“Think they’ll come back?” said Oliver.
“Well, not till we’ve had plenty of time to reach the brig,” replied Panton, “so let’s get on at once. I say, look at old Drew!”
Oliver turned his head to see, with surprise and some amusement, that now the imminent danger had passed, the naturalist had re-asserted itself, and their companion was eagerly collecting specimens of the wonderful parasitic plants which clustered over a decaying tree-trunk. Then his own instincts were aroused by the beauty of at least a dozen tiny sun-birds, perfect gems of colour and brilliancy, which were flitting and buzzing almost like insects about the same blossoms, to probe the deep richly-tinted throats with their long curved beaks.
“These are quite fresh,” he said, “I must have a couple of specimens.”
In his eagerness he opened the breech of his gun to substitute fresh cartridges containing the smallest shot he had, but Panton arrested him.
“Don’t fire,” he said, “they may hear you and come back.”
Phut!
A peculiar sound like a jet of air suddenly shot out of the crack in the earth close by.
“What’s that?” cried Panton, excitedly.
“Don’t azackly know, sir,” said Smith; “but I see a puff o’ thin, bluish-looking steam come up out of that bit of a split there.”