"Oh, I say, Griggs, isn't this a lovely place!" said Ned that evening
just before sundown, as they sat beside a glowing wood fire, waiting for
the sufficient cooking of the bread-cakes that had been made. Griggs
was combining the duties of watch and cook; the animals were grazing
contentedly; the rest of the party were sleeping just where they had
wearily thrown themselves down after their long journey--all save Ned.
He had woke up a few minutes before, to sit staring about him, wondering
where he was, and with a vague notion in his head that the setting sun,
whose horizontal rays were searching the gully to its deepest depth and
staining the sky with the most glorious tints wherever they could rest
upon a fleecy cloud, was rising, and that the odour that saluted his
nostrils was given off by the breakfast cakes.
Griggs was busy raking the glowing ashes over one of those cakes, and as
he did not seem to hear, Ned glanced at where Chris lay with his head
upon a doubled-up blanket, and repeated his question, which this time
brought forth a reply.
"Yes; it's beautiful enough, my lad, but not the place we want."
"You haven't had a good look round yet," said Ned.
"Quite good enough to satisfy me that the map was not made here."