“No, it wasn’t fancy, my lad. I think he’d have had you, only seeing us all about made him give you up. But it’s all right.”
“All right?”
“Yes, sir, we’re on the c’rect track.”
“Of course we are,” said Perry, as they marched on once more behind the mules, followed by the Indian.
“You dunno what I mean, sir,” said John Manning testily. “I meant on the track for one o’ them di’mond valleys. Know what that bird was?”
“Yes; a condor.”
“Con grandmother, sir. It was a roc, one o’ them birds as carried Sindbad out o’ the valley. This was only a chicken, I should say; but it was a roc, all the same.”
“What nonsense!” said Perry. “That was all fancy tale and romance.”
“Not it, sir. I might have thought so once, but I don’t now. Let me ask you this, sir,” said Manning: “suppose there was no way out or no way into the valleys we’ve come along, could you climb up the sides?”
“No, of course not.”