Besides, our keg of water was pretty low, and it was getting about time to discover the spring the chart spoke of.

So we piled our camp stuff in the small boat and rowed ashore.
Anderson led the way confidently enough up a dry arroyo, whose sides were clay and conglomerate.

But, though we followed it to the end, we could find no indications that it was anything more than a wash for rain floods.
"That's main queer," muttered Anderson, and returned to the beach.
There he spread out the chart--the first look at it we'd had--and set to studying it.
It was a careful piece of work done in India ink, pretty old, to judge by the look of it, and with all sorts of pictures of mountains and dolphins and ships and anchors around the edge.

There was our bay, all right.

Two crosses were marked on the land part--one labelled "oro" and the other "agua." "Now there's the high cliff," says Anderson, following it out, "and there's the round hill with the boulder--and if them bearings don't point due for that ravine, the devil's a preacher." We tried it again, with the same result.