Esau burst into a hoarse laugh.
“Of course they will not,” he said, “nor us neither. Why, you keep on coming to trees like these over and over all day long. We shan’t find ’em again.”
I felt that he was right, and thought of plan after plan—putting stones in a heap, cutting off a branch, sticking up a post, and the like, but they all seemed as if they would attract people to the spot, and then induce them to search about and at last try the sand as Quong did, and I said so.
“Yes,” said Esau, “that’s right enough. There ain’t many people likely to see ’em but Indians, and I s’pose they won’t go gold-washing, nor any other washing, for fear of taking off their paint.”
“Well, what shall we do?” I cried. “We mustn’t lose the place again now we have found it, and we shall be sure to if we don’t mark it. I’ve seen hundreds of places just like this.”
“Well then, why not make a mark?” said Esau. “Because whoever sees it will be sure that it means something particular, for some one to stop and search.”
“Make a mark then on that big tree which will tell ’em to go on,” said Esau, grinning.
“But how?”
“I’ll show you,” he said; and he took out his big knife from its sheath. “Let’s look round again first.”
We looked round, but the silence was almost awful, not even a bird’s note fell upon our ears. Once a faint, whistling sound came from the far distance, that was all; and Esau went up to the biggest fir-tree whose trunk was clear of boughs, and he was about to use his knife, when we both jumped away from the tree. For from close at hand came a sharp, clear tap, as if somebody had touched the ground with a light cane.