"Plenty of it."

"Are we near a stream, then?"

"No; the water is all round us, waiting for me to draw it off."

The girl looked about her.

"What do you mean? I don't see any. Where is the water?"

"Hanging from the trees," he replied, laughing. "I'll admit you into one of
the secrets of the jungle. But first I want a fire."

He gathered dried grass and sticks, cleared a space of earth and built
three fires, two on the ground with a large lump of hard clay on either
side of each, the third in a hole that he scraped out.

"To be consistent I ought to produce fire by rubbing two pieces of dried
wood together, as they do in books of adventure," he said, turning to the
interested girl. "It can be done. I have seen natives do it; but it is a
lengthy process and I prefer a match."

He took out a box and lit the fires.

"Now," he said, "if you'll see to these for me, I'll go and get the kettle
and crockery."

At the far end of the glade was a clump of bamboos. Dermot selected the
biggest stem and hacked it down with his _kukri_. From the thicker end he
cut off a length from immediately below a knot to about a foot above it,