The Claim Jumpers

"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."