And he determined, if possible, to find some also.
Unluckily they had no mining-tools, neither spade, shovel, nor pick-axe.
But Frank was a boy of infinite resources.
"Why not make miners' tools?" he said. "We have chisels and hammers and what not, and there is a tree growing yonder that is as hard as iron!"
"What! Another happy thought, Frank?"
"Yes, Duncan, my brave old captain, and I haven't got half-way to the bottom of my mine of happy thought yet."
Well, picks and spades were now actually fashioned, partly by tools, partly by fire. And then the boys set to work with a will to open the old mines.
They had worked for a whole week, but without success, when one evening a loud and awful trumpeting told them that elephants had arrived on the plains below, or were passing through the country of the cannibals for pastures new.
"What a splendid chance for sport!" cried Frank.
"Yes," said Conal. "Fancy bagging a few elephants. Tuskers, don't they call them, brother?"