Chapter Twenty Three.
At the Bivouac.
The boys were heartily glad when, just before nightfall—night, which fell much sooner, shut in there in the deep valleys of the Andes—the colonel snatched at a suggestion made by John Manning.
“Water, sir, coming out of that slit in the rock, plenty o’ breastwork, and a bit of green stuff for the mules.”
“Yes, we’ll halt here. We are not likely to find a better place,” said the colonel.
So instead of tramping on for another hour, a halt was called early, the packages formed into a shelter in front of the “slit” in the rock, as John Manning called it, a place which suggested its being a way into a good-sized cavern, and then a fire was lit, and they prepared their meal.
For no more had been seen of the Indians, and though the colonel had a shrewd suspicion that they might still be in chase of them, those which had been seen in the valley were, he concluded, only wanderers, whom they had startled while on some hunting expedition, and whom they would probably see no more.
The fire was only used to heat the water for their coffee, and as soon as this was made, carefully extinguished by John Manning, so as not to attract attention if any one was still about; and then they sat, glad of the rest, eating biscuit and charqui, and sipping coffee from the tin.
Over the meal, John Manning made a report respecting what he called the commissariat department.