"I'd hate to be
shipmates with the fellow who sat for that portrait."
"No human being ever sat for it, Ben," laughed Frank; "it's a mere
freak of nature which has so disposed the mountain mass at this
point as to give the semblance of what the map-maker terms The
Upturned Face."
"Well, if I had a mug like that I'd turn it down instead of up
before some one did it for me," was Ben's comment.
The Golden Eagle landed on a plateau about halfway up the mountain,
beneath the upturned face. It made an almost ideal camping-place,
considering the rugged nature of their surroundings. In one part of
it a small grove of bananas and palms had taken root, and their
smiling greenery offered a refreshing contrast to the dark
oppressive gloom of the giant rock masses piled all about. From the
center of this oasis in the rocky range bubbled a tiny spring of
water as clear and cold as if it had been filtered and iced.
Frank's first act was to send out a wireless to the River Camp,
telling of their arrival.
"Well, thank goodness, we've got something green and pleasant to
look at," remarked Ben, as they set about transforming the chassis
of the Golden Eagle into a comfortable tent by means of running up
the canvas curtains on the aluminum frames provided for that
purpose.
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