"Certainly," said Ernest; "it looks as if the Montrose will not help a boat to get up to the foot of the mountains."
Mr. Wolston and Ernest began to paddle again with what strength they had left after their four hours' toil under a burning sun.
The river here made a bend towards the south-west, which was manifestly its general direction. A few moments later, some hundred yards further up, a much longer reach came into view. It was dammed by a heap of rocks scattered from one bank to the other, with only narrow breaks between, through which the water poured in noisy falls that spread commotion fifty yards below.
"That would have stopped us if we had meant to go on," Ernest remarked.
"It might have been possible to carry the canoe beyond the dam," Mr. Wolston answered.
"If it is nothing more than a dam, sir."
"We will find out, my dear boy, for it is really important to know. Let us get ashore."
On the left hand there was a narrow gorge, quite dry at this season, which wound away across the upland. In a few weeks' time, no doubt, when the rainy season began, it would serve as the bed of a torrent whose roaring waters would join those of the Montrose.
Mr. Wolston drove the boat-hook into the ground; and he and Ernest stepped onto the bank, up which they went so as to approach the dam from the side.
It took them about a quarter of an hour to cover the intervening distance, the path being strewn with stones loosely held in the sand by coarse clumps of grass.