He stared at the grooves through his spectacles, and replied: 

“I don’t say anything, except that I can’t see anybody to make paths here.  Indeed, the place seems quite unpopulated, and all the Orofenans told me that they never landed on it because if they did they would die.  It is a part of their superstitious nonsense.  If you have any idea in your head you had better tell us quickly before we breakfast.  I am very hungry.”

“You always are,” remarked Bickley; “even when most people’s appetites might have been affected.  Well, I think that this great plateau was once a landing-place for flying machines, and that there is the air-shed or garage.”

Bastin stared at him.

“Don’t you think we had better breakfast?” he said.  “There are two roast pigs in that canoe, and lots of other food, enough to last us a week, I should say.  Of course, I understand that the blood you have shed has thrown you off your balance.  I believe it has that effect, except on the most hardened.  Flying machines were only invented a few years ago by the brothers Wright in America.”

“Bastin,” said Bickley, “I begin to regret that I did not leave you to take part in another breakfast yonder—­I mean as the principal dish.”

“It was Providence, not you, who prevented it, Bickley, doubtless because I am unworthy of such a glorious end.”

“Then it is lucky that Providence is a good shot with a pistol.  Stop talking nonsense and listen.  If those were paths worn by feet they would run to the edge of the rock.  They do not.  They begin there in that gentle depression and slope upwards somewhat steeply.  The air machines, which were evidently large, lit in the depression, possibly as a bird does, and then ran on wheels or sledge skids along the grooves to the air-shed in the mountain.  Come to the cave and you will see.”

“Not till we have breakfast,” said Bastin.  “I will get out a pig.  As a matter of fact, I had no supper last night, as I was taking a class of native boys and making some arrangements of my own.”

As for me, I only whistled.  It all seemed very feasible.  And yet how could such things be?

We unloaded the canoe and ate.  Bastin’s appetite was splendid.  Indeed, I had to ask him to remember that when this supply was done I did not know where we should find any more.

“Take no thought for the morrow,” he replied.  “I have no doubt it will come from somewhere,” and he helped himself to another chop.

Never had I admired him so much.  Not a couple of hours before he was about to be cruelly murdered and eaten.  But this did not seem to affect him in the least.  Bastin was the only man I have ever known with a really perfect faith.  It is a quality worth having and one that makes for happiness.  What a great thing not to care whether you are breakfasted on, or breakfast!

“I see that there is lots of driftwood about here,” he remarked, “but unfortunately we have no tea, so in this climate it is of little use, unless indeed we can catch some fish and cook them.”