“Yes, it is,” he said, “because, look, I can read it now.  First picture:  men walking up a mountain—­that’s Long Arrow and his party; men going into a hole in a mountain—­they enter a cave looking for medicine-plants or mosses; a mountain falling down—­some hanging rocks must have slipped and trapped them, imprisoned them in the cave.  And this was the only living creature that could carry a message for them to the outside world—­a beetle, who could Burrow his way into the open air.  Of course it was only a slim chance that the beetle would be ever caught and the letter read.  But it was a chance; and when men are in great danger they grab at any straw of hope. . . .  All right.  Now look at the next picture:  men pointing to their open mouths—­ they are hungry; men praying—­begging any one who finds this letter to come to their assistance; men lying down—­they are sick, or starving.  This letter, Stubbins, is their last cry for help.”

He sprang to his feet as he ended, snatched out a note-book and put the letter between the leaves.  His hands were trembling with haste and agitation.

“Come on!” he cried—­“up the mountain—­all of you.  There’s not a moment to lose.  Bumpo, bring the water and nuts with you.  Heaven only knows how long they’ve been pining underground.  Let’s hope and pray we’re not too late!”

“But where are you going to look?” I asked.  “Miranda said the island was a hundred miles long and the mountains seem to run all the way down the centre of it.”

“Didn’t you see the last picture?” he said, grabbing up his hat from the ground and cramming it on his head.  “It was an oddly shaped mountain—­ looked like a hawk’s head.  Well, there’s where he is if he’s still alive.  First thing for us to do, is to get up on a high peak and look around the island for a mountain shaped like a hawks’ head—­just to think of it!  There’s a chance of my meeting Long Arrow, the son of Golden Arrow, after all!—­Come on!  Hurry!  To delay may mean death to the greatest naturalist ever born!”

THE SEVENTH CHAPTER

HAWK’S-HEAD MOUNTAIN

We all agreed afterwards that none of us had ever worked so hard in our lives before as we did that day.  For my part, I know I was often on the point of dropping exhausted with fatigue; but I just kept on going—­like a machine—­determined that, whatever happened, I would not be the first to give up.

When we had scrambled to the top of a high peak, almost instantly we saw the strange mountain pictured in the letter.  In shape it was the perfect image of a hawk’s head, and was, as far as we could see, the second highest summit in the island.

Although we were all out of breath from our climb, the Doctor didn’t let us rest a second as soon as he had sighted it.  With one look at the sun for direction, down he dashed again, breaking through thickets, splashing over brooks, taking all the short cuts.  For a fat man, he was certainly the swiftest cross-country runner I ever saw.