here."

"It can't be very safe," said Mark thoughtfully, as he watched the
little puffs of steam rise.

"Not if you jump on a soft place, for there would be no knowing where
you went. But come along, I think we've done enough for one day, so
let's find our pigeons and get back."

"Where's Jacko?" said Mark, looking round.

"Jack! Last time I saw him he was up a tree eating those sour berries
just after I shot the last pigeon. He must have stayed back to feed."

They whistled and called, while, as if comprehending it all, the dog
barked; but all was still, and in the hope of finding their hairy
companion they now pressed steadily on, passing the tree laden still
with a bright purple kind of berry, but there was no sign of Jack.

"He'll return to savage life, safe," said the major. "It is too much of
a temptation to throw in his way. Why, Mark, if I were a monkey I think
I should."

"I don't think he'd leave Bruff now," replied Mark. "They're such
friends that they wouldn't part, and I'm sure my dog wouldn't go."

He glanced down at Bruff as he spoke, and the dog barked at him, and
raised his injured paw.

"Well, we shall see," said the major, as they forced their way on.
"There's where we stopped to listen for birds," he continued, "and
there's the tree upon which I hung the pigeons."

"Where?" asked Mark.

"Yonder, straight before you. There, lad, fifty yards away."

"But I can't see any pigeons," said Mark.

"Not near enough. Let's get on, I'm growing hungry, and beginning to
think of dinner, a cigar, a good rest, and a bathe in that
delicious-looking sea. By the way, the clouds are gathering about the
top of that mountain. I hope we shall have no storm to-night. Why,
Mark, the pigeons are gone! I hung them upon that branch."

Mark turned from gazing at the clouds, which seemed to be forming about
the cone away to his right, and was obliged to confess that the pigeons
were gone.

"Savage, or some animal," said the major, peering cautiously round.

"Would it be a big bird--eagle or vulture?" said Mark. "I saw one fly
over."

"Might be," replied the major. "I'm not naturalist enough to say; and
if I was, I daren't, Mark, for what a bird will do in one country it
will not in another."

Mark stared at him.

"Well, I mean this, Mark, my lad. At home, in England, the kingfishers
sit on twigs over the streams, and dive into the water and catch fish.
Here, in the East, numbers of them si