“Because you saw the Indians?”
Perry nodded, and the boys sat in silence for a few minutes, looking up at the sunlit sky, which appeared like a broad jagged path running along high above their heads.
“What are you thinking about?” said Perry suddenly, as he noted the thoughtful, deeply-lined brow of his companion.
“Eh? Oh, nothing much,” replied Cyril. “Only that when I knew you were coming up into the mountains, I felt so jealous of you, and I fancied that you were coming to see all kinds of wonders and make great discoveries, and that it would be one grand holiday, day after day, and instead of that—I say, we haven’t had so very much fun yet, have we?”
“Plenty of adventures,” replied Perry thoughtfully.
“Yes, plenty of adventures.”
“It’s been so hard upon you, though, from the first. You were so upset when you joined us.”
“And serve me right,” cried Cyril angrily. “I’d no business to do it; I believe they think at home that I’m dead. Nothing’s too bad to happen to me.”
“Then you’re sorry you came?”
“Yes; horribly. I don’t mind all we’ve gone through, because it has seemed to stir me up so, and made me feel as if I’d got more stuff in me; and it ought to, for sometimes I’ve felt, since we came, that I behaved like a miserable, thoughtless coward.”