“I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did, old lad, and I dessay I was right arter all, ’cept as it was only one canniball, and he’d got four legs ’stead o’ two.”
Billy Wriggs chuckled again, and then smelt his hands, looked disgusted, and scooped up a little moist earth to rub them with.
“Look sharp, they’re close up,” said Smith, “and I want to see about what fire there is, and how it come.”
“I know; it’s one o’ they red hot stones as come down and it’s set fire to something.”
A minute later they were within fifty yards of the rising vapours, when Wriggs roared,—“Look out!” and began to run.
For there was a peculiar rushing noise close overhead, followed by a duet of hoarse cries, and they had a glimpse of a couple of great, heavily-billed birds, passing close to them in the direction of their leaders.
Oliver took a quick shot at one and missed, the smoke hiding the second bird, and they passed on unharmed.
“Hornbills!” he cried, excitedly. “Come, we shall be able to collect here.”
“Hear that, mate?” whispered Smith, “hornbills, and can’t they blow ’em too?”