“I dare say you think you are,” said the Peruvian, as he desisted, “but I can bear my hand in here.”
Notwithstanding a demonstration to this effect, Harvey protested against the temperature being increased, and at last was permitted again to roll over on his moss couch, where, covered with blankets, he soon fell asleep.
It was three o’clock in the afternoon when he awakened. The fever had passed, the aches had disappeared from the muscles, and he said that he felt somewhat better, though a trifle weak. To prove there was at hand a remedy for this condition, Señor Cisneros pointed to Ferguson, who was busy in the far corner, turning ‘round and ‘round, over the glowing heat of embers, the ramrod of the captain’s rifle, on which were spitted a dozen little birds; and from the broilers came a savory odor that caused Harvey to smack his lips in expectation.
“They are plovers,” said the señor. “Hope-Jones went out about ten o’clock to find you a delicacy, and he succeeded in bagging enough for us all.”
The wild birds, reënforced by one of the captain’s palm-shoot vegetables, furnished a most edible repast, and it was not long thereafter before Hope-Jones, Ferguson, and the youngest member of the party turned in, the captain taking the first watch.
When Harvey awoke in the morning, he reported himself fit for any task, and the others, having recovered from strains and bruises, agreed to start as soon after breakfast as the packing of the camp equipment would permit. Before the departure, Señor Cisneros fastened a pole firmly between two of the rocks and attached thereto a handkerchief.
“It’s possible, though not probable, that hostile Indians may appear again,” he said. “In that event it would be well for us to retreat to this position, which is naturally fitted for defence, and which we have rendered even more impregnable. As the boulders do not show their peculiar form from down stream, we might pass the place by in our haste to seek shelter, but with that flagstaff set I don’t believe we could miss it.”
“Hadn’t we better give our little fort a name?” asked Harvey.
“To be sure we had,” said Ferguson. “Victory do?”
“I would suggest Majerona Hill,” said Hope-Jones.
“Would not Fort Pincushion be more appropriate?” asked the captain.