“Nay, it warn’t,” said Griggs. “Clouds and shadows miles away—a hundred, perhaps—seen through this clear air look like clouds and shadows.”
“Of course,” said Wilton.
“Blackish or greyish. These didn’t.”
“How did they look then?” said Bourne.
“Like mountains, sir; just that beautiful, wonderful, soft, pale pinkish blue. We were very high up, it was as clear as clear, and I don’t say how far it was off; most likely a hundred miles away, perhaps two; but there they were, a long line of ’em, some high and some low. Mountains, and no mistake, and that’s where we ought to go.”
“Right across that scorching desert?” said Wilton.
“Yes, sir. It won’t be nice, but we’ll take plenty of water.”
“And risk the rattlesnakes?”
“Yes, sir, and leave the Indians to themselves here,” said Griggs. “They may have this part and welcome. We don’t want it. What do you say, doctor?”
“That we’ll have a good rest to-night, and climb to-morrow morning as high above us as we can to get another glimpse of your mountains, Griggs, and then map down our course by the compass and start, after making the best preparations we can. Have you anything more to say against the plan, Wilton?”