They tramped across the claim until they came in sight of Hun Shanklin’s tent. Its flap was blowing in the wind.
“The old rascal came over to make friends with me,” said Slavens. “He claimed that he never lifted his hand against me. There’s his horse, trying to make it down the slope to the river. I’ll have to catch the beast and take that rope off.
“There’s a man over there!” Agnes exclaimed. “Look! There among the rocks to the right of the tent! I wonder who it is?”
Slavens looked where she pointed, just as the man disappeared among the rocks.
“It’s the Governor!” she whispered.
“Looked like his coat,” he agreed.
“Do you suppose he’s––”
“Trying to locate old Shanklin’s mine,” he said. “That’s what he’s after. If there’s copper on that piece the Governor will get it, even if his son doesn’t live to share with him. The difference of a figure or two in the description of a piece of land might be revised on the books, if one had the influence.”
The doctor for whom Governor Boyle had sent arrived on the afternoon train from Cheyenne and 334 reached the camp before sunset. He spoke in the highest terms of the manner in which Dr. Slavens had proceeded, and declared that it would be presumptuous meddling for him, or anyone else, to attempt to advise in the case.
Agnes heard his commendation with triumph in her eyes, and Mrs. Boyle gave Dr. Slavens her blessing in a tearful look. The doctor from Cheyenne took up his instrument-case and held out his hand with a great deal more respect in his bearing toward the unknown practitioner than he had shown upon his arrival.