“Gad! boys!” he whooped. “What do you think of that?” he cried, holding up the tube, now filled with a cloudy yellow precipitate. “Remember that red stone we got in the channels of Aru, Dwight? Well, this is the same mineral, cinnabar, red oxide of mercury, boys! If there’s a mountain of it, as these natives tell us, back in the hills, we’ve got to find it, for, once it is reported, it will change the whole history of this part of New Guinea. The stuff is worth its weight in gold!”
“Three cheers for Exploration!” mumbled Nicky, his mouth stuffed with food. “Have some, Professor!”
VII
CASSOWARY CAMP
“BADEROON, how call-him that place chief-fellah get red paint?” asked the curator, turning to Baderoon from the test tube in his hand.
“Red Mountain!” said Baderoon, promptly.
“Good Lord!” ejaculated the curator. “There can’t be a whole mountain of cinnabar, you know! Why, you could buy out the United States Treasury with it! Might be a stratum of it—but, no; ‘Red’ Mountain! If there’s enough of the ore in sight to give it that name, it’s something we’ve got to see and report. Everything else is insignificant compared to this, boys!” he exulted. “I discovered a mountain once, in Mexico, near the top of which was a thick vein of cinnabar. Some day they’ll run a railroad in there and get it out, it’s so valuable. But a whole mountain of it, and right handy to the sea! Why, man, it’ll make Holland the queen of the world again! Think how the world’s mercury is hoarded, for making fulminate, for every primer and every shell fuse that is shot!” he went on, excitedly. “Think of the explosives possible, with unlimited supplies of mercury. T. N. T. isn’t in it, compared with some of the fulminates! The Japs won the Russian war with their new camphor shell, but their supply of camphor is limited. Some day there will be a big war over Red Mountain, take it from me!”
“’Ray for Exploration!” crowed Dwight. “Come on, Mr. Baldwin; here’s some nice wallaby steak!”
The curator grinned as he came back to earth and bit into the succulent meat. “Just the same, boys, we’re going to see that mountain, or die in the attempt. The only thing that worries me is how to handle the pygmies. It’s right in their country, and we’ll have to wade through them to get there. They were peaceable enough with the English expedition, but that was only because they were afraid to start anything. They’re always at war with the Papuans, and there’s a sort of no-man’s land between the jungle and the foothills which cannot be crossed by either side without a fight. However, the first thing for us to do is to jerk the rest of this wallaby meat and each man carry along a bag of pemmican made of it.”
They erected a pole jerky frame that afternoon, and started a small drying fire under it, with long strips of the meat hanging in rows from the poles. Under the hot tropical sun the drying process went on apace, and soon the strips had become hard sticks of meat, greasy to the touch, hard and fibrous as wood. Steadily, also, the collections grew larger, box after box being filled with Dwight’s insects, Nicky’s reptiles, and the curator’s birds, while their big tin of bird skins was filled up and sealed. This main collection was to be a representative one of the whole region, after which only the rarer specimens need be sought for. On the third day the crate of collections boxes was cached, well hidden in a coral cave dug in the thickets.
Meanwhile Sadok set about replenishing his supply of poisoned arrows, as his quiver of them had run low. He cut a quantity of the long thorns of the sago palm, and near the bottom of each he lashed a little cone of the corklike bark, so that it would just fit in the bore of the sumpitan, which was about three eighths of an inch in diameter. For poisoning the points he had a supply of the gummy juice of the upas tree, brought from Borneo and carefully kept in a small bamboo bottle which hung on his belt.