Mayhew was more alarmed than pleased by the spectacle. Its terror appealed more to his backwoods nature than any beauty connected with the display. Indeed, had he been there alone, the chances were Mayhew would have taken to his heels, not being desirous of such close acquaintance with things he could not comprehend.
After staring at the magical fountain for a brief time Roger once more allowed his other nature to have sway.
“We are losing precious minutes, Dick!” he called out, for the roar was so great that it was impossible to be heard unless the voice were elevated. “This may be all very fine, but it doesn’t seem to satisfy the gnawing sensation inside me.”
When Dick gave the word, Mayhew only too gladly once more led off.
“That buffalo must have known of this hot fountain, because he came straight up to where it is,” Roger remarked, after they had left the spouting geyser behind them.
“Yes, but it seems that it rises only at long intervals,” Dick explained. “It may be that days pass without an outburst. That accounts for the snow around, which disappeared so fast once the flow of hot water began.”
Roger seemed content to accept this version of the strange happening. In fact it was now a past matter with him; his most urgent necessity did not concern wonderful fountains at all, but provender. He had a constant reminder with him that “nature abhors a vacuum,” and that an empty stomach gives its owner no peace.
“If we had stood where we were,” said Dick, “the chances are some of us might have been well cooked. My heart seemed to jump up in my throat when you stumbled, Roger; but you managed to recover your balance and come on.”
“I confess that I was a bit worried myself about that time, Dick; but as a rule I’m not so clumsy. Just now my legs seem weak and wobbly. It must be that hunger is getting a good grip on me.”