“I am no geologist,” said the major, “so I give in to you, Strong. You must be right.”
“I think I am,” said the captain, quietly examining the rocky dam and the surface of the mud. “Yes, I should say that here is the explanation of this curious stream.”
“Then all I can say is,” said the major wiping his forehead, “that I wish the eruption had been a little bigger, and the lava stream had ended on the sands exactly one hundred yards from camp.”
“And the mud had flowed over it and made our road?” said Mark laughing.
“That goes without saying,” cried the major. “Now, then, I propose a halt and food.”
There was plenty of shade close at hand, but unfortunately no water. Still, a good rest and a hearty meal proved most grateful, and as soon as it was done the major lit a cigar, the captain, Small, and two of the men seemed to be dozing, and Mark and Billy Widgeon looked at them and then at each other.
“Going to do a bit o’ hammock work, Mr Mark, sir?” said Billy.
“I’m not sleepy.”
“More am I, sir. Let’s see if we can’t get some fruit.”
“All right!” cried Mark, jumping up.