eantime Cumshaw had lowered himself carefully down into the
opening, felt about a bit with his feet, found a foothold, and then
swung easily down from projecting ledge to projecting ledge. He emerged
quite unexpectedly into a tangled mass of wattle. That puzzled him much,
as it had puzzled me a few minutes previously; the elder Cumshaw's tale
contained no mention of wattle save the golden barrier at the further
side of the valley. Yet here was wattle as far as the eye could reach.
It looked as if a generous scientist, like the man in H. G. Wells' "Food
of the Gods," had let loose some power capable of forcing on this
abnormal growth. The valley itself was in an undulating sea of
vegetation. Had it been early in September the place would have been a
vast expanse of golden glory, but as it was late March the dominant
color note was that of grey-green. Under the circumstances it was as
clear as daylight how the elder man had missed the place. It was buried
under the rank growth, and all definable features, as we learnt
later--everything that could be used as a leading mark--had disappeared
or been swamped by the wattles. The bushes were not so thick about the
lower entrance to the funnel as to impede Cumshaw's movements, and so he
began to look about him in the hope of locating the one thing that would
definitely identify the place. The horses had been shot close to the
wall of rock, and it was a practical certainty that some trace of their
bodies would be found in the vicinity. Ten minutes' close search brought
to light a pile of bones that might or might not be those of the missing
animals--Cumshaw had no knowledge of anatomical structure and so did not
feel quite clear on that point--but the remarkable feature about them in
his eyes was that they were all more or less blackened, and amongst them
he found a heap of lime-dust, which he took to be bones reduced to their
elemental form by the application of great heat. Still he felt justified
in regarding the identity of the place as being sufficiently
established, and without wasting any more time he returned the way he
had come.

"There's no doubt about it," I agreed when I heard his tale. "This is
the valley right enough. I vote on going down there at once. The old hut
can't be far away, and it'll be somewhere for us to camp in and fix up
our clothes. And that reminds me that one of us'll have to go back for
our stores and extra clothes. There's no need for both of us to