“Where are they then?”
“It seems to me as if the earth has opened and swallowed them up.”
And that was really and truly what had happened, with this difference: the earth had opened thousands of years before, and our companions were swallowed to-day. They were quietly preparing lunch down in the bottom of a green-carpeted cañon.
We were very glad to find them, and Peter told us after, he had been looking out for us all the time from behind a boulder at the top of the bank.
When Prince Jeeka found out we had killed an ostrich, and had not brought in the flesh, he was astonished.
“You young,” he said, smiling, “young, young—” Then he ordered an Indian to go and find it; which he did, and not long after brought it to camp.
Meanwhile the Indians had made a splendid fire in the lee of a rock, with roots and bushes pulled from the adjoining bank. I had once seen an ox roasted whole, but never before an ostrich.
The huge bird was speedily disembowelled. The entrails fell to the share of the mongrel greyhounds, or coarse-built whippets, and a deal of quarrelling they had over them. The blood was drunk by the chief and his wives. It certainly did not improve their copper-coloured complexions. Meanwhile stones were heated and placed inside the bird, the whole being finally lifted on to the bright fire, and partly covered. In about an hour it was cooked.
We were all hungry, and glad to share with the Indians. I cannot say I relished it very much; but hunger is sweet sauce, and it is never half so sweet as when squatting gipsy-fashion round a meal spread in the open air.
After a few hours’ rest we went on again, and so on and on day after day.