Biggles leaned back in his chair on the patio of the Hotel Guibert, in La Paz, and watched with interest a line of grunting llamas toiling across the cobbled plaza. A mule, followed by an arriero and a string of curses, which sounded to Biggles adequate, even though their meaning was quite beyond him, threaded its way in the opposite direction. Its load was continually shifting, and constant stops had to be made to re-hitch.
patioplazaarriero“I’m glad that chap isn’t my rigger,” he observed, moodily, as the arriero halted the beast for the third time within ten yards.
arrieroThe scene had become familiar, for more than a month had elapsed since they had landed on the Pacific side of the South American continent. For a fortnight they had flown Mr. Hollinger to various points of the compas
