“Horse!” I exclaimed. “Ugh!”
“Oh yes, it’s all very well to say ‘Ugh!’ old proud stomach; but I feel ready to sit down to equine sirloin and enjoy it. Why shouldn’t horse be as good as ox or any of the antelopes of the veldt? You wouldn’t turn up your nose at any of them.”
“But horse!” I said. “It seems so—so—so—”
“So what? Oh, my grandmother! There isn’t a more dainty feeder than a horse. Why, he won’t even drink dirty water unless he’s pretty well choking with thirst. Horse? Why, I wouldn’t refuse a well-cooked bit of the toughest old moke that ever dragged a cart.”
“But what about fire?” I said.
“Oh, there’s plenty of stuff of one kind and another to get a fire together. They break up a box to start it, and then keep it going with bones and veldt fuel. Look; they’re coming in with a lot now.”
“I say,” I cried, as a sudden thought struck me. “Here, Sergeant!”
“What do you say?” cried Denham.
I said it to the Sergeant, proposing that he should make a roasting fire under the chimney of the old furnace; and as I spoke his face expanded into a genial smile.
“Splendid!” he said, and hurried away to shout to Joeboy; and in a very short time the smoke was rolling out of the top of the furnace chimney for probably the first time since the ancient race of miners ceased to smelt their gold-ore in the place marked on the maps of over a century ago as the Land of Ophir, but which has lain forgotten since, till our travellers rediscovered it within the last score of years.