"No nest, Ummanodda," he said at last; "it is some Mulgar's tree-roost fallen into the water. Its leaves are dry, and the feet of that long-legs stand deep in Spider-flower."
"To my eyes," said Nod slowly, "it looks to me, Thumb, just like such another as one of our water-rafts."
"Wait here a little while, Nizza-neela," grunted Thumb suddenly; "I go down to look for eggs."
Nod watched his brother pushing his way down through the sedge and trailing Samarak. "Eggs," he whispered—"eggs!" and broke out into his little yapping laughter, though he knew not why he laughed.
Up, up, on sounding wings flew a bird as white as snow from its lodging as Thumb drew near. And there he was, stooping, paddling, pushing with his cudgel, and peering into the tangle at the water-side.
Nod turned his head, filled with a sudden weariness and loneliness. And in the silence of the beautiful mountains he fell sad, and a little afraid, as do even Oomgar travellers resting awhile in the journey that has no end.
Out of his Mulgar dreams he was startled by a sudden, sharp, short Mulgar bark from far beneath, that might be fear or might be sudden gladness.
And, in a moment, Thumb, having cast down his cudgel, and with something clutched in his great hand, was swinging and scrambling back through the thick, flowery undergrowth of the hillside by the way he had come.
Nod watched him, with head thrust forward and side-long, and at last he drew near, sweating and coughing.
"Sōōtli, sōōtli!" he muttered. "Magic, magic!" and held out in the sunlight an old red, rotted gun.