“They halted their horses and held a consultation.  The boss came to the conclusion that since they had all seen it, there was nothing to do but continue the investigation and send the details to the ’Society for Psychical Research,’ when he got down from his horse and walked towards the door of the house.  At his approach, as if to rebuke his wanton curiosity, a great blast of snow blew out of the window and got him full in the face.  He howled—­the snow was scalding hot.

“Then they remembered the rice.”

“Is that all?” demanded the man who had wanted to talk about rustling.

“Isn’t it enough?” said Peter, who could afford to be magnanimous, now that he had accomplished his point.

“When I first heard that story, ’bout ten years ago, it ended with the Britishers riding like hell over to the Wolcott ranch to borrow umbrellas to keep off the hot rice while they got into the house,” said the man, still sulky.

“That’s the way they tell it to tenderfeet,” and Peter turned on his heel.  The story-telling for the evening was over, the boys got their blankets and set about making their beds for the night.

XIII

Mary’s First Day In Camp

The first day spent as governess to the family of Yellett reminded Mary Carmichael of those days mentioned in the opening chapter of Genesis, days wherein whole geological ages developed and decayed.  Any era, geological or otherwise, she felt might have had its rise, decline, and fall during that first day spent in a sheep camp.

She awoke to the sound of faint tinklings, and accepted the towering peaks of the Wind River mountains, with their snowy mantles all shadowy in the whitening dawn, and the warmer grays of huddling foot-hills, as one receives, without question, the fantastic visions of sleep.  The faint tinkling grew nearer, mingled with a light pitter patter and a far off baa-ing and bleating; then, as shadowy as the sheep in dreams, a great flock came winding round the hill; in and out through the sage-brush they went and came, elusive as the early morning shadows they moved among.  The air was crystalline and sparkling; creation’s first morning could not have promised more.  It would have been inconsistent in such a place to waken in a house; the desert, that seemed a lifeless sea, the sheep moving like gray shadows, were all parts of a big, new world that had no need of houses built by hands.

Ben, oldest of the Brobdingnag tribe, who had greeted Mary’s request to be directed to “the house” as a bit of dry Eastern humor, led the herd to pasture.  Ben’s right-hand man was “Stump,” the collie, so named because he had no tail worth mentioning, but otherwise in full possession of his faculties.  Stump was newly broken to his official duties and authority sat heavily on him.  Keenly alert, he flew hither and thither, first after one straying member of the herd, then another, barking an early morning roll-call as he went.  Two other male Brobdingnags came from some sequestered spot in the landscape and joined Ben—­Mary recognized two more pupils.