“Of the Corous Americanus. You have probably heard the mountain spoken of as ‘Crow’s Nest,’ but I prefer the other more scientific and accurate name, since there are in America numerous species of crows, some forty-seven in all, I believe.”
The six sighed.
“It is my purpose,” continued the Parson, blinking solemnly as any wise old owl, “to admire the beauties of the scenery, and also to conduct a little cursory geological investigation in order to——”
“Say,” interrupted Texas.
“Well?” inquired the Parson.
“D’you mean you’re a-goin’ to take a walk?”
“Er—yes,” said the Parson, “that is——”
“Let’s all go,” interrupted Texas. “I’d like to see some o’ that there geologizin’ o’ yourn.”
“I shall be delighted to extend you an invitation,” said the other, cordially.
And thus it happened that the Banded Seven took a walk back in the mountains that Saturday afternoon. That walk was the most momentous walk that those lads ever had occasion to take.