Roosevelt, in fact, was in those first days considered somewhat of a joke. Beside Gregor Lang, forty miles to the south, he was the only man in the Bad Lands who wore glasses. Lang's glasses, moreover, were small and oval; Roosevelt's were large and round, making him, in the opinion of the cowpunchers, look very much like a curiously nervous and emphatic owl. They called him "Four Eyes," and spoke without too much respect, of "Roosenfelder."
Merrifield rode to town with him one day and stopped at the Marquis's company store to see a man named Fisher, who had succeeded Edgar Haupt as local superintendent of the Northern Pacific Refrigerator Car Company, asking Fisher as he was departing whether he did not want to meet Roosevelt. Fisher had heard of the "four-eyed dude from New York" and heard something of his political reforming. He went outdoors with Merrifield, distinctly curious.
Roosevelt was on horseback chatting with a group of cowboys, and the impression he made on Fisher was not such as to remove the natural prejudice of youth against "reformers" of any sort. What Fisher saw was "a slim, anæmic-looking young fellow dressed in the exaggerated style which new-comers on the frontier affected, and which was considered indisputable evidence of the rank tenderfoot." If any further proof of Roosevelt's status was needed, the great round glasses supplied it. Fisher made up his mind that he knew all he needed to know about the new owner of the Maltese Cross.
No doubt he expressed his opinions to Merrifield. The taciturn hunter did not dispute his conclusions, but a day or two after he dropped in on Fisher again and said, "Get your horse and we'll take the young fellow over the old Sully Trail and try out his nerve. We'll let on that we're going for a little hunt."
Fisher agreed with glee in his heart. He knew the Sully Trail. It ran mainly along the sides of precipitous buttes, southeast of Medora, and, being old and little used, had almost lost the little semblance it might originally have had of a path where four-footed creatures might pick their way with reasonable security. A recent rain had made the clay as slippery as asphalt in a drizzle.
It occurred to Fisher that it was as truly wicked a trail as he had ever seen. Merrifield led the way; Fisher maneuvered for last place and secured it. In the most perilous places there was always something about his saddle which needed adjustment, and he took care not to remount until the danger was behind them. Roosevelt did not dismount for any reason. He followed where Merrifield led, without comment.
They came at last to a grassy slope that dipped at an angle of forty-five degrees to a dry creek-bed. "There goes a deer!" shouted Merrifield suddenly and started down the slope as fast as his horse could go. Roosevelt followed at the same speed. He and Merrifield arrived at the bottom at the identical moment; but with a difference. Roosevelt was still on his horse, but Merrifield and his pony had parted company about a hundred yards above the creek-bed and rolled the rest of the way. Fisher, who was conservative by nature, arrived in due course.
Roosevelt pretended to be greatly annoyed. "Now see what you've done, Merrifield," he exclaimed as that individual, none the worse for his tumble, drew himself to his feet. "That deer is in Montana by this time." Then he burst into laughter.
A suspicion took root in Fisher's mind that Merrifield had intended the hazardous performance as much for Fisher's education as for Roosevelt's. He was quite ready to admit that his first impression had been imperfect. Meanwhile, he wondered whether the joke was on himself or on Merrifield. Certainly it was not on the tenderfoot.
Roosevelt enjoyed it all with the relish of a gourmand at a feast cooked by the gods.