CHAPTER XI
Chubby the Eater
"Robbed?" cried Bob, almost unbelievingly.
Before he could say anything further, a tall, dark man appeared at thefront of the coach. Roughly he shouted something in the native tongue,at the same time flashing a shining pistol in full view of all.
"Quick!" exclaimed Mr. Wallace, taking advantage of an opportunity."Hide our money--under the seat there next to you."
The naturalist handed his pocketbook to Bob, who had taken his ownpurse from his pocket. The two he placed in a little crack between theseat and the side of the coach.
He was not a moment too soon. Scarcely had the youth resumed hisnatural position when the robber appeared before him and demandedmoney.
"Our pockets are empty," Mr. Wallace told the man. "You can't getanything from a poor man."
The Colombian soon found that the naturalist spoke the truth. Buteven then he was a bit suspicious. Americans or Europeans--he knew notwhich they were--usually were rich, carrying with them much money. Andthat these two had boarded the train with empty pockets was indeedsurprising.
Search as he did, however, he could find no trace of any money. But hewas somewhat satisfied when he took possession of Mr. Wallace'shandsome watch.
Luckily Bob had left his timepiece in the cabin of the monoplane,having forgotten it in the excitement of the day. Strange to say, thiswas the first day in the week that the youth had not worn it.
"Well," said Mr. Wallace, after the man had gone, "I lost theequivalent of fifty dollars. Not a great deal. But too much to havetaken from me."
"Good thing you thought to mention hiding our pocketbooks," Bob toldhim. "If you hadn't, we'd have been in a fine mess. Away out here in astrange country with no money."
"And of course the railroad wouldn't have made it good," thenaturalist said disgustedly. "If I ever have another watch I supposeI'll have to pay for it."
Ten minutes later the train was again chugging across the barrenplateau. The robber gang had vanished before a cloud of heavy dust,perhaps not any too well satisfied with its exploit.
"I didn't know this was dangerous territory," remarked Bob Holton alittle later. "Seemed like everyone was too lazy to do anything butloaf."
"I guess we'll find gangs anywhere we go," Mr. Wallace told him. "Atleast that's my opinion, after quite a bit of traveling."
Bob recalled the bands of criminals he had met with at home and on theSahara Desert, and concluded that his friend was right. No matter howmuch good there is in the world, there is always a certain amount ofbad.
Two hours later the Americans were surprised to see that they werecoming into a town. At the railroad station where they had boarded thetrain, they had not been told that another town was between them andthe coast.
"This is Mahatos," announced the naturalist, pronouncing the name asbest he could.
"Guess everyone here wants strangers to be sure and know what townthey're in," laughed Bob. "At any rate, that sign is plenty large.Almost hides the station."
This town was much the same as the one at which they had boarded thetrain. They were glad when finally it was left behind.
"Wonder if we'll make any more stops?" mused Bob with a smile.
"Don't be surprised if we do," Mr. Wallace replied. "For all I knowthere may be a dozen villages between us and the coast."
During the next two hours the train crawled along without coming to asettlement. Then finally it passed a row of little black houses andpulled into Cartagena, the coast city.
"All out," said Mr. Wallace, picking up the large gasoline can. "We'vereached our destination at last."
As the Americans looked about the well-built station, they found thatthis was a city of considerable importance. Crowds of people,clusters of business houses, and--what was more interesting tothem--automobiles dotted the streets.
"Where there's a motorcar there's gasoline!" cried Bob joyfully. "Nowwho says we won't put fuel in the airplane tank!"
They found a filling station--or at least a place where gasoline wassold--not far away and lost no time in having the can filled tocapacity. Then they turned back to the railroad station.
"Our business in this city is completed in five minutes, after havingmade a four-hour trip here!" Bob could not help bursting out inlaughter, and Mr. Wallace joined him.
They entered the railroad station and inquired when they might board atrain back to Calamar.
Much to their displeasure, they found that it would not be possibleto do so until the next morning. The agent explained that it wasnecessary to repair a portion of the track, and that until this wascompleted, a run could not be made.
"Just as I expected!" groaned Bob, sitting down on the seathopelessly. "To save your neck you can't make time in South America."
"What will we do to while the time away?" asked the naturalist.
"Look around, I suppose. Nothing else to do."
The Americans found Cartagena very interesting. Its several industrieswere throbbing with life; its people were possessed of a certainamount of energy and ambition that was entirely absent farther inland.
The travelers were loitering along at the port, watching the steamersarrive and depart, when Bob suddenly caught sight of something thatcaused him to nudge his friend.
"Look at that fellow over there," the youth pointed out. "Isn't he anAmerican?"
Almost at once Mr. Wallace made a reply. "He is as sure as I'm born.Or else"--the naturalist hesitated--"he's English."
The object of their remarks was a short, fat young man of perhapstwenty, with twinkling eyes and a pug nose. He was dressed in khakioutdoor clothes that stretched tightly over his protruding stomach.
Before Bob and the naturalist could make a further move, the strangeyoung man walked over to them, his small, deeply set eyes flashingwith merriment.
"Ain't you from the good old U. S. A., or ain't you?" he demanded,extending a short, fat hand.
"From nowhere else!" Bob was overjoyed. "And I take it that you are?"
"Right as four chipmunks!" the little fellow said quickly. "You'relookin' at Chubby Stevens, from Houston. And now that I've got thatoff my chest, I ain't expectin' you to hold your names a secret."
Bob laughed.
"This is Mr. Wallace, and my name's Holton--Bob Holton. I'm fromWashington and my friend's from Chicago."
"A good bit of the _Estados Unidos_ is represented here, I see,"Chubby said with a laugh. "The East, Middle West, and Southwest. Isuppose you're just lookin' around?"
"For the present, yes," Mr. Wallace returned, and then related theevents that led to their being in Cartagena.
The fat youth listened intently.
"You may be wantin' more of South America, but I don't," he said whenthe naturalist had finished. "I've been here a year and have got all Iwant of it. I'm longin' to see the old Gulf Building, back in Houston.Dad's office is there. He's a lawyer."
"And you--what are you doing here, just seeing the country?" inquiredBob.
"I'm seein' too much of it to suit me," Chubby answered. "Came here tolook around and to get rid of some fat. But doggone it, I'm fatter nowthan I ever was. Guess I'll have to cut out adventurin' and take backmy old job in the office, if I want to get skinnier."
A burst of laughter followed.
"You're hopeless, all right," chuckled Bob. "I never saw a case likeyours before. Why, I weighed a hundred and eighty before I left theStates, and I'll bet I don't weigh much more than a hundred andseventy now. If exploring would do that to me, why won't it do it toyou?"
"That's what I've been tryin' to figure out for the last year," Chubbyreturned. "Funny, but I used those same figures, but I just switchedthem around. Went from a hundred and seventy to a hundred and eighty.That's away too much weight for a bozo my size to carry around."
"Why don't you try swimming back to America?" laughed Bob. "Thatmight do the trick."
"I've been thinkin' about that, too, only I'm afraid I couldn't takealong enough to ea
t."
"Oh!" Bob groaned hopelessly, and then, as he found that Chubby hadjust arrived in Cartagena, suggested that they take a walk about thecity.
But as it was almost noon, Chubby suggested that they get a "bite" toeat. Just enough, he said, to prevent them from falling from hunger.
Mr. Wallace snorted.
"I suppose it's impossible to do it," the naturalist said earnestly,"but I'd like to take you along on our expedition into the Andes. Ifyou'll go, I'll guarantee that you'll get rid of twenty pounds."
"Huh? Are you tryin' to kid me?" Chubby looked up suddenly.
"Not a bit of it," Mr. Wallace answered, trying hard to suppress asmile. "It works every time. You see, we have to get by on limitedrations and----"
"Fine! I'll go---- What was that you said? Limited rations? That meansless food, doesn't it?"
Mr. Wallace nodded.
"Then I'm afraid," began Chubby, shaking his head slowly, "that Icouldn't think of considering your proposition, however wonderful itmight be. I'm----"
"It's no use," laughed Bob. "A heavy eater doesn't make an explorer."
Bob and the naturalist were finally persuaded to follow the fatyouth's suggestion and get a "bite" to eat. Then they continued theirsightseeing.
Thus the remainder of the day passed, and they began to look about fora place to spend the night. Chubby resolved to remain with his newlyfound friends as long as the latter stayed in Cartagena. Then, he toldthem, he would take a boat to the United States.
The three Americans engaged a small room in a boarding house that wasowned by a Canadian. Although it was not the utmost in comfort, theywere glad to throw themselves on the hard bed to retire.
They passed a restful night, however, awaking late the next morning.
"What shall we do until train time?" asked Bob, preparing to leave theroom.
"Look around some more, I suppose," Chubby said. "In this country youcan always find something you haven't seen before. There's a lotthat's funny, too. I've been laughing a year at the natives."
"Maybe they've been laughing at you," Bob thought to himself, but saidnothing. The fat little fellow would indeed provoke a smile frommany.
Until ten the three walked around the city, noticing everything thatwas peculiar to this strange land. When finally they came back to therailroad station, they were not a little fatigued. Especially tiredwas Chubby.
"Well," Bob began, "we'll leave in fifteen minutes, if we follow theset schedule. I suppose," he said to the fat youth, "you've definitelymade up your mind to go back home?"
"Yeah."
"Then you won't think of going with us to the Andes? We could use you,all right."
"Sorry, but it's North America for me." Chubby spoke decisively. "Thiscontinent here ain't fit for a gazook like me. I want to get back."
He exchanged addresses with Bob and Mr. Wallace, pocketing hisnotebook just as the train steamed up to the station.
"Good-bye and good luck!" called Bob, as he stepped up into the coach."Write us sometime."
"Hope you lose some fat," laughed Mr. Wallace, as they started moving."And you'd better not try to swim to the U. S."
The train moved slowly away, leaving Chubby to stand on the platform,still waving.
"Good fellow, all right," smiled Bob, settling himself down in theseat. "All he needs is a little well-directed exercise."
"I'm afraid he won't get it," said the naturalist. "He'll probably befat as long as he lives."
The journey back to Calamar was uneventful. Bob and Mr. Wallace lookedout rather fearfully as they passed the spot where they had previouslybeen robbed. But no gang appeared this time to stay them.
Finally they reached their destination and left the train. They weregreatly surprised to see that no one was there to meet them.
"That's funny!" mused Bob, as he and the naturalist lugged the heavygasoline can in the direction of the airplane. "I thought sure Dad orJoe would be here."
When at last they came to the airplane, Bob gave a cry of surprise.
Seated on the ground were Joe, Karl Sutman, and Mr. Holton, theirfaces bleeding from numerous scratches, their clothes torn andwrinkled.