“No fancy about it, Nic. They were sulphur crests. You’ll see thousands in the groves down by the river.”
“Is there a river about here?”
“Your wet clothes seemed to suggest something of the kind,” said the doctor, laughing.
“But that was a pond,” said Nic.
“A water-hole—a deep place in the river. That depression is a river, Nic,” continued the doctor, pointing; “there it runs yonder. You can trace it by the trees which cluster along its course. It is dried up now, all but a hole here and there; but after rains it is a rushing stream, and I dare say a little water is always trickling along its course from hole to hole a few feet under ground. Now then, pack up the basket. We shall want it for supper. Have a nap afterwards if you are tired. I shall not go on for an hour and a half yet.”
But Nic wanted no nap—there was too much to see; and it did not seem to be long before the order was given to yoke the oxen and saddle up.