting Digger to protect the guide and stay with him while Rex went looking for help. His stomach growled as he walked away, and Digger gave a sympathizing woof.
Rex wasn’t surprised to find a large group of tourists as soon as he exited the Urban district. They were grouped around a couple of guides who appeared to be dividing them into two groups, so they could go in opposite directions. What surprised him was who he saw in the front of one of the groups. He broke into a jog and beelined for that group.
“Mr. and Mrs. Marks! Good to see you!” he called.
Mrs. Marks heard him first and looked his way. She immediately turned, tugged on her husband’s hand, and pointed at him. Mr. Marks broke from the crowd and started walking as fast as he could toward him.
He’d started to explain his dilemma when the tour guide arrived, explaining that Mrs. Marks had told him Rex was an acquaintance. “How may I help? Are you lost?”
Rex told him he wasn’t lost, but his guide was hurt and needed help. The tour guide immediately lifted a walkie-talkie from its holster on his belt and radioed someone at the entrance gate. While they waited for an EMT team to arrive, Rex explained his dilemma about Digger.
“I meant no disrespect. I needed my dog’s help to find the guide, since it was dark when I realized he was missing.”
The tour guide assured Rex he’d done the right thing and told him he’d help if there was trouble. He didn’t expect any, though.
“How are you going to get back to Ollantaytambo?” he asked.
“I’ll be okay to get back if you could help to take care of my guide,” Rex said.
“Why don’t you join us? I am grateful for my colleague’s sake that you helped him survive the night.”
Just then, Rex’s stomach growled noisily again.
“We have food,” the guide added with a knowing grin.
That cinched the deal. “I’d be happy to, and thanks,” Rex said. He’d had enough of being solitary in the Andes. Food and company sounded like a great idea. Especially when the tour guide added that Digger would be welcome.
When the group left around noon, Rex and Digger were with them. His guide had been splinted and taken by litter to Agua Calientes. His new group stopped not far outside the entrance for a picnic lunch that tasted to Rex like a feast. Digger didn’t have to argue his case for human food this time. His kibble was gone, and Rex couldn’t deny him something to eat.
I’m getting soft. Time was, twenty-four hours without food wouldn’t have bothered me at all.
Rex and Digger were sitting a little outside the circle of the people who’d been on the tour all along. Rex had asked for a few minutes to retrieve his back pack from where Digger had stayed the previous day, and when they got back, the rest of the group was sleeping off their lunch or chatting among themselves, having made friends on the trek. Rex was about to take a siesta himself when he heard Mrs. Marks admonishing her husband that he should be more social.
They were heading his way, and they weren’t alone. To his surprise, the young man from the restaurant was with them. He hadn’t expected to ever see the kid again and wasn’t particularly pleased to see him now.
Mrs. Marks led her husband and the kid to where Rex was sitting and looked down at him. She glanced around, apparently for somewhere to sit. Not finding what she was looking for, she began talking to him while she was standing.
Rex felt forced to stand up.
“I’d like to introduce you to Junior Roper,” she said. “We’ve been traveling together since just after we saw you last, Mr. Davis.”
“Call me Ray,” Rex said automatically. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Roper.”
The kid grinned and mimicked Rex’s answer. “Call me Junior,” he said.
Rex started to extend his hand, when Digger interrupted with a growl. Rex looked down at him. “It’s okay, buddy. These are friends. You’ve seen them before.” He extended his hand again, and Roper shook it despite Digger’s continued protests in the form of soft growling.
“Nice doggy,” Mrs. Marks tried. She held her hand out, palm down, toward Digger to allow him to sniff it. He complied, then wagged his tail and licked her hand.
“He likes me,” she said, almost ecstatically.
“Yes, ma’am. He’s a good judge of character,” Rex said. “Where are you headed next?” he asked. “When you get back to Cusco, I mean.”
Mrs. Marks became animated. “Oh, we’re not going back to Cusco. We’re…”
Mr. Marks interrupted. “Remember what we agreed, dear.”
“I’m sure Mr. Davis won’t tell anyone, will you, Mr. Davis?”
Rex was about to ask ‘tell anyone what?’
Roper looked as if he might interrupt, too, but Mrs. Marks beat him to it. “Junior has discovered some unexcavated ruins. Tell him, son,” she urged in a whisper.
Roper squirmed, earning another growl from Digger. “What’s that dog’s problem?” he asked.
Rex didn’t answer. He figured he’d already told them Digger was a good judge of character, and that should be explanation enough. Maybe Digger shared Rex’s first impressions of the young man. But when Roper reluctantly began telling him about the remote village he’d stumbled into on a previous trip and the oral history the villagers had shared with him, Rex forgot about Digger’s animosity.
“Oral history?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. It’s remarkable. You know Quechuan has no written tradition, right? These guys, they’re brought up to remember all their tales and history. So, when a visitor comes, they have a feast and they’ll spend all night telling you this stuff.”
Rex wasn’t happy about this kid thinking he was old enough to be called ‘sir’. But he was intrigued enough to listen and suppress the irritation.
“Fascinating,” he said.
“For sure! It was fascinating, and the most fascinating thing about it is they told me about this old place. They called it ‘village of the old ones’ or ancients or something like that. My Quechuan isn’t perfect. Anyway, I asked to see it, and man, it’s something! Not as big as Machu Picchu, but according to the villagers, it’s never been studied by outsiders. I mean, there are artifacts just laying there. Mr. and Mrs. Marks are going to fund a dig, and I’m going to run it!”
Junior Roper had apparently forgotten his initial reluctance to talk about it.
Rex could hardly keep up with the stream of words as the enthused Junior barely took a breath. He was cynical about the ‘village of the old ones or ancients’ of whatever, but the oral history of the village intrigued him.
“Mhh. I see. Interesting. My Quechuan is pretty good,” he heard himself saying. “What do you say we, my dog and I, tag along? I’d like to meet the villagers. I’m interested in the oral history of the natives around here.”
Chapter Five
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for Rex to remember why he hadn’t joined this tour from Cusco in the first place. Two guides, a handful of porters, a cook and his assistant, and about fifty contentious, complaining tourists was too much of a crowd for Rex. They’d hiked three days to get to Machu Picchu, spent five hours in the site, and then turned back to spend another three days covering the same route back.
Fortunately, Rex and his new traveling companions didn’t stay very long with them. At lunch, Rex had questioned Junior more closely about the location of the village he’d told them about. Flo and Barry Marks listened as the younger men discussed the best way to get there.
To Rex’s disappointment, it was nowhere near the Sacred Valley, where he knew many ruins had been found and villages seemed to be situated at every bend of the river. That had been his next destination.
However, the prospect of meeting villagers untainted by tourist influence and hearing their version of Inca history was a strong pull, and he didn’t regret joining the impromptu expedition. As the tour group loaded up to head out, Rex and Junior continued to discuss the best way to get their group to the village near the Hidroelectrica power p
lant, the nearest place where they might find supplies for a long trek into the higher reaches of the Andes, where their target village lay. From there, it was a five-hour hike to the town of Santa Teresa, where Junior said they could definitely get supplies and porters if they wished, for the final approach to the village of Hatun Rumi, literally translated from Quechuan as High Stone.
There was no direct route hiking, though Hidroelectrica was only a little over a mile as the crow flies from where they sat. Unfortunately, that mile included a sheer nine-hundred-foot drop through uncharted jungle and bushwhacking along the east bank of the Urubamba River until they could cross where the highway from Aguas Calientes to Hidroelectrica bridged it.
Rex knew he and Digger could have made it on their own. It was possible Junior could have made it, though Rex had his doubts. But there was no way either Flo or Barry Marks would have made it.
The only choice was to retrace Rex and Digger’s route back to Ollantaytambo and try to rent a car there. From there, they could take Highway 28B all the way around Machu Picchu Mountain, a distance of about eighty-three miles. But it would take seven hours to hike to Ollantaytambo. With dwindling water supplies, Rex was the only one who was prepared for it. Before they went there, they’d have to go to Aguas Calientes, where they might as well spend the night, since it was already well past noon, and the round trip to the tourist trap town would take five hours.
Rex pondered ruefully what it meant to be on foot or even have a car in a country where twenty-thousand-foot peaks might mean a drive of hours to gain a few miles. Previously on this trip, he hadn’t cared. He’d taken weeks to get from Lima to Cusco, unable to fly even if he’d wanted to skip the sights of the coast, because Peruvian airlines didn’t pressurize their cargo holds, and none would take a dog Digger’s size in the passenger cabins. Now he was anxious to get to the remote village in the shortest time possible. But the irony was it might take hours of walking before they could hitch a ride to bring them closer, which might still leave them with another day or more of hiking to get there.
There was no help for it, though. Rex had learned the best way to tackle the inevitable was to put your head down and just do it.
“Let’s go, then. I have three bottles of water left. Two for Mr. and Mrs. Marks and you, Junior. One’s for Digger and me. I suggest you all pace yourselves, because it’s going to be a muggy walk to Aguas Calientes.”
Flo giggled. “That’s apropos, don’t you think?”
Rex didn’t get it. Which part was apropos? He frowned and tilted his head just like Digger would when he was puzzled.
She took the hint and explained. “Aguas Calientes. That means hot water, doesn’t it?”
So it did. Rex hadn’t been there. He wondered if there were hot springs there.
***
AS HE’D EXPECTED, the hikes between the rest stop where they started and Santa Teresa were long, hot, and uncomfortable. Digger continued to growl at Junior whenever he got within a few paces of Rex. Junior ignored him but kept his distance when he could. Rex was surprised that Junior didn’t complain about the heat or the walking. He seemed to be in better physical shape than Rex would have expected after his first impressions of the young man. However, it didn’t seem to give him a pass on whatever Digger had against him.
He was also surprised that the older couple held up as well as they did. Of course, they’d been conditioned to the long hours of hiking on the first part of their tour, but Barry was overweight. Rex had to adjust his assessment of the couple’s hardiness for the adventure. Maybe they wouldn’t need to hire porters for the final leg of the journey, after all.
Two days after their impromptu joint venture began, they stopped for the night in Santa Teresa. It was there that the first three-way disagreement came up.
Rex had noted the descent from the seven to eight thousand feet of altitude where they’d begun. It worried him, since as far as he could tell, the others hadn’t stayed in Cusco long enough to really acclimate to the higher altitude. They’d descended steadily, and Santa Teresa was at the lowest point of any place they’d been since then. It wouldn’t take long to decondition, and they were going to have to climb now. But they’d need at least a day to outfit themselves for a long trek.
The Markses wanted to stay for about a week to rest, they said. They dismissed Rex’s concerns about altitude, saying Cusco hadn’t bothered them much. Despite his caution that Junior couldn’t tell them the altitude, and it could well be three thousand feet higher than Cusco or more, they were adamant they’d be okay.
Junior agreed they needed to stay a few days. He didn’t give a reason other than it might be difficult to get the expedition gear together in only a day. He wouldn’t say on what he was basing that estimate. Rex didn’t want to argue, since he’d never been to Santa Teresa before. Junior didn’t say outright that he had been, but he seemed confident that he knew the way from there to Hatun Rumi, so Rex had to assume he knew what he was talking about. Even three or four days delay could be an issue for the altitude conditioning, though. Rex didn’t like it.
At the end of the discussion, they had to compromise. The old couple grumbled but agreed to set out in four days. Rex suppressed his impatience and concern, knowing they’d pay for the delay later.
Junior seemed more pleased than he should have been at the minor victory.
Digger, of course, sided with Rex.
Rex did win a concession from the couple. If they were going to rest, he reasoned, maybe they’d trust him and Junior to acquire the gear they needed. With that agreed, he and the younger man went about outfitting the group with little contention. Junior said he agreed the delay wouldn’t help the older couple with their conditioning, but he suggested a llama or two rather than human porters.
“I’ve never been a llama handler,” Rex replied. “Have you?”
“How hard can it be? They’re just little camels, aren’t they?”
Rex raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever handled a camel?”
Junior grinned. “Nope. But it can’t be that hard.”
Oh, no? Camels are more stubborn than mules when they want to be. But you don’t need to know I’ve been in the Middle East.
After discussing the issue with a local who agreed to sell them two llamas and assured them the animals wouldn’t give them any trouble, neither man was willing to admit he had any qualms. They paid the man a deposit and told him they’d come by to get the animals and their pack saddles in three days’ time.
They acquired dried food, bottled water, and a bigger camp stove for the journey. Rex had a small one in his gear that they would use to heat water. They got ground covers, sleeping bags and extra blankets, ponchos and plastic sheets to cover them against the coming rains. Everyone already had hiking boots, which was good. Rex wouldn’t have wanted to deal with breaking in new ones on a trek he already suspected would be arduous.
Rex made it a private errand to acquire something he hadn’t thought he’d need on this trip before – a replacement for his beloved Sig Sauer P226, which he couldn’t bring into the country. Peru was generally regarded as a safe country to visit and travel in, but Rex always felt naked without a gun on his body. Besides that, he had other good reasons to arm himself as they were going into remote areas off the popular tourist routes with long stretches of wilderness, wild animals, and not much or any in the way of law enforcement.
Gun ownership in Peru had to be licensed, but once a license was acquired, it was a de facto concealed carry permit. He found a shop owner who, for a consideration, ‘rushed’ the licensing process and sold Rex a used Sig the day after he inquired about one. The serial number was intact, so he didn’t worry about it having been used in a crime previously.
Rex also bought a hunting rifle. Some of the wildlife in Peru could be dangerous, after all. Buying the rifle was also his cover for picking up the Sig, so he didn’t have two unexplained errands to account for if anyone asked.
He would have liked a more
modern rifle, but in this remote part of Peru, there was only one dealer, and the choices were second-hand ancient and second-hand old. So, he settled on a second-hand old, Winchester Model 70, known as ‘The Rifleman’s Rifle’, a favorite of hunters and sport shooters since it was first produced in 1936. Rex got one that had left the factory in 2005, had a walnut stock, and was overall in good condition. The merchant gave him a half-price deal on the box of fifty .308 cartridges.
By then, the group had been together for nearly a week, and Rex had formed opinions on each member except Junior. The jury was still out for him, mostly because of Digger’s animosity. Rex still couldn’t account for it, but he’d trusted the dog for more than a year by then, and he saw no reason to change his mind about that. Nevertheless, Junior’s behavior hadn’t raised any red flags since that day in the restaurant. He seemed to have taken the loss of his money in that scam in stride.
During his quiet musings about Junior, Rex couldn’t help but recall his stormy relationship with Digger in the beginning. And that had all to do with Rex’s fear or rather, phobia of dogs, originating from being mauled by a dog when he was a little boy. Rex still didn’t know why Digger terrorised him like that. Since the death of Trevor Mulligan, Digger’s previous owner in an ambush in Afghanistan, Rex and Digger had their squabbles, but Digger had stopped intimidating him. Maybe it was a similar situation with Junior. Rex decided not to ask because he knew how embarrassing it was for him to admit that he was terrified of dogs.
Regarding the Marks couple, to Rex it was clear Flo was the tougher half. She appeared to keep her mind on maintaining her physical strength, which he found impressive for a woman her age. She had also been the deciding factor in the compromise, and she’d done it in a way that Rex felt didn’t make Barry feel undermined.
Barry was a peculiar mixture. He’d showed strength of character in building a business he’d been able to sell for enough money to live in luxury and have enough left to indulge in a charitable activity. Rex had no quarrel with the activity he’d chosen, either. Archaeology and history traveled hand-in-hand, as far as he was concerned. He could get behind a foundation that sought to uncover more of human history. He wholeheartedly agreed with philosopher George Santayana’s statement that those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it.
