Part 29 (1/2)

c.u.mshaw after?”

”He's going down through that funnel-shaped thing,” I answered. ”He wants to see what's at the end of it.”

The golden-brown eyes regarded me thoughtfully for a s.p.a.ce and then: ”Why didn't you go yourself instead of sending him?” she asked.

”It was his suggestion,” I said defensively. ”He seemed to think he had a better right than anyone else, so I didn't argue with him about it. I let him go.”

”We could all have gone,” she hinted.

”We could have,” I agreed, ”but we didn't.”

In the meantime c.u.mshaw had lowered himself carefully down into the opening, felt about a bit with his feet, found a foothold, and then swung easily down from projecting ledge to projecting ledge. He emerged quite unexpectedly into a tangled ma.s.s of wattle. That puzzled him much, as it had puzzled me a few minutes previously; the elder c.u.mshaw's tale contained no mention of wattle save the golden barrier at the further side of the valley. Yet here was wattle as far as the eye could reach.

It looked as if a generous scientist, like the man in H. G. Wells' ”Food of the G.o.ds,” had let loose some power capable of forcing on this abnormal growth. The valley itself was in an undulating sea of vegetation. Had it been early in September the place would have been a vast expanse of golden glory, but as it was late March the dominant color note was that of grey-green. Under the circ.u.mstances it was as clear as daylight how the elder man had missed the place. It was buried under the rank growth, and all definable features, as we learnt later--everything that could be used as a leading mark--had disappeared or been swamped by the wattles. The bushes were not so thick about the lower entrance to the funnel as to impede c.u.mshaw's movements, and so he began to look about him in the hope of locating the one thing that would definitely identify the place. The horses had been shot close to the wall of rock, and it was a practical certainty that some trace of their bodies would be found in the vicinity. Ten minutes' close search brought to light a pile of bones that might or might not be those of the missing animals--c.u.mshaw had no knowledge of anatomical structure and so did not feel quite clear on that point--but the remarkable feature about them in his eyes was that they were all more or less blackened, and amongst them he found a heap of lime-dust, which he took to be bones reduced to their elemental form by the application of great heat. Still he felt justified in regarding the ident.i.ty of the place as being sufficiently established, and without wasting any more time he returned the way he had come.

”There's no doubt about it,” I agreed when I heard his tale. ”This is the valley right enough. I vote on going down there at once. The old hut can't be far away, and it'll be somewhere for us to camp in and fix up our clothes. And that reminds me that one of us'll have to go back for our stores and extra clothes. There's no need for both of us to go; one will do. However that can wait until we find the hut.”

”I'm not hungry,” Moira said, ”and I think my clothes are practically dry. The sun's coming out now, and I don't see why we should feel any the worse for last night's adventures if we only take reasonable care of ourselves.”

”If that's the case,” I remarked, ”let us go down by all means.”

I sent c.u.mshaw down first, as he was the only one of us who was familiar with the place, and then I handed Moira down to him. Or, rather, I helped her down; Moira at the best of times is no light weight. For a moment we stood blinking at the entrance to the funnel, and then Moira caught my arm in her impulsive way and cried, ”Come on, Jim! Let's enter into Paradise!”

I smiled at her quaintness and made to follow her, but c.u.mshaw interposed quickly. ”Not that way,” he said. ”This is the way.” He glanced at me as he spoke, and I realised that he was taking us by a path that would lead us away from the mouldering bones.

The ground was rough underfoot, and the matted cover of vegetation that effectually hid stray boulders from view made it all the worse. In places the wattle grew over our heads in a profusion that was almost tropical, and more than once we would have lost our way had I not taken our bearings at the start, and thus was able to guide the party by means of my pocket-compa.s.s.

”In your father's day there was a wood hereabouts,” I said to c.u.mshaw presently. ”There doesn't seem to be one now.”

”There doesn't,” he said. ”Can you understand how practically the entire physical features of the place have changed so much?”

”Frankly I can't. But they apparently have, and that's about all we can say. We'll just have to keep our eyes open and trust to luck.”

”Our luck seems to have held good so far,” Moira said, turning to me with high hope in her face.

”Mind your footing,” I said warningly. ”You want to watch every inch of the way. There's all sorts of rocks and boulders under this stuff.”

”I'll be careful,” she smiled, and scarcely were the words out of her mouth than her foot caught in something. She pitched forward on her face before I could spring to her a.s.sistance. I lifted her up carefully, but she seemed none the worse for her fall.

”I don't know what it was that tripped me,” she confided. ”It wasn't a boulder or anything of the sort. I think it was a log of wood, yet my foot seemed to catch underneath it.”

I was on the point of offering a suggestion, but something held me silent, and instead I dropped down on my knees and felt feverishly in the undergrowth. Of course it was a silly thing to do--there might have been snakes and all manner of noxious crawling things there--but I didn't think of that at the time. I was too intent on solving the riddle. My hand touched something.... I straightened up and faced the others.

”Moira and c.u.mshaw,” I said. ”I've found the hut. That's a piece of it there.” Bending down, I dragged to light a rough-hewn beam that possibly had been the threshold plank. It was weather-worn, and in places the fungus had grown thickly on it; but I could see for all that that it had been warped and twisted and charred in the blaze of a fire. Three pairs of eyes met across the plank, and three lips put the same idea into words.

”There's been a fire here,” we said in chorus.

”And that,” I added on my own account, for the benefit of the others who had not jumped to the same conclusion as I had, ”and that explains everything that's puzzled us since we entered the valley. There's been a bush fire here at some period during the last twenty years. It destroyed the hut, it burnt down the wood, and it made that pile of lime you found, c.u.mshaw.”