Determined to look again on the spot, he climbed the ascent, until for a second time he stood on the height.
Before he had reached this elevated position he had heard a deep rumbling sound in the distance--a sound which seemed like the whirl and rush of angry waters, as if he was approaching a high cataract.
Ere he had gained the extreme top of the elevation, however, this noise suddenly died away, and the calmness of the primeval wilderness lay on the scene as he paused on the summit to gaze into the valley.
Naturally his gaze had turned in that direction, and an exclamation of astonishment left his lips, as he saw that the valley was gone!
The great basin was filled with water, the high hills and mountains forming a mighty rim with a piece of the huge bowl broken away where the gap existed in the elevated range on the north. But another feature of this inland lake had greater interest for him.
Near its centre was a small, barren island, entirely destitute of growth except for a solitary tree standing on its highest point.
The lonely monarch stood stark and stern in all its solitude, with one branch lifted like a skeleton arm pointing toward the north.
“The pimento--the treasure island!” exclaimed Jack with suppressed emotion.
The longer he looked upon the little island and its surroundings the more fully convinced he became that it was the spot described in the paper he had found so singularly on Robinson Crusoe’s island.
When he had recovered somewhat from his glad surprise he urged the pony down the rough descent until the shore of the lake was reached.