"Come on, we'll follow him," cried Mary, jumping down.
"And abandon our box?" objected Bennington. But she was already in full
pursuit of the tall cowboy.
The ring around the large boulder--dragged by mule team from the
hills--had just begun to form when they arrived, so they were enabled
to secure good places near the front rank, where they kneeled on their
handkerchiefs, and the crowd hemmed them in at the back. The drilling
match was to determine which pair of contestants could in a given
time, with sledge and drill, cut the deepest hole in a granite boulder.
To one who stood apart, the sight must have been picturesque in the
extreme. The white dust, stirred by restless feet, rose lazily across
the heated air. The sun shone down clear and hot with a certain
wide-eyed glare that is seen only in the rarefied atmosphere of the
West. Around the outer edge of the ring hovered a few anxious small
boys, agonized that they were missing part of the show. Stolidly
indifferent Indians, wrapped close in their blankets, smoked silently,
awaiting the next pony race, the riders of which were skylarking about
trying to pull each other from their horses' backs.
When the last pair had finished, the judges measured the depths of the
holes drilled, and announced the victors.
The crowd shouted and broke for the saloons. The latter had been plying
a brisk business, so that men were about ready to embrace in
brotherhood or in battle with equal alacrity.
Suddenly it was the dinner hour. The crowd broke. Bennington and Mary
realized they had been wandering about hand in hand. They directed
their steps toward the McPhersons with the greatest propriety. It was a
glorious picnic.
The house was gratefully cool and dark after the summer heat out of
doors. The little doctor sat in the darkest room and dissertated
cannily on the strange variety of subjects which a Scotchman can always
bring up on the most ordinary occasions.
The doctor was not only a learned man, as was evidenced by his position
in the School of Mines and his wonderful collections, but was a scout
of long standing, a physician of merit, and an Indian authority of
acknowledged weight. Withal he was so modest that these things became
known only by implication or hearsay, never by direct evidence. Mrs.
McPherson was not Scotch at all, but plain comfortable American,
redolent of wholesome cleanliness and good temper, and beaming with
kindliness and round spectacles. Never was such a doctor; never was
such a Mrs. McPherson; never was such a dinner! And they brought in
after-dinner coffee in small cups.
"Ah, ha! Mr. de Laney," laughed the doctor, who had been watching him
with quizzical eye. "We're pretty bad, but we aren't got quite to
savagery yet."