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.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152