Ashton thrust in an answer before Blake could speak. “We must see how high the upper mesa is above this one, Miss Chuckie, and then compare the difference of altitude with the depth of the cañon, to see whether its bottom is above or below the bottom of the gulch.”
“Oh––measure up and then down, to see which way is longest,” said Genevieve.
“Sorry, ma’am,” broke in Knowles. “We’ll have to be starting now to get home by dark. If you think you can trust me with that young man, I’d like the honor of packing him all the way in. I’ve toted calves for miles, so I guess I can hold onto a baby if I use both hands.”
“You shall have him!” replied Genevieve, smiling 202 like a daughter as she met the look in his grave eyes. “Tom, give Thomas to Mr. Knowles––when he is safe in the saddle.”
Even Gowan cracked a smile at this cautious qualification. He hastened to bring Isobel’s horse and hold him for her––which gave Ashton the opportunity to help her mount. Both services were needless, but she rewarded each eager servitor with a dimpled smile. When Blake handed the baby up to Knowles, his wife, untroubled by mock modesty, gave him a loving kiss. He lifted her bodily into the saddle, and she rode off with her three companions.
Isobel, however, wheeled within the first few yards, and came back for a parting word: “You can expect us quite early tomorrow. We will overtake you on your way up the mountain. I wish Genevieve to see the cañon. Good night––Pleasant dreams!”
She had addressed Ashton, but her last smile was for Blake, and it was undisguisedly affectionate. As she loped away after the others, Ashton frowned, and, picking up his rifle, started off up the valley. Blake was staring after the girl with a wondering look. He turned to cast a quizzical glance at the back of the resentful lover.
When the latter had disappeared around the hill, the engineer took the frying pan and walked up into the creek bed above the dike. After going some distance over the gravel bars, he came to a place where the 203 swirl of the last freshet had gouged a hole almost to bedrock. Scooping a panful of sand and gravel from the bottom of the hole, he went back and squatted down beside the pool within easy reach of the water.
He picked the larger pebbles from the pan, added water, and began to swirl the contents around with a circular motion. Each turn flirted some of the sand and water over the pan’s beveled edge. Every little while he renewed the water. At last the pan’s contents were reduced to a half dozen, irregular, dirty, little lumps and a handful of “black sand” in which gleamed numbers of yellow particles.
Blake put the nuggets into his pocket and threw the rest out into the pool. He returned to the tent and sat down to re-check his level-book and his calculations on the approximate cost of the tunnel. Sundown found him still figuring; but when twilight faded into dusk, he put away his fieldbook and started a fire for supper.