t one this time, sure."

A moment later and he came upon Andy, who at sight of his chum showed
signs of relief.

"I'm awful glad you came along, Frank," he said, seizing the other by
the sleeve; "I was at your house and they told me you had gone downtown
somewhere. Then, as the mail was in, I remembered Colonel Josiah was
expecting one of his letters from London, and so I dropped over. But
there was nothing for him. Mr. Guthrie handed me out this and said he
guessed it was for me. Oh, look where it is from, Frank! Do you
think--can it be possible that it means some news, after all this time,
from my father?"

Frank saw it was rather a bulky letter and that the postmark showed a
station in South America. Remembering all that had passed between them
in connection with this country he understood the cause of Andy's great
emotion.

"I was almost afraid to open it, Frank," said the other, brokenly.

"Well, do it now," remarked Frank, and Andy tore the end off hurriedly.

He appeared to read hungrily for a minute, and then gave a cry of
amazement.

"Oh!" he said, taking in a big breath, "how strange! how wonderful!"

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MESSAGE.

Frank Bird could restrain his curiosity no longer.

"What is it, Andy?" he asked, as he laid an affectionate arm across the
shoulders of his cousin.

The other turned his eyes upon Frank, and there was something in their
depths that stirred the other tremendously.

"Is it about your father, Andy?" he demanded, eagerness plainly showing
in his whole manner; for he understood what a hold the subject had on
his chum.

Andy nodded, and as soon as he could command his quivering voice, said:

"Yes, nothing more than a letter from the grave, I fear! See, Frank,
written in his own dear hand. Oh! to think of it, that at least three
months ago he was alive, even though a prisoner, the sport of fate."

"A prisoner!" echoed Frank, astonished. "Whatever can you mean? Did he
fall into the hands of some of those strange Indians we have been
reading about, who have their homes around the headwaters of the Orinoco
River in Venezuela?"

This time Andy shook his head in the negative.

"It is stranger than that--almost beyond belief!" he replied. "My poor
father has for months been imprisoned in a great valley, surrounded by
impassable cliffs. Don't you remember something of the sort occurred in
one of Captain Mayne Reid's books, where the young plant hunters found
themsel