Ross laughed. "I know something about medicine and surgery," he confessed. "I’ve read and helped my uncle, Dr. Grant. That’s all."
"All!" echoed Leslie Jones. His manner was touched with disbelief as he looked from Weston to Ross. "And did you, alone, set a leg?"
Ross sought to change the subject. "Aw–that’s not much–when you know how. I’m glad I’m to have neighbors up on Meadow Creek. Hope I don’t have to stay there any longer than you do."
"Expect to clean up the title this year, do you?" asked Wilson.
"Well, all I can say now is that you’ll be mighty glad you come. I tell ye what, Doc, Meadow Creek is the mining deestrict of the future," whereupon Wishing launched on a glowing account of the future of Meadow Creek claims as he saw the future. His eyes lighted up and he forgot to eat as he told of the wonderful value of the gold and silver that he expected to pull out of the claims he had staked the previous year. He believed so thoroughly in his own vision that even Ross, whose interests were far removed from gold mining, felt a thrill of expectancy as to the outcome of his work in Meadow Creek, while Leslie, whose appetite was slight for the coarse, ill-cooked food, dropped his fork to listen although he must have heard the recital many times before.
Shortly after dinner, the two saddled up and departed in the order in which they had come.
"So long!" yelled Wilson, waving his hat. "We expect t’ strike it rich before a month."
"Good luck!" shouted Hank and Ross together, the latter adding, "I’ll see you again in a few days."
Hank, stuffing his hands into his pockets, pursed up his lips and whistled shortly as the pack outfit disappeared in a cloud of dust.