while insects have to beat their wings a thousand times a second.

The Major and Wilson had seized their carbines, but Glenarvan
stopped them by a gesture. The condor was encircling in his
flight a sort of inaccessible plateau about a quarter of a mile
up the side of the mountain. He wheeled round and round with
dazzling rapidity, opening and shutting his formidable claws,
and shaking his cartilaginous carbuncle, or comb.

"It is there, there!" exclaimed Glenarvan.

A sudden thought flashed across his mind, and with a terrible cry,
he called out, "Fire! fire! Oh, suppose Robert were still alive!
That bird."

But it was too late. The condor had dropped out of sight behind
the crags. Only a second passed, a second that seemed an age,
and the enormous bird reappeared, carrying a heavy load and flying
at a slow rate.

A cry of horror rose on all sides. It was a human body the condor
had in his claws, dangling in the air, and apparently lifeless--
it was Robert Grant. The bird had seized him by his clothes, and had
him hanging already at least one hundred and fifty feet in the air.
He had caught sight of the travelers, and was flapping his
wings violently, endeavoring to escape with his heavy prey.

"Oh! would that Robert were dashed to pieces against the rocks,
rather than be a--"