Back Aa

Peril Finders

Close

<h3>Chapter Twenty Three.</h3> <h4>A Bivouac.</h4> “Oh, I say, Griggs, isn’t this a lovely place!” said Ned that evening just before sundown, as they sat beside a glowing wood fire, waiting for the sufficient cooking of the bread-cakes that had been made. Griggs was combining the duties of watch and cook; the animals were grazing contentedly; the rest of the party were sleeping just where they had wearily thrown themselves down after their long journey—all save Ned. He had woke up a few minutes before, to sit staring about him, wondering where he was, and with a vague notion in his head that the setting sun, whose horizontal rays were searching the gully to its deepest depth and staining the sky with the most glorious tints wherever they could rest upon a fleecy cloud, was rising, and that the odour that saluted his nostrils was given off by the breakfast cakes. Griggs was busy raking the glowing ashes over one of those cakes, and as he did not seem to hear, Ned glanced at where Chris lay with his head upon a doubled-up blanket, and repeated his question, which this time brought forth a reply. “Yes; it’s beautiful enough, my lad, but not the place we want.” “You haven’t had a good look round yet,” said Ned. “Quite good enough to satisfy me that the map was not made here.” Ned was silent for a few minutes, and then he said suddenly— “Yes, it’s going down, and it will soon be night. I was puzzled at first. I thought it was morning. It all comes through lying down at such an unnatural time.” “Ah, you mustn’t expect to go on in the regular way when you’re travelling, my lad,” said Griggs, “but get your bit of sleep when the chance comes.” “I suppose so,” said Ned; “but it was ever so long before I could go off, though I was as tired as a dog. Chris was just as bad, but he’s sleeping soundly enough now.” “No, I’m not,” said Chris quietly. “I’m wide awake, listening to what you say, and smelling the cakes. Are they nearly done, Griggs?” “Want another quarter of an hour, and then I shall make the tea.” “Then I shall go and bathe my face,” said Chris. “That’ll freshen me up. Will you come?” This was to Ned, who rose at once, and they walked off together towards where a little stream came gurgling and splashing down from the heights above. “They sleep well enough,” said Chris, with a side wag of the head. “Yes; but I couldn’t. I say, shall we have to watch to-night?” “No, I think not. I’m sure we shall have our turn to sleep till morning.” “That’s right. I know I shall go off like a top. But I say, look at the sky and those fir-trees up there.” “Lovely,” said Chris. “Some parts are so bright, all red and orange, and others look quite purple and black. It keeps changing so fast too, that the black shadows seem to move.” “Yes; that’s what I thought more than once as I lay there before you woke. It was just as if something was creeping about under the boughs.” “Not an Indian spy on all fours, was it?” said Chris quickly. “Nonsense! He wouldn’t have shown himself like that.” “Wasn’t a wild beast?” “Of course not. If it had been it would have scared the mules and ponies. No, it was only a shadow creeping along, and I suppose, after all, I wasn’t quite awake. Now then for that water. It’s sure to be fresh and cold, and will wash all the sleepy feeling away.” Ned was quite right. The water had come tumbling down from somewhere high up the peak, and felt quite icy as they lay down upon their faces amongst the stones and scooped it up out of a little moss-grown rock-pool for a few minutes, before rising up to dry their faces, feeling bright and elastic once more and wonderfully ready for the evening meal, the preparations for which sent forth another scent far more attractive than that which came from the ferns which grew in every crevice of the rocks, and the pines whose aromatic resin shed a fainter perfume now that the heat of the sun had died away. So beautiful was the soft gloom in the valley, so delicious the warm glow above, about the summit of the peak, that every one looked content and dreamy, as they sat almost in silence about the camp-fire and partook of their welcome repast. “My turn to-night, Lee,” said Wilton suddenly. “I don’t think we shall be disturbed—do you?” “No; I feel sure that we got away unseen, and in an hour it will be so still that you can hear the slightest sound.” “And so dark that an enemy could not find us.” “Till the moon rises,” said Bourne, “and then I come on. I say, doctor, you’re going to have as idle a time as the boys.” “And I’m sure father wants it,” said Chris sharply; “he nearly works himself to death.” “And never felt better in my life,” said the doctor, with a pleasant laugh. “This mountain air is glorious after the work in those dreary salt plains. But thank you all the same, Chris, my boy; you’ll take care that I am not quite worked to death, eh?” “You won’t let me,” said the boy quickly. “No,” replied the doctor. Then changing the subject, he turned to Griggs. “Just a word with you, neighbour,” he said. “You feel pretty confident about to-night, don’t you?” “Yes; we’ll have a good rest, and to-morrow—” “Well, what about to-morrow?” said the doctor, for the American paused. “Strike right off to the south.” “Why?” said Wilton sharply. “Because, grand as all this part is, it won’t do. A man wouldn’t dry up with starvation and thirst in such a country as this, but get fat and lazy. We’re not anywhere near the map land yet.” “I’m afraid not,” said the doctor; “but the climate is perfect. One would like to settle here, for some things.” “One?” said Bourne. “I know two.” “Three,” said Wilton. “All of us,” cried Chris. “I didn’t speak,” said Griggs dryly. “No; but you said you liked the place if it wasn’t for the Indians,” cried Ned. “Ah, I wasn’t thinking about the gold then, my lad.” “The gold!” cried Bourne contemptuously. “What is the gold, after all, but so much yellow metal?” “That’s right enough, sir,” said Griggs, “but precious—” “Precious!” said Bourne, with more contempt in his tone. “A fancy word.” “I hadn’t finished what I meant to say, sir,” said Griggs. “Finish then,” cried Bourne. “I don’t believe you are a slave to the lust for gold.” “Slave, eh?” said Griggs merrily. “Britons never shall be slaves, as you sing—nor Murricans neither. No, sir. I was going to say precious useful, when you cut me short.” “I beg your pardon, Griggs.” “Granted, sir. I was speaking as a man who has toiled for years and years to get a decent living by his plantation, and I must say, after all my disappointments I should like to drop all at once upon that gold city where the stuff’s lying waiting to be carted away.” “Yes,” said the doctor; “after all our lost labour it would be pleasant.” “I don’t want to wear gold chains and rings, and to keep carriages,” continued Griggs, “but I should like to have enough of the yellow stuff to put in a bank, and one might do a good deal of good if one made a pile.” “Yes, I quite agree with you,” said the doctor. “We all do, and we’ll work till we find it.” “Of course,” cried Wilton; “but I don’t like that striking off south to-morrow; why should we do that?” “It means getting clear of the Indians,” said Griggs, “and into a more likely part.” “But we should have to go right across that desert yonder. I could see it stretching away to the horizon from one point we passed to-day.” “So did I, sir,” said Griggs. “Then why not keep hugging the mountains?” “Or letting them hug us, Ned,” whispered Chris. “Didn’t use the glass when you looked out over the salt plain, did you, Mr Wilton?” said Griggs. “No; there wasn’t any need. I could see nothing else but one vast alkali plain.” “That’s a pity, sir,” said the American. “That’s what I say, and I propose that we keep on in the mountains till we can see a place likely to be that we are looking for.” “Look here, gentlemen,” said Griggs, “I’m Amurrican, and I speak with a slow sort of drawl which comes nat’ral to me. You don’t give me time. I’ve got a lot more to say about that lookout and the glass, only—snip-snap, you cut my speech right in two.” “I’m very sorry, Griggs,” cried Wilton. “Did you use the glass up there?” “Up there, and several other places too. That’s why I asked the doctor here to let me carry it.” “Well, and what did you see?” cried Wilton. “Nothing, till we got to that highest part.” “And then?” “Why then, right away south where the salt plains seemed to come to an end—” “Ah!” cried the doctor. “I could see just a line of faint clouds or shadows.” “Yes, clouds,” said Wilton—“shadows.” “Nay, it warn’t,” said Griggs. “Clouds and shadows miles away—a hundred, perhaps—seen through this clear air look like clouds and shadows.” “Of course,” said Wilton. “Blackish or greyish. These didn’t.” “How did they look then?” said Bourne. “Like mountains, sir; just that beautiful, wonderful, soft, pale pinkish blue. We were very high up, it was as clear as clear, and I don’t say how far it was off; most likely a hundred miles away, perhaps two; but there they were, a long line of ’em, some high and some low. Mountains, and no mistake, and that’s where we ought to go.” “Right across that scorching desert?” said Wilton. “Yes, sir. It won’t be nice, but we’ll take plenty of water.” “And risk the rattlesnakes?” “Yes, sir, and leave the Indians to themselves here,” said Griggs. “They may have this part and welcome. We don’t want it. What do you say, doctor?” “That we’ll have a good rest to-night, and climb to-morrow morning as high above us as we can to get another glimpse of your mountains, Griggs, and then map down our course by the compass and start, after making the best preparations we can. Have you anything more to say against the plan, Wilton?” “Not a bit,” cried the latter. “I didn’t know that Griggs had got another range of mountains up his sleeve. There, I’m a lazy one, and I can’t help longing to loaf about in a beautiful place like this. I should like to stop and shoot and explore. The place is lovely.” “Wait till we’ve got the gold, sir,” said Griggs merrily, “and then I’m with you. Nothing I should like better than to stop about here if Mr Lo! the poor Indian, would leave us alone. But he wouldn’t, I know of old, and I’ve a great objection to standing still for him to make a target of me and stick me as full of arrows as a porcupine. Say, I wonder we haven’t seen any of those gentlemen, and those black and white fellows with the feathery tails.” “The skunks!” cried the doctor. “No, nor do we want to. Then now for a good rest. Sleep, boys, and ‘pay attintion to it,’ like Barney O’Reardon. This moss will feel like feather-beds to-night. My word, how dark it has grown while we have been talking! Good-night, every one. I’m half-asleep now.” Five minutes later he was quite, and the rest, saving the watch, were rapidly following his example, the only sounds heard being the distant hoot of an owl, the musical trickling of falling water, and the crop, crop of the grazing beasts. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2