The Struggle by the Mountain
It was well after midnight, and Bob still stood guard over the sleeping
camp with undiminished vigilance. Not a sound in the air escaped him; he
heard the distant scream of the curlew with a shiver of dread, then
nearer at hand the dull monotone of a mopoke resting on some rocky ledge
overhead would reach his ears as a dismal calling from a shadowy world.
Again would come a period of silence, broken only by the gurgling echoes
from the sulphur springs, and the regular breathing of the sleepers. Bob
pulled himself together impatiently, he had felt himself relaxing into a
kind of stupor wherein all things grim and melancholy appeared to him.
"I wouldn't have believed," he muttered, "what a shattering influence a
night watch has on a man's nerves."
The long wailing cry of a dingo now penetrated piercingly over the
desert from the west, and the watcher stirred uneasily at the mournful
sound which seemed to convey in it all the sadness and despair of a
voice from the nether world.
The weird notes had scarcely died away when he became conscious of a
peculiar tap-tapping almost close beside him. He could not make it out;
the black surface of the barring range rose before his eyes, but he
could distinguish nothing there, and the moon shone clearly on the
giant rock. Tap! Tap! Tap! Softly the echoes came but imperceptibly
growing louder; anxiously he scanned the bare hillside for some clue to
the mystery, and as his eyes reached the ridge of the mountain he was
startled to see a tall beshrouded figure standing there, and apparently
gazing down upon him. Bob was certain the apparition had not been in the
same place but a minute ago, and surely he could not be responsible for
these strange noises which seemed to come from the mountain, yet with no
cause showing. Tap! Tap! Tap! Harsher and more metallic the ghostly
reverberations rang, and now a faint call wafted down from the heights;
again and again it came, gently falling on the mystified listener's ears
like a voice from the skies, and the strange figure aloft waved his arms
in wild gesticulation. Sharper and still sharper sounded the
demoralizing tapping, and with it now came a curious shuffling, slight
almost to noiselessness, but Bob's sensitive ears were not to be
deceived. A cold sweat broke out upon his brow; the vague disturbances
of the night were issuing not from the side of the mountain, but from
its interior! With a quick stride he reached Mackay, and at a touch the
sleeper awoke.
"What is it, lad, what is it?" he asked, breathlessly, his rifle already
in his hand.
Bob placed his finger on his lips, and pointed silently to the mountain.
"They're coming _through_ it!" he whispered, hoarsely.
Mackay nodded briefly, and strode silently over to the resounding wall,
and Bob hastily aroused the sleepers. In a moment the camp was prepared,
and meanwhile Mackay was walking stealthily along the base of the mount,
his ears bent down to the rock as he strove to locate the mysterious
alarms. And now the distant call from the hilltop floated down to them
once more, and Emu Bill started at the sound, and looked up wonderingly,
for the faint double note of a coo-ee had this time been plainly heard,
and the tall form on the distant heights was despairingly pointing
outwards across the desert.
"That nigger can coo-ee like a good 'un," muttered he, "an' he's tryin'
to warn us. I reckon that's because we didn't shoot him to-day; but I
never believed a nig could feel any gratitood."
Suddenly the echoes ceased, and all was silent as a tomb. Bob looked,
and saw Mackay crouched hard against the rocky wall on the edge of a
deep fissure which showed down half the face of the mountain. He seemed
like an animal preparing for a deadly spring.
"I reckon we should go over beside him," said Never Never Dave, but so
speedy had been the developments of events that there was no time to
decide upon a definite course of action. Indeed, not one of the party
guessed what wild happening was about to take place. Bob somehow
expected to hear the preliminary yells of an attacking horde, even as
they had heard them before, but no such outcry took place. He saw Mackay
beckon wildly with one hand over his shoulder, and quickly he obeyed the
summons, the others following with silent footsteps. Then a stone
clattered noisily at the bottom of the ravine, and to Bob's amazement, a
swarthy face appeared from the depths, surmounted by a tall waving
head-dress of feathers. As the warrior emerged further into view, Bob's
astonishment increased, for here was no naked savage, but a gorgeously
arrayed aboriginal, splendidly proportioned, and carrying in his hand a
long curved bow and several arrows. Bob had just time to note this much
and no more, for Mackay's rifle belched out almost in the new arrival's
face, but the shot had been fired with the hands resting loosely on the
ground, and the bullet sped high, scattering the nodding plumes of the
astonished black in all directions. With a cry of pent-up fury, Mackay
lunged forward to grasp his prey, and at once the stalwart native closed
with him. And now crowding up behind, one by one, a solemn procession of
similarly attired warriors came trooping. The first of the number
without hesitation rushed to the assistance of his struggling comrade,
the others calmly bore down upon the little group, who, with Bob at
their head, had watched the scene as in a dream. With a hoarse snarl of
rage Never Never Dave opened fire, and almost at the same instant the
entire artillery of the camp spouted out flame and smoke and leaden
hail. In reply, a cloud of arrows flew about their heads, and Bob felt
one pierce the muscle of his arm, but he pulled out the slender barb
with a wrench, and again his rifle spoke, and the roar of many reports
in his ears told him that his comrades too were strenuously engaged.
Backwards and forwards the spectral warriors surged, and yet never a
sound escaped their lips, and they strove with steady effort to come to
close quarters with the camp defenders.
Meanwhile, Mackay was engaged in desperate encounter on the edge of the
fray. His first antagonist he had flung from him almost immediately,
limp and broken, from that dreadful clutch. The second he had rendered
_hors de combat_ with a single blow of his mighty fist. Then two more
rushed upon him, but profiting by the experience of their brethren they
evaded his circling arms, and hurled themselves upon his lower limbs,
and there they clutched leech-like, while others hastened to attack him
from behind. Mackay marvelled for the moment why they had not shot him
down with their arrows; his own rifle had been thrown aside after the
first fruitless shot, but now his revolver flashed in his hand, and the
weighty stock came down crash on the head of his nearest encumbrance,
but before he could use it again, he was seized from the back and pulled
to the earth, yet even as he fell his revolver exploded upwards into the
faces of his foes, and he chuckled in grim joy as he felt their relaxing
hold. It was at this stage that Bob missed him from their midst. The
attack had drawn off somewhat, and he glanced around for the first time
in search of his companions. Then he noticed the seething band standing
over the fallen giant, and a wild fury filled his heart.
"Come on, boys," he cried, "Mackay's down!" and he dashed to the rescue.
Quick as he was Never Never Dave was quicker, and his clubbed rifle
swung light as a feather in his strong right hand, but it fell heavy as
lead on the heads of the all too previous natives, who had not looked
for further molestation from that quarter. With a guttural exclamation
they leaped aside, and Mackay arose bleeding and scarred. But the end
was not yet; even while the defenders were congratulating themselves on
their victory the natives once more swooped down upon them, and their
arrows whistled loudly through the air. They had guessed that the
death-dealing weapons of the little party had lost their power, for
indeed there had not been a shot fired these many minutes, and the
magazines of the rifles were empty. But they still had their revolvers,
and at the first discharge the angry blacks seemed to waver, but still
they came on. As in a dream Bob saw a wild, grinning face peering into
his, while a heavy club was raised to strike; vainly he tried to lift
his revolver, the blood rushed to his head, his brain reeled, another
instant and the blow would have fallen, when, with a stifled cry, Jack
dashed before him and sprang fiercely at the savage's throat. The very
force of his onslaught bore back the gloating native, the club fell, but
it fell harmlessly to the ground as Jack's fingers closed on its owner's
throat. But the warrior had had enough; disentangling himself from the
youth's grasp, with many a wriggle and gasp, he turned and fled, and
when Jack looked round he found that the entire enemy had vanished.
"Now, boys," said Mackay, cheerily, "let us estimate the damage. You,
Bob, have got an arrow-hole in your arm, an' I'm surprised you've
managed to hold out so long, but if you had got that crack on the head
that was meant for you, you would never have seen old England again."
Bob laughed weakly. "I'm pretty right," he said. "What about yourself?"
"Nothing serious, my lad; and you, Jack?"
"Not a scratch," responded that youth, brightly.
"As for me, boys," echoed out Emu Bill's voice dismally, "I'm a regular
pin-cushion, I am. I reckon they've ventilated me a bit; but hang it
all, them arrows don't hurt worth a cent."
But where were the Shadow and Never Never Dave? The former they found
sitting moodily by the base of the mountain, his back propped against it
for support.
"That there last rush 'bout finished me," he said. "A howling gorilla
gave me a tender smack on the back wi' his club, an'--an' I believe it's
broken."
Mackay laughed. "The back or the club, Shadow?" said he; whereat the
sorrowful youngster arose painfully to his feet, and communed with
himself in language deep and eloquent.
"Where in thunder has Never Never gone?" cried Emu Bill, anxiously, as
they looked in vain for the well-known figure of the bushman.
"He was beside me when that last rush came on," said Jack, almost
tearfully. "I didn't see what happened to any one after that."
"Dave! Dave!" cried Emu Bill, and there was a quiver in his voice which
sounded strangely on his lips. "Where are you, Dave?"
Then a thin, weak voice answered out of the gloom by the ravine.
"I is right here, Bill, old man, right here."
And there they found him, lying aslant on the loose _débris_ as he had
fallen, an inert mass. His face was upturned to the sky, and his breath
issued between his clenched teeth in long spasmodic jerks. He smiled
feebly as they bent over him.
"I'm sent for this trip, boys," he murmured.
"Don't say that, Dave," groaned Emu Bill, in anguish; "you ain't goin'
to leave your old comrade, Dave?"
Mackay knelt down by the stricken man and placed his hand over the
feebly beating heart, and a hoarse cry of pain burst from his lips,
which was echoed by the sad little group around.
"They must have given you a sair crack, Davie, man," said he, "a sair,
sair crack."
Then he caught sight of the broken butts of two arrows in the
sufferer's broad chest, and he turned aside with a heavy sigh.
"Never Never's going, lads," he said, with deep emotion. "Say your
good-byes before it is too late."
Emu Bill gently pillowed his dying comrade's head upon his knee, and the
tears ran down his rugged cheeks unchecked, and dropped upon Never Never
Dave's pallid face.
[Illustration: "EMU BILL GENTLY PILLOWED HIS DYING COMRADE'S HEAD UPON
HIS KNEE"]
"Couldn't we carry him over and lay him on the blankets?" whispered Bob.
Mackay sadly shook his head. Then Never Never Dave opened his eyes and
glanced at the sorrowing assembly, while his old smile struggled to his
lips.
"Good-bye, boys," he whispered, "don't fret 'bout me. I is goin' on a
long, long trail, where there ain't no nigs an' no snakes. Never Never
has made his last bush journey, I reckon. But--but--we reached the
mountain." He ceased and laboured for breath, while the blood welled out
from his cruel wounds with the exertion. Silently each pressed round and
squeezed the bushman's rough and horny hand in a farewell grip. Once
more the man whose life-blood was ebbing so cruelly fast away spoke, but
now he was in the fantasy of delirium. "We'll get the spring all right,
Bob. Don't worry, my lad--and the mountain, wi' gold and diamonds--we'll
reach it, after all. Over the mountain--over--the--mountain." And so
Never Never Dave went forth himself on a new quest with a smile on his
lips, the smile of a man who knew no fear even at the end of his earthly
pilgrimage. Emu Bill gathered the stiffening form in his arms, gulping
down the great sobs with an effort, and tenderly he carried his lifeless
burden over to the camp-fire, and sad indeed were the hearts of the
melancholy procession which followed.
"I reckon Never Never has had his wish, anyhow," said Emu Bill, quietly.
"He has passed in his checks with his boots on."
"May we a' go out on the long trail as bravely," spoke Mackay, solemnly.
"Dave has gone over the mountain right enough. Over the mountain o'
earthly difficulty and down through the valley of the shadow. We should
not pity him now, boys, for he's free o' all the sorrows an' cares, an'
disappointments o' this vale o' tears. But we mustn't forget the living,
lads, though we respect the dead, or there may be more o' us starting
out on the long trail before sunrise. Get a lamp, Jack, an' we'll have a
look at that gully where they came out."
"You're right, Mac," answered Emu Bill; "I'll get a pick too, in case we
need it."
The lamp was speedily brought, and they started over to the gully whence
the natives had emerged, and as they crossed the scene of their conflict
Jack stumbled over the dead body of one of the warriors. He shuddered
painfully, and Bob, who was at his hand, drew him aside.
"There are three more of them, Jack," he whispered. "Never Never, hasn't
gone under unavenged."
Mackay heard the words, and he laughed harshly.
"Ay, there's three more o' them, Bob," he said, "and there's a dozen
more who feel a bit mair pained in their anatomy than we do."
They reached the treacherous ravine, and Mackay, taking the lamp in his
hand, cautiously moved forwards and downwards into the deep recess, and
gazed at the rocky rubble there strewn in bewilderment. In a moment Emu
Bill stood beside him, pick in hand, but he too was nonplussed
completely by the very natural appearance of affairs.
"I'll swear I saw them come outen this here hole," he said.
"We can't blame ourselves vera much for neglectin' to notice things,"
agreed Mackay, with a grim smile.
In the depths of the fissure which striated the mountain, only a number
of loose boulders were to be seen.
"I reckon I'll try and shift some o' them," spoke Emu Bill. He stooped
down and lifted one or two of the heaviest rock fragments, while Mackay
held the light, and examined the markings on the walls of the cavern
with keen interest.
"There ain't no opening here at all," cried Emu Bill, looking round
fearfully, as if half expecting to find the savages still close in the
vicinity. "I'm certain sure they couldn't get through here."
Mackay smiled. "I don't know what sort o' blacks we've struck, Bill," he
said earnestly; "but if they constructed this trap-door arrangement
they've got a wonderful amount o' intelligence."
He traced with his finger an irregularly shaped shelving crack in the
southerly wall. It seemed a perfectly natural occurrence in every way,
as indeed it was, but the edges gaped considerably towards the top, and
Mackay, pressing lightly against the mossy front, caused the overlapping
rim to close solid into the rock. By this time Bob, Jack, and the Shadow
had scrambled in beside the two.
"But they couldn't get through that measly crack," protested Emu Bill,
not quite understanding.
Mackay reached for the pick, and inserting the sharp point into the
thin, almost unnoticeable crack now showing, pulled gently, and behold,
the weighty rock swung back on end revealing a narrow, tunnel-like
entrance penetrating into the mountain. At the same time a draught of
damp and stifling air issued from the dark and gloomy passage way,
extinguishing the lamp, and before they could look again, the rock fell
softly back into position, and this time it closed with a snap. Again
Mackay endeavoured to lever it open, but now the solid formation refused
to be moved; try as he might, the doorway into the mountain seemed
closed conclusively against him.
"Surely it cannot be a natural cave formation?" said Bob.
"Nary cave, Bob," returned Emu Bill, decisively.
"Not in a diorite rock," added Mackay, much perplexed.
They stood gazing at the tantalizing face of the ponderous doorway for
some time without speaking. Then Mackay was aroused to action.
"We'll find out all about it before we go away from here," he said, "but
in the meantime we'll barricade the swinging rock on this side to
prevent any one coming out. I have an idea that it wasn't right closed
at first or we would never have been able to find it; the blacks were in
too great a hurry to be cautious, I'm thinking."
With a will they all set to work and built up a rampart of massive
boulders in the ravine. Then they sadly went back to the camp-fire to
await the coming of the dawn. All thought of sleep had left them now,
and they sat moodily by the flickering flames for some time without a
word being spoken, then as the chill morning air made itself felt,
Bob's wounded arm, which he had not yet examined, began to grow stiff,
and his head throbbed painfully. The Shadow, too, was far from
comfortable, though he made no complaint, and he fought against his
growing weakness manfully but at last, with a weary sigh, he fell back
limp on his blanket. Then Mackay rose with an exclamation of regret.
"Bill," he said, "we've forgotten that these young mates of ours are
scarcely as tough as we are. We'd better try an' doctor up their bruises
a bit."
Emu Bill staggered to his feet with a sympathetic grunt, and walked
blindly towards the camel packs in search of something that might serve
for bandages, and Mackay stooped over the fallen Shadow and pulled back
the neck of his much-torn shirt. The cause of that individual's relapse
was not difficult to find, a great jagged gash on the young bushman's
shoulder showed what a fierce blow he had received, evidently from a
flint-studded club. Jack hurried to fetch water to lave the bloody
wound, but the Shadow refused to receive any attention.
"Let the thing dry, boss," he said, sitting up once more. "I reckon I
ain't no tender chicken to howl 'bout a muskittie bite."
Bob's memento of the affray was a little more serious; one of the barbs
of the arrow had broken in his arm, keeping the wound open, and the
blood was still dripping down his sleeve in great gouty drops. Mackay
carefully cut out the splintered wood with the point of his
sheath-knife, an acutely painful operation; but the patient never
winced.
Then Emu Bill returned. "I can't find nary cloth 'ceptin' flour-bags,"
he announced. "Take a bit o' this here shirt o' mine."
He ripped off a sleeve of his garment and handed it to Mackay, and with
it Bob's arm was soon tightly dressed. And now the rosy light of
approaching dawn began to spread over the scene, and the stars faded out
one by one before the radiant sun's advance. Morning had come at last.
Yes, morning had come, and with it appeared in all their grim
hideousness the evidences of the long night's struggle. There was Never
Never Dave stretched beside them, his calm white face gazing peacefully
towards the heavens. A little way off four huddled forms lay bent up in
the dust, their torn plumes scattered around them. Here and there arrows
and clubs were strewn, and gory tracks marked the way towards the
subterranean passage wherein the warriors had retreated. Bob surveyed
the ghastly relics with a sorrowful countenance. Here to him was a new
aspect of the wanderer's life. In the pursuit of Nature's treasure the
risks were many if the rewards were great. All was not sunshine and
romance and pleasurable excitement. He stood for some minutes in silent
contemplation.
"Yes," he said aloud, "and I, too, would have been lying there, had it
not been for you, Jack."
"Don't speak about it, Bob," returned the boy at his side, with a
shudder. "How could I have gone home without you?"
Mackay had, in the mean time, been examining the discarded weapons of
the aborigines with critical interest.
"It seems to me," he said quietly, "that we might all have been lying
there if the warriors hadn't imagined us to be asleep. I can only find
about twenty arrows altogether. I think they could only have carried one
or two each, never dreaming they would have need for more."
"I reckon that is why they tried to rush us every time," remarked Emu
Bill. "They were too cock-sure, they were; an' we've got to be thankful
for it. But ain't this a funny get up for nigs, even if they is on for a
corroborree dance?"
He pointed to the strange habiliments of the dead warriors. Each native
was cloaked in a rich opossum robe, suspended from the shoulders almost
down to the heels.
"I can't make them out, Bill," said Mackay. "They are different from any
tribe I've ever run across before. They're bigger than an ordinary
native, and their faces look almost intelligent. But we've forgotten
about the mountain passage. Surely the blacks couldn't have made that.
There's more o' a mystery here than I can fathom, Bill; but we'll soon
know what it all means."
"I just reckon we will," grated Emu Bill as they turned away.
Jack, who was now the most active member of the party, was not long in
preparing breakfast, and the stimulating influence of the boiling tea
did much to revive their weary spirits.
"If only Never Never hadn't gone under," said the Shadow, as he munched
at his hard, unpalatable damper fare, "I could have felt real joyous, I
could. I reckon we has struck the land o' gold and di'monds right
enough."
The mysterious mountain had assuredly grown more and more mystifying.
What wonderful secret could be hid beyond? What strange people could
have made the tunnel through its mighty heart?
"I am convinced we are about to make a wonderful discovery," said Bob.
"Ordinary aborigines could never have constructed that passage----"
"And allowing that they could," interjected Jack; "what purpose is it
supposed to serve?"
"I reckon it's the treasure chamber o' the Never Never we has struck at
last," observed Emu Bill, with quiet assurance. "Nary man ever knew what
to expect in this here country; but we has struck the secret, only poor
old Dave ain't with us no more."
There was no doubt that the expedition had reached a region of strange
mystery in the heart of the great unknown land of the Never Never. Their
humble repast over, there now came the sad duty of interring the body of
their dead comrade. Silently they filed off, armed with pick and shovel,
in search of a soft spot in which to dig the grave. But no kindly soil
was to be found; the bare rock appeared everywhere immediately below the
surface.
"There's only one thing we can do," said Mackay. "We must drill and
shoot a hole down wi' gelignite, that is, unless we carry poor Dave out
across these springs into the desert, but for my part I'd rather bury
him close into the mountain. I think he would have liked it himself. Let
us give poor old Dave a big monument, boys, I'm sure none o' us will
grudge the work."
Grudge the work? Not they. It was the last tribute they could pay to the
faithful and brave companion of their travels, and with heavy hearts
they set about their task. A case of gelignite had been included in the
outfit of the expedition in anticipation of any valuable ore deposits
being found which might necessitate blasting before samples could be
obtained, and now for the first time the deadly explosive was called
into requisition, and for a most melancholy purpose. The long steel
drills which had done such good work in the Golden Promise Mine were
also called into play, and all forenoon Mackay and Emu Bill laboured at
their sad work, relieved occasionally by Jack, the Shadow, and Bob, for
though the last two were then wholly unfitted for any exertion, they
insisted on taking their turn, Bob swinging the great hammer with his
one free hand, while the Shadow held and turned the drill. At every half
hour or so the mighty roar of an explosion would burst forth from the
rocky excavation, and a hail of boulders and showers of iron sand were
hurled into the air.
In the midst of this turmoil Bob happened to look up, and he was
scarcely surprised to see the same gloomy figure on the mountain summit
watching their operations intently.
"I can understand his warning now," he muttered to himself. "He knew
they were going to attack us from the tunnel. But why should he have
wished to save us?"
The more he considered the matter the more puzzled he became. Then he
observed quite a number of the oddly garbed natives join their companion
on the hilltop. Again and again the dull boom of the heavy gelignite
charges echoed out on the still air, and after each ponderous report a
fresh group seemed to gather up aloft until Bob could count fully fifty
of them.
"I reckon this here circus sort o' disturbs them," grunted Emu Bill.
Mackay looked anxious. "I hope there's no more o' them," he remarked
gravely. "We've struck a bigger-sized tribe than we calculated on,
Bill, an' we'll have to be vera cautious."
At last the tomb was completed and reverently they wrapped the dead man
in his blanket and carried him to his last earthly rest. No tears now
dimmed their eyes, their sorrow was deep set in the heart; it had passed
the mere emotional stage, and could find relief only in strenuous
action. Then they stood around the open grave with bowed heads, while
Mackay repeated a brief prayer. Long afterwards Bob remembered the quiet
dignity of his utterance, the simple eloquence of his tribute, and the
whole pathetic scene would return to him with all its overwhelming
memories. When he had finished, they shovelled in the loose sand and
rubble in solemn silence, and built up a cairn over the top.
The natives from their position of vantage had gazed stolidly down on
them throughout the entire ceremonial; but now they dispersed, leaving
but one solitary watcher on the height.
"We'll have to plant these natives now," said Mackay; "we can't leave
them lying like that."
They walked over and surveyed the bodies again, and the Shadow taking
the long opossum robe from one of them, threw it over his own shoulders
with a chuckle of satisfaction.
"I reckon this here ornament should just fit me," said he, turning round
for inspection.
Emu Bill laughed hoarsely. "Throw the wretched thing away, Shad," he
growled. "Ye doesn't want to wear a nig's wardrobe, does ye?"
But a wild idea had just then entered Mackay's head; he bent down and
gathered several of the emu feathers lying around; these he stuck in
the Shadow's hair much to that youth's disgust.
"Why, Shad, if your face was blacked you'd pass for one of the
warriors!" exclaimed Jack, noting the effect at once.
"We'll save these decorations for future use," said Mackay, quietly.
Emu Bill whistled softly, "I never thought o' that," said he. "I reckon
it's a real daisy idea."
Quickly they despoiled the natives of their gorgeous trappings, and Bob
sighed when the miserable bodies were revealed in all their savage
nakedness, and marvelled at the unusual muscular development showing in
their chest and limbs.
"Ay, Bob," said Mackay, guessing his thoughts, "one of these fellows is
worth two of any other tribe, I ken. Somehow, though I have a sair
grudge against them, I feel sort o' sorry to see such bonnie specimens
slaughtered."
"But I reckon they would have danced round our funeral all right," said
Emu Bill, savagely. "Hang it, the nigs in this here country ain't fit to
live, they ain't."
"There are no opossums about here, are there?" asked Jack, suddenly.
"Nary one," answered Emu Bill, with a laugh. "Why, they couldn't live on
sand, an' there ain't no trees around that a muskittie couldn't bend by
sitting on them."
"Then where could these skins come from?" cried the lad.
Bob shook his head dubiously, and Emu Bill seemed to have thought of
the matter for the first time. Mackay alone seemed confident in his
knowledge.
"It's a sure proof, Jack," said he, "that beyond the mountain there must
be a different kind o' country, a country o' forests and rivers, maybe,
and our Eldorado."