Simon Dubosc gave the servant his instructions:
"Get Mr. Rolleston under shelter in the wreck, look after him and don't leave him for a second. Jim, can I count on you?"
"Yes."
"And on your father?"
"All depends."
"Fifty pounds for him if the wounded man is in Brighton, safe and sound, in two days' time."
"Make it a hundred," said Jim. "Not a penny less."
"Very well, a hundred."
At six o'clock in the evening, Simon and Antonio returned to the Indians' camp. They quickly bridled and saddled their horses, while Old Sandstone, who was strolling around, ran up to them shouting:
"My fault, Simon! I swear we are over my fault, the fault in the Paris basin, which I traced to Maromme and near the Ridin de Dieppe . . . the one whose fracture caused the whole upheaval. Get on your horse, so that I may give you my proofs. There's a regular Eocene and Pliocene mixture over there which is really typical. . . . Heavens, man, listen to me, can't you?"