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Slack.com slash DHQ. It is July the 24th, 1911. A brisk winter morning in the Andes mountains

of Peru. A boy is sitting on the stone steps of his home, eating a bowl of quinoa porridge

when he looks up to see a group of strangers approaching. He calls to his father, who comes

out to greet the visitors. They are offered water as they get down from their mules.

As the men talk, the child is fascinated by one man in particular. He stands a whole

head taller than the others. He wears boots up to the knees. His face is smooth and pointed

like an orchid and burned just as pink. The sun in the highlands is intense even in winter.

The tall man gives his name as Hiram Bingham. He is from the United States of America, he

says. He is asking about ancient buildings. Is there somewhere nearby that could have

once been a city? The boy's father points into the cloud, fringed hills that loom over

the village. There are ruins high in the forest, he says. Farmers live up there where they

can grow crops in solitude without paying taxes or being conscripted into the army. The

stranger, excited now, asks to be shown the way and is offering money. The boy goes over

eager to oblige. The hike into the cloud forest will be chilly and wet, but the boy likes

an adventure. He pulls his woolen blanket around his shoulders and sets off right away

along a path besides the Urubamba River. Bingham stays close to his young guide, ducking

under low-hanging ferns and side-stepping snakes. After a climb, he pauses to unpack his

...