“Well, Mark, there’s your wild beast,” he said merrily, and he pointed up at the mountain.
“I—I don’t understand.”
“Steam, boy, gas, or something of that kind. Didn’t you see the smoke and flame come out with a puff?”
“Yes, I saw that; but don’t you think it is a wild beast?”
“No beast could roar like that, my lad,” said the captain. “Don’t you see that this is one of the ways into the mountain, and every now and then it blows off so much steam, or heated air. It must come from a tremendous distance through rocky passages, and the sudden blast makes this roar.”
At that moment Billy Widgeon raised his head and looked up at them curiously.
“Aren’t you going to shoot, gen’lemen?”
“Not this time,” said the captain. “There, jump up, and let’s get back. We shall be able to live here in peace while we get our boat built. I’m glad we’ve solved the problem.”
“Well, I’m glad,” said the major, “but it’s a shabby end to the affair. I should have liked to get the monster’s head and skin for my room.”
“It’s a rum un,” said Billy Widgeon, climbing up and staring in at the hole. “That’s what it is, Mr Mark, sir; it’s a rum un.”