Roy opened the paper and pointed to the name on it.
“I suppose you’re like the rest of ’em,” the boy answered, with some satisfaction. “Well, you’ve all laughed too soon. There was a Willard Banks, and he was my great uncle!”
Old Doolin started to smile, but, changing his mind, he turned and exclaimed:
“W’ot’s that?”
“There was such a man as Willard Banks,” continued Roy, with spirit. “He was my great uncle. He was a Mormon elder, and he lived at Parowan.”
“Wal, by hokey!” exclaimed old Doolin, straightening up. “Ef that’s right, I reckon I been a laughin’ out o’ the wrong side o’ my face. Say, Kid,” he continued, after a moment’s hard thinking, “I seen fellers ’at had seen ships asailin’ in the desert. Likewise I seen many a dockymint o’ them Spanish sharps locatin’ mines an’ sich—mines as ain’t no one kin find. I never set no more store on Sink’s ramblin’s an’ I do on Injun tales. An’ nobody else, I reckon. But you listen to me! Ef thar was a live man o’ that name o’ Banks,” and he shook his head slowly, “thar’s a many ’at have been makin’ fools o’ theirselves, an’ Sink ain’t one uv ’em.”
“Did you ever see anything like this?” asked Roy, smiling and opening the paper on his knee.
“I never did and never expec’ to agin. Ain’t no more sense to it ’an a snake’s trail in the sand. That writin’ ain’t fur nuthin’, but I reckon mebbe, ef what you say’s right, Sink seen the hole in the ground. Mebbe he seen a white man thar—I’ll even stand fur that, now,” continued the grizzled teamster, “an’ mebbe he seen some dishes o’ copper er clay er say they wuz even gold and silver; fer argymint sake, I’ll stand fur that, too, seein’ ye know thar was a man o’ that name. Fur as them things goes, I’ll take off my hat to Sink; but one thing I won’t stand fur, not even if the old Mormon was hyar and jined Sink in a affedavit—that’s them bald-headed Injuns. They ain’t no sich a thing. They cain’t be. Injuns ain’t made that way.”
The boy laughed outright.