“He did not mention them,” replied the doctor; “but his reason for not returning was that the poor fellow felt that he dared not attempt to go through the same horrors that he had encountered on his way out. He had friends with him then, but now he was alone, weak, and wanting in spirit. In fact, much as he longed to get back to civilisation, he dared not attempt the journey, but kept on putting it off for years.”
“For years, eh?” said Griggs derisively.
“Yes, for years, in the hope of some travellers or prospectors accidentally discovering the place. At last, though, he seems to have wakened up to the fact that if ever he was to see civilisation again it must be by some effort of his own, and so he made the venture, to suffer terribly, and finally crawl here to die, as we have seen.”
“But he told his story,” said Griggs, “and I don’t know, doctor, but it half seems to me as if you believe in the poor old lunatic.”
“I told you in the beginning that I was somewhat disposed to credit his history.”
“Oh, come, Lee,” cried Wilton.
“My dear Lee,” cried Bourne. “Why, this legend of treasure cities and golden mountains is as old as the hills.”
“Yes, I know. I have heard it and read it time after time.”
“And don’t know any better now, doctor,” cried Griggs. “Oh, come, I say, what is there in this story that makes you more ready to believe it than any of the others?”
“The simple fact that I have seen and talked with the historian—one who was ready to give me some tangible idea of the truth of his narration.”