“I expect it wants a scrape,” he said, “to take all the dust off.”
A few minutes later, feeling much refreshed, Chris was feasting away at a most enjoyable breakfast, the lads chatting away merrily the while.
“I say,” said Ned, “this wouldn’t be a bad place if it wasn’t for the Indians. Quite a palace when it’s put in repair. Land one’s own; the soil beautifully rich. I believe anything would grow here. I vote we settle down.”
“And what about the gold?”
“Ah, the gold! I’m beginning to think with my father that we shall never find the old temple, and that if we did we should be none the better for it. I don’t think we want all that gold.”
“Grapes sour?” said Chris dryly.
“N–no,” replied Ned. “But there, what’s the good of talking? We’ve come to find the gold, and we shall go on till we feel it’s no good. I like what we’re doing, though. We must stop here, of course, till the Indians are tired and have gone. I wish they would go.”
“Yes, it makes it so horrible.”
“Ah! Doesn’t it? I don’t mind shooting something that we want to eat. But firing at them—Ugh!”
“Yes, it is horrid,” said Chris; “but they’re hardly men. Savage wretches! They seem to love killing.”