"How far? Any more? Only this?"
The Boy didn't answer. He went outside, and returned instantly, lugging in something brown and whitish, weather-stained, unwieldy.
"I dropped this at the door as I came along home. Thought it might do for the collection."
Mac stared with all his eyes, and hurriedly lit a candle. The Boy dropped exhausted on a ragged bit of burlap by the bunks. Mac knelt down opposite, pouring liberal libation of candle-grease on the uncouth, bony mass between them.
"Part of the skull!" he rasped out, masking his ecstasy as well as he could.
"Mastodon?" inquired the Boy.
Mac shook his head.
"I'll bet my boots," says Mac, "it's an Elephas primigenius; and if I'm right, it's 'a find,' young man. Where'd you stumble on him?"
"Over yonder." The Boy leaned his head against the lower bunk.
"Where?" "Across the divide. The bones have been dragged up on to some rocks. I saw the end of a tusk stickin' up out of the snow, and I scratched down till I found—" He indicated the trophy between them on the floor.