"Don't talk about civilisation, Mr. Stamford," she rebuked. "It sounds so funny out here."
"Can I really be funny so easily? Speaking about civilisation, did you ever see anything to beat this locking up of our horses? What's Dakota afraid of anyway? I'm a funny critter, Miss Bulkeley. I never had an ambition to ride Hobbles out of hours before. Now I'm wild to tear about this lonesome prairie at the most unconventional hours. If you'll turn your back you won't be accessory to a crime. I'd ride away and turn my back to you, only Hobbles wouldn't leave your horse now, and I couldn't make her. I'm making a drawing of this stable key. Yours not to reason why."
He turned himself from her as much as he could and outlined the key in his notebook.
"I was watching the sunset all the time," she told him when he had finished, "and wondering."
"Don't wonder," he warned, with a sigh. "I've started to, and I'm getting more tangled every day. Life was never like this before."
That night he made arrangements with Bean to go to town with him two days later, and retired to bed with a virtuous satisfaction at having beaten his favourite enemy, though when he thought of Cockney he had twinges of conscience.
The second day of fossil-hunting with the Professor was even less interesting and more wearying than the first. There was a limit to the hours Stamford could sleep, and the scorching heat among the rocks made eyes and face sting. After lunch he ended an uncomfortable hour of dozing by hunting up the Professor.
He found him curled in the shadow of a rock, sound asleep, hammer and chisel by his side. Stamford struck the rock a ringing blow with the hammer. With a bound the Professor was on his feet.
"Oh—you, Stamford! This heat—I guess I must have succumbed to it—that and the drone of the mosquitoes. Did you ever feel such a blistering heat, or see such armies of mosquitoes? I believe they've been here all these years probing into these old bones under the impression that they're succulent. They've discovered their mistake since I came," he added ruefully. "Six weeks ago one must have had to hack a way through them in this Edmonton formation. In one short week I've learned that the guiding star to some antediluvian monster is the modern mosquito."
He seized his tools and began to hack a crevice.