"Quite so," said Gordon," and I propose to follow the lake shore to Stop River, and then to strike off for the cliff, and skirt it on our way to the caves."
"And why go down the river?" asked Wilcox.
"Why, indeed?" said Donagan. "Why not make a short cut across the sand to the first trees in Trap Woods, which are not more than three or four miles to the south-west?"
"Because we must cross Stop River," answered Gordon. "We know we can get across where we crossed yesterday; but farther down we might find a torrent that would give trouble. If we enter the forest on the left bank of the river, we must be all right."
"Always cautious, Gordon!" exclaimed Donagan, with just a touch of irony.
"You never can be too cautious!" said Gordon.
And then they all slipped down the hill, regained their camp, ate a little biscuit and cold venison, rolled up their blankets, and started back on the road they had come along the night before.
The sky was magnificent. A light breeze barely ruffled the surface of the lake. There was every sign of a fine day. If the weather would only keep fine for thirty-six hours Gordon would be satisfied, for he counted on reaching French Den the next evening.
By eleven o'clock the boys were back at Stop River. Nothing had occurred on the way except that Donagan had shot two splendid tufted bustards, with a plumage of black mixed with red above and white below, which put him in as good a humour as Service, who was always ready to pluck, draw, and roast any bird whatsoever.
This was the fate of the bustards an hour later, when the boys had crossed the river in the Halkett boat.
"Now we are under the trees," said Gordon, "and I hope Baxter will have a chance of using the lasso or the bolas."
"He hasn't done much with them as yet," said Donagan who did not think much of any weapon of the chase except firearms.
