“A log?” incredulously from the now recovered reporter. “Say, this is a desert, not a jungle! That was a rock I fell over.”
They walked over to the object of their discussion, and examined it in the rays of the lantern.
“A petrified log,” pronounced Professor Palmer.
“Well, who brought it out here?”—belligerently.
“It grew here many centuries ago, my boy. This is a relic of a dead forest, of which we are probably on the edge. See, there are others scattered about over that way. I have seen the same thing out in Arizona.”
Their discussion ended, they decided to go back to the Sphere and get a good night’s rest.
“Suppose some of these oafs have taken possession during our absence,” suggested Taggert, persisting still in so calling the as yet unseen Martians.
“If it hadn’t been for you young scamps it wouldn’t have been left unguarded,” retorted Professor Palmer.
But they found the Sphere as they had left it, and no one in sight.
With lights out for greater safety, they spent a quiet night. All three were up again with the dawn.