Excitedly protesting and expostulating, half in English and half in German, Uncle Jake retreated inside the door, and taking up his position beside one of the little windows watched the trail to the tunnel while Ross, smiling at his partner’s hallucination, built up the fire, cheerfully banging the covers of the stove as he filled the fire-box with dry pine sticks. In the midst of this racket there entered the sound of crunching footsteps on the side opposite the shack from that occupied by Weimer.
"Hein!" yelled the latter springing up. "Was sagen sie? It ist somepody!"
A rap thundered on the door, and it was thrust open at the same time unceremoniously, while a low, gruff voice inquired abruptly:
"Is there a young doctor here?"
A man a little above medium height stood on the threshold. He wore buckskin trousers and a buckskin coat over a heavy sweater, giving him a bulky appearance. He had on snow-shoes, and strapped over his shoulder, a large leather game pouch sagged. Behind smoked goggles his eyes were blinking, like Weimer’s, almost closed. His head and ears were covered with a shaggy fur cap, which met his turned-up coat collar. His face was smooth above a fringe of black stubby whiskers, which ran from ear to ear under the chin. His voice, though gruff, was not unpleasant as he explained.
"Of course ’twas a month and more ago since they told me over t’ Red Lodge that––" His eyes fell on Ross. "You’re him they call Doc Tenderfoot, ain’t ye?"
"Why–yes," answered Ross. There was a pause between the two words caused by the speaker’s amazement at seeing a man drop in from–where?
"Come in," invited Weimer, "und set down."
"Don’t care if I do," assented the stranger.
He unbuckled his snow-shoes, and, leaving them outside, entered the shack. Turning down his coat collar, he loosened his cap, pushing it back on his head, thereby revealing the ends of short black hair.