“Now, young un,” he said, “here’s the glass.”
Braxton slung it round his neck, and ascended the tree as he had done the night before. It was child’s play to the trooper—a splendid climber, as I can testify; for I saw him two years later swarming up the topmost backstay of the Hector frigate in a gale of wind for a bet of a bottle of wine. He soon reached the summit, and shuffling along a naked branch two hundred feet from the ground, he gained a point where no leaves could obstruct his view. Here he sat straddle-legged; and, unslinging the glass, he proceeded to examine the hill, bush by bush and stone by stone.
An hour passed without his moving. Another had almost elapsed before he descended. His face was grave and thoughtful.
“Are they there?” was the eager query.
“Yes; they are there.”
“How many?”
“I’ve only seen five; but there may be more. Wait till I think it out, Bill.”
The miner gazed at him with all the reverence matter has toward mind. Thinking things out was not his strong point.
“Blamed if I can help you,” he said, apologetically. “It kinder don’t come nat’ral to me to be plottin’ and plannin’. Want o’ eddication, likely. My father was allowed to be the hardest-headed man in the States. Judge Jeffers let on as how the old man wanted to hand in his checks; so he down an’ put his head on the line when the first engine as ran from Vermont was comin’ up. They fined him a hundred dollars for upsettin’ that ’ere locomotive; an’ the old man got the cussedest headache as ever was.”
Braxton hardly seemed to hear this family anecdote; he was deep in thought.