And in short order they were encamped in a clump of fir trees with a huge fire of dry branches burning before them, its warmth diffused over the whole party.
This grove of sturdy trees was backed close against the base of the cliff, and the rocky wall was sheer, mounting at least eight hundred feet above their heads.
"I suppose no life could exist higher than this cliff, eh, Professor?" Jack Darrow asked, as they became comfortable in the fire's warmth and threw back their fur wraps.
"I am not sure of that, Jack," returned the scientist. "From our experience in the Snowbird, since the eruption that threw us off into space, and while on the higher levels of air, we cannot doubt that at a thousand feet above this ice, at least, animal life would become extinct."
"I reckon there isn't much animal life left in these parts now, at any rate," Andy Sudds said. "I don't see what we're going to do if something doesn't turn up for food. We're going to be on short commons."
Wash had set his "bird cage," as the oil man called the Shanghai's coop, within the warmth of the fire, and the rooster evidently felt the grateful glow of the flames. He had been picking up some corn that Wash flung him, grain by grain. Now he suddenly stopped, raised his head, and uttered a loud and apparently frightened squawk.
"What dat?" demanded the darkey, his eyes rolling. "Buttsy hear sumpin'—he suah do."
"What do you reckon he hears?" queried Jack, idly.
"I dunno dat. But he's some disturbed—yo' kin see it's so," returned
Washington, nervously. "Does yo' hear anything yit?"
"You think he can smell out an enemy, do you?" chuckled Jack.