“What for a prospect do you aim to open up in a limestone formation?”
Smith, tipped on the rear legs of his chair, with his head resting comfortably against the unbleached muslin sheeting which lined the walls, winked at Tubbs as he asked the question.
“‘What for a prospect’?” repeated McArthur.
“Yes, ‘prospect’—that’s what I said. You say you’ve got your war-bag full of spec’mens.”
McArthur laughed heartily.
“Ah, my dear sir, I understand. You are referring to mines—to mineral specimens. These are the specimens of which I am speaking.”
Opening the sack, McArthur held up for inspection what looked to be a lump of dried mud.
“This is a magnificent specimen of the crustacean period,” he declared.
The Indian woman looked from the prized object to his animated face; then, with puzzled eyes, she looked at Smith, who touched his forehead with his finger, making a spiral, upward gesture which in the sign language says “crazy.”
The woman promptly gathered up the rag rug she was braiding and moved to a bench in the farthermost corner of the room.