Meanwhile Drew had been busy examining the trees and plants around; and Panton had been fascinated, as it were, by the place, picking up fragments of stone and sulphur-incrusted lava—when he was not listening to a low hissing, gurgling sound, which told plainly enough that volcanic action was still in progress, somewhere in the depths below.
“There!” cried Oliver. “I’m ready. Where next?”
“Are you fit to go on?” asked Drew.
“Fit? Yes. Let’s get to a pool and have a wash, and then I’m ready for anything.”
“Some water over yonder, sir,” said Smith, pointing to where the sun flashed from a spot beyond the trees.
“Then let’s get to it,” said Oliver. “What do you say to exploring onward toward the mist bank?”
“I say yes, and let’s go through it,” cried Panton. “I want to look at the mountain. What’s the matter, Smith? See anything?”
The man held up his hand.
“Hinjun, sir,” he whispered.
“Eh! Where?” cried Drew, cocking his piece.