“Yes. Why didn’t you shoot?”
“I forgot to,” said Mark hesitatingly; “and I was admiring them.”
“Yes, admirable, my young naturalist!” said the major. “But we are sent out here to find food for so many hungry people; and these are glorious eating.”
“Yes; I forgot,” said Mark, helping to collect the birds, which were tied by the legs and hung over the trunk of a tree, as the stream would act as their guide on their return.
Then going on, the little rapids and falls in the tiny river showed that they must be steadily rising, but at so slow a rate that it soon became evident that, unless the country opened out, they would not reach the mountain that day.
At the end of a couple of hours, though, when they paused to rest and began refreshing themselves with some fruit similar to a large nut, but whose interior contained a couple of kernels imbedded in custard, they found themselves quite upon a hill, with a valley dipping down below along which the streamlet came, and beyond these the mountain-slope rose, so that they had a good view of the cone, with the film of cloud still rising, but looking almost transparent in the bright sunrise.
“There ought to be pigs here,” said the major; “but it does not seem as if we shall see any. But look yonder; there’s another of those fruit-trees, with pigeons feeding beneath. Go and try now.”
Mark hurried on, and threading his way among the trees took a long and careful aim before firing; and, as might be expected, missing. But as luck had it, the flock rose with a tremendous beating of wings and went right over the major’s head, giving him an opportunity to get a couple of good shots, with the result that three more of the great pigeons came crashing down.
“I think I hit one,” said Mark as he came panting back, to find that the major and Bruff between them had retrieved all three birds.
“Where is it, then?” said the major.