“That is a deep and mysterious and probably, haunted water-hole and you’d better be careful,” said Wally in a sepulchral whisper. “Most likely the Bunyip lives there, and in a moment we shall see his grisly head emerge from the unfathomed depths, and then all will be over with two promising young officers of His Majesty’s Army.” He paused for breath.
“Idiot!” said Jim, pleasantly. “I wonder if it’s deep. Lend me your stick, Wal.”
He leaned over the pool and thrust the stick into its depths. It went in for its full length. Then came a sound which made the boys look at each other in bewilderment.
“It sounds as if the Bunyip had been chucking his old tins in,” Wally said.
“It’s tin, I’ll swear,” Jim answered. “And solid at that; I can’t move it.”
He took off his coat, rolled his shirt-sleeve to the shoulder, and recommenced investigations. It was easy enough to feel the stick scraping on tin; beyond that, he could make out nothing, save that there was plenty of tin to scrape. Jim desisted at length, and stood pondering.
“I think this is pretty queer,” he said, presently. “Wonder if we’ve stumbled on a smuggler’s cave, Wal. Look here, I’m going to paddle.”
“Well, you don’t know the depth of that beastly place,” Wally said. “For all we know it may be miles deep.”
“Well, can’t I swim?” Jim queried in amazement.
“Yes, a little. Anyhow, I’m coming, too.”