“That’s so, doctor,” interposed Griggs; “but you haven’t quite hit it yet.”
“No, but I was coming to your point directly. You mean that the map gives us no hint of the direction in which the gold-hills lie.”
“Now you’ve hit it right in the bull’s-eye, doctor,” cried Griggs. “That’s it. Say we made up our minds to go and look for it, starting from here, are we to begin north, south, or east? Couldn’t go very far west, because that would mean going straight out to sea.”
“Of course—of course!” was chorused.
“But we could find the place, after all,” cried Chris excitedly.
“How?” said Wilton.
“Mr Griggs can tell us which direction the poor old fellow was coming from.”
“No, he can’t,” said the personage spoken of. “He was zig-zagging about all sorts of ways, and more than once after a stumble I saw him get upon his legs and go back the same way he came, as if he was half blind.”
“Oh!” cried Chris, in a disappointed tone.
“You meant, young squire, that if I could tell you the direction from which he had come, all we should have to do would be to go right along his track till we saw the three mountains?”