In a Hollow of the Hills | Page 6

that Sunday-school yarn
about the pious, scientific sharp who collected leaves and vegetables all
over the Divide, all the while he scientifically knew that the range was
solid silver, only he wouldn't soil his fingers with God-forsaken lucre. I
ain't saying anything agin that fine-spun theory that Key believes in
about volcanic upheavals that set up on end argentiferous rock, but I
simply say that I don't see it--with the naked eye. And I reckon it's
about time, boys, as the game's up, that we handed in our checks, and
left the board."
There was another silence around the fire, another whirl and turmoil
without. There was no attempt to combat the opinions of their leader;
possibly the same sense of disappointed hopes was felt by all, only they
preferred to let the man of greater experience voice it. He went on:--
"We've had our little game, boys, ever since we left Rawlin's a week
ago; we've had our ups and downs; we've been starved and parched,
snowed up and half drowned, shot at by road-agents and horse-thieves,
kicked by mules and played with by grizzlies. We've had a heap o' fun,
boys, for our money, but I reckon the picnic is about over. So we'll

shake hands to-morrow all round and call it square, and go on our ways
separately."
"And what do you think you'll do, Uncle Dick?" said his close- shaven
companion listlessly.
"I'll make tracks for a square meal, a bed that a man can comfortably
take off his boots and die in, and some violet-scented soap.
Civilization's good enough for me! I even reckon I wouldn't mind 'the
sound of the church-going bell' ef there was a theatre handy, as there
likely would be. But the wilderness is played out."
"You'll be back to it again in six months, Uncle Dick," retorted the
other quickly.
Uncle Dick did not reply. It was a peculiarity of the party that in their
isolated companionship they had already exhausted discussion and
argument. A silence followed, in which they all looked at the fire as if
it was its turn to make a suggestion.
"Collinson," said the pleasant voice abruptly, "who lives in the hollow
this side of the Divide, about two miles from the first spur above the
big canyon?"
"Nary soul!"
"Are you sure?"
"Sartin! Thar ain't no one but me betwixt Bald Top and Skinner's--
twenty-five miles."
"Of course, YOU'D know if any one had come there lately?" persisted
the pleasant voice.
"I reckon. It ain't a week ago that I tramped the whole distance that you
fellers just rode over."
"There ain't," said the leader deliberately, "any enchanted castle or
cabin that goes waltzing round the road with revolving windows and

fairy princesses looking out of 'em?"
But Collinson, recognizing this as purely irrelevant humor, with
possibly a trap or pitfall in it, moved away from the fireplace without a
word, and retired to the adjoining kitchen to prepare supper. Presently
he reappeared.
"The pork bar'l's empty, boys, so I'll hev to fix ye up with jerked beef,
potatoes, and flapjacks. Ye see, thar ain't anybody ben over from
Skinner's store for a week."
"All right; only hurry up!" said Uncle Dick cheerfully, settling himself
back in his chair, "I reckon to turn in as soon as I've rastled with your
hash, for I've got to turn out agin and be off at sun-up."
They were all very quiet again,--so quiet that they could not help
noticing that the sound of Collinson's preparations for their supper had
ceased too. Uncle Dick arose softly and walked to the kitchen door.
Collinson was sitting before a small kitchen stove, with a fork in his
hand, gazing abstractedly before him. At the sound of his guest's
footsteps he started, and the noise of preparation recommenced. Uncle
Dick returned to his chair by the fire. Leaning towards the chair of the
close-shaven man, he said in a lower voice:--
"He was off agin!"
"What?"
"Thinkin' of that wife of his."
"What about his wife?" asked Key, lowering his voice also.
The three men's heads were close together.
"When Collinson fixed up this mill he sent for his wife in the States,"
said Uncle Dick, in a half whisper, "waited a year for her, hanging
round and boarding every emigrant wagon that came through the Pass.
She didn't come--only the news that she was dead." He paused and

nudged his chair still closer--the heads were almost touching. "They
say, over in the Bar"--his voice had sunk to a complete whisper--"that it
was a lie! That she ran away with the man that was fetchin' her out.
Three thousand miles and three weeks with another man upsets some
women. But HE knows nothing about it, only he sometimes kinder
goes off looney-like, thinking of