She shrank back to her knees, overcome with sudden dizziness. The next instant she was drawn to her feet, then lifted off of them by a pair of unsteady arms, and put down on firm earth. She looked up and laughed.
But Forrest's face was white and stern. "Why will you risk yourself like this?" he said. "Why will you?"
Camp was made in a small open on the base of the slope. Dry branches were gathered for the fire, a tent pitched for the women, and bedded with boughs made springy by sharpening and planting the butts in the earth. Then Martha set out her fine butter and light loaf, and lifted the coffee-pot from the improvised tripod, and brought venison steaks, broiled to perfection over the red coals.
"I dunno," said Eben, putting down his cup and smoothing his long black whiskers, "I dunno's I ever hed your 'pinion 'bout that ther leanin' tower. How do you 'count fur it?"
"Why," answered Forrest, "the blocks are of granite. There was probably a formation of granite and limestone, and the softer rock crumbled away."
There was a brief silence, during which the settler meditated profoundly, then Martha spoke. "I 'low he's 'bout right, Eben. Ther ain't never be'n no man 'round here could a hefted them stones, let erlone piled 'em that erway, cantin' right over ther gorge. An' ef ther was, an' he'd hed ther help an' tackle, what in all creation 'd he do it fur?"
Another profound silence, then Myers said, "I 'lowed it might a be'n done by my petrified man."
"Your petrified man?" repeated Forrest.
"Yes." The settler cast a sweeping glance behind him, as though he feared the young man's incautious tone might have reached some eavesdropper lurking in the thicket, and screening his mouth with his hand, echoed softly, "My petrified man."
"It's true," said the teacher gravely; "he is excavating a petrified man. I've seen it, or rather parts of it. He keeps it in a blue chest with a padlock under my bed."