"Oh, a little matter of six or seven hundred miles from here."
"Glory to God!"
"Might as well be six or seven thousand."
"And very probably isn't a bona-fide strike at all," said the priest, "but just a stampede—a very different matter."
"Well, I tell you straight: I got no use for a gold-mine in Minook at this time o' year."
"Nop! Venison steak's more in my line than grub-stake just about now."
Potts had to bestir himself and wash dishes before he could indulge in his "line." When the grilled reindeer did appear, flanked by really-truly potatoes and the Colonel's hot Kentucky biscuit, there was no longer doubt in any man's mind but what this Blow-Out was being a success.
"Colonel's a daisy cook, ain't he?" the Boy appealed to Father Wills.
The Jesuit assented cordially.
"My family meant me for the army," he said. "Seen much service, Colonel?"