“That’s right. I know I shall go off like a top. But I say, look at the sky and those fir-trees up there.”
“Lovely,” said Chris. “Some parts are so bright, all red and orange, and others look quite purple and black. It keeps changing so fast too, that the black shadows seem to move.”
“Yes; that’s what I thought more than once as I lay there before you woke. It was just as if something was creeping about under the boughs.”
“Not an Indian spy on all fours, was it?” said Chris quickly.
“Nonsense! He wouldn’t have shown himself like that.”
“Wasn’t a wild beast?”
“Of course not. If it had been it would have scared the mules and ponies. No, it was only a shadow creeping along, and I suppose, after all, I wasn’t quite awake. Now then for that water. It’s sure to be fresh and cold, and will wash all the sleepy feeling away.”
Ned was quite right. The water had come tumbling down from somewhere high up the peak, and felt quite icy as they lay down upon their faces amongst the stones and scooped it up out of a little moss-grown rock-pool for a few minutes, before rising up to dry their faces, feeling bright and elastic once more and wonderfully ready for the evening meal, the preparations for which sent forth another scent far more attractive than that which came from the ferns which grew in every crevice of the rocks, and the pines whose aromatic resin shed a fainter perfume now that the heat of the sun had died away.
So beautiful was the soft gloom in the valley, so delicious the warm glow above, about the summit of the peak, that every one looked content and dreamy, as they sat almost in silence about the camp-fire and partook of their welcome repast.
“My turn to-night, Lee,” said Wilton suddenly. “I don’t think we shall be disturbed—do you?”