Not a
bird, not a beast, not a reptile. There was no noise in that part
of the world, save when we passed beside the staging, and heard the
water musically falling in the shaft.
We wandered to and fro. We searched among that drift of lumber-
wood and iron, nails and rails, and sleepers and the wheels of
tracks. We gazed up the cleft into the bosom of the mountain. We
sat by the margin of the dump and saw, far below us, the green
treetops standing still in the clear air. Beautiful perfumes,
breaths of bay, resin, and nutmeg, came to us more often and grew
sweeter and sharper as the afternoon declined. But still there was
no word of Hanson.
I set to with pick and shovel, and deepened the pool behind the
shaft, till we were sure of sufficient water for the morning; and
by the time I had finished, the sun had begun to go down behind the
mountain shoulder, the platform was plunged in quiet shadow, and a
chill descended from the sky. Night began early in our cleft.
Before us, over the margin of the dump, we could see the sun still
striking aslant into the wooded nick below, and on the
battlemented, pine-bescattered ridges on the farther side.
There was no stove, of course, and no hearth in our lodging, so we
betook ourselves to the blacksmith's forge across the platform. If
the platform be taken as a stage, and the out-curving margin of the
dump to represent the line of the foot-lights, then our house would
be the first wing on the actor's left, and this blacksmith's forge,
although no match for it in size, the foremost on the right.
Pages:
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70