“Then what do you propose?” said Sir James.
“To have the waggons drawn up across that opening that lies between those two walls.”
“Walls!” said Mark. “You mean that ravine of old stones that looks like a split made by an earthquake.”
“My dear boy,” said the doctor enthusiastically, “that earthquake, as you call it, I am sure was caused by men. What we see across there are two walls.”
“Well, they don’t look like it,” said Dean.
“Not as they are, boy,” said the doctor, “crumbled, grown over, and in utter ruins; but I have had a look long enough to satisfy me that all this was built up—perhaps thousands of years ago. We can prove all that by-and-by. I want to see everyone at work making what will be an easy task—a strongly fortified little camp into which no lions can break and we can sleep in peace.”
“Yes,” said Sir James; “those are the words of wisdom, boys, and we shan’t have to go far for our materials. But I don’t see any water.”
“We did, father,” cried Mark. “Mak took us over those piles—oh, not above fifty yards—and in what seemed to be a gully there was a beautiful river of water running along at the foot of a precipice.”
“Well, it wasn’t a precipice,” said Dean. “We were looking down upon it from the top of what if it had been built up we should call a wall; but I think it’s the side of a kopje.”
“Never mind what it was,” said the doctor, “so long as the water was there. We might have known that the black would not select a place without a supply. Now then, I think we can make a very good temporary shelter before it grows dark in the place I have pointed out, for it is one that we can go on improving by degrees.”