“I kind o’ counted on him gettin’ to Parowan an’ findin’ out somepin about my old High Mucky-Muck o’ the Lost Injuns.”
Mr. Cook laughed and Roy colored a little.
“Sink,” exclaimed the boy hastily, “the fact that I never had a chance to get to Parowan is one of the reasons I hate to leave this country. For a long time, I thought I’d get over there. But when the Aeroplane Express got down to a regular schedule, it seemed as if every hour was taken up with something. I just couldn’t work it in. And I’d liked to have gone for my mother’s sake.”
“Oh, I accept yer apology,” muttered Weston good naturedly.
“But don’t git the idee I’ve give up. I got the location o’ that sink hole comin’ to me yit.”
Mr. Cook laughed and laid his hand on Weston’s arm.
“Sink,” he said, “if you keep on you’ll get to believin’ that story some day.”
Old Doolin looked at Roy and made a desperate effort to wink his heavy eyelid. As he did so, Weston pulled himself up in his chair, hit the table with his clenched fist until the dishes and glasses rattled, and exclaimed, in a thick voice:
“Ye’ll acknowledge thet thar’s one feller ’at kem out hyar an’ showed you all a few things ye didn’t know. Why? ’Cause he was a sight smarter ’an some wise ones I could name—”