Naturally I did myself.

I knew the stuff that savage dreams are made of.
But when we had reached our farthest point, just the day before we all had to turn around and start for home again, as the best of expeditions must in time, we three made a discovery.
The main encampment was on a spit of land running out into the main stream, or what we thought was the main stream.

It had the same muddy color we had been seeing for weeks past, the same taste.
I happened to speak of that river to our last guide, a rather superior fellow with quick, bright eyes.
He told me that there was another river--"over there, short river, sweet water, red and blue." I was interested in this and anxious to see if I had understood, so I showed him a red and blue pencil I carried, and asked again.
Yes, he pointed to the river, and then to the southwestward.
"River--good water--red and blue." Terry was close by and interested in the fellow's pointing.
"What does he say, Van ?" I told him.
Terry blazed up at once.
"Ask him how far it is." The man indicated a short journey; I judged about two hours, maybe three.
"Let's go," urged Terry.

"Just us three.

Maybe we can really find something.