“She went like a flash of light,” replied George.
“Well, then, seeing that light travels from the sun to the earth—a distance of ninety-one millions of miles—in eight minutes, we must have passed around our little planet a good many times during our seven hours’ ride. But, for all that, I don’t think we are more than sixty or seventy miles from home.”
“That’s far enough,” said George. “We shall be weary and footsore before we get there, I tell you.”
Having loaded their guns and laid them where they could be readily seized in case of emergency, George busied himself in gathering a supply of light-wood, while Bob started a fire and placed a kettle of water upon it.
By the time their provisions and bedding were under cover, the water was boiling and Bob made the coffee, while George unpacked one of the baskets and spread its contents upon a snow-white napkin in front of the tent. He said he wasn’t hungry; but his actions told a different story, and so did Bob’s.
“Now, then,” said the latter, when the last sandwich had disappeared and the coffee pot had been squeezed dry, “we’ll clear away the wreck and take a survey of that geyser.”
“I believe I am as close to it now as I care to be,” replied George. “The old thing might boil over on us.”
Bob laughed, heartily.
“There’s no danger,” said he. “We have a whole hour in which to make our observations. Since we are here and can’t get away to-day, let’s see everything that we can that is worth looking at.”
George lent willing and effective aid in “clearing away the wreck;” but it was with a good deal of reluctance that he shouldered his gun and followed Bob through the mesquite bushes toward the geyser.