“Hurrah!” cried Panton.
“I don’t see where the hurrah comes in,” said Oliver, quietly, “but I’m glad that our journey has not been without some result.”
“I should have liked to get to the top though,” said Panton, looking upward wistfully.
“I say, you two,” said Drew, “we were to give a good look round for the niggers.”
“I’ve been doing so,” said Oliver, whose eyes were still at his glass, “and there isn’t a sign of a hut, boat, or savage. Nothing but a barrier reef shutting in a beautiful lagoon, and the cocoa-nut palms fringing its edge.”
“What about the lower slopes?” asked Drew.
“Dense forest for the most part, cut through every here and there by what looks like old lava streams, which reach the lagoon, and form cliffs.”
“Then this side of the island is better wooded than the other?”
“Evidently, and there are two little streams running down from the dark chaos of rock, that look to me different from the rest of the mountain. You have a look, Panton.”
The latter took the glass and stood sweeping the mountain slope for some minutes, during which Smith and Wriggs sat down, and lit their pipes for a restful smoke.