Tom and Joe, pretending to eat, stopped their forks half-way to their mouths to listen. Tom was almost trembling.
“He can if you know your business,” Mills answered, laconically. “They’ve got good heads, both those boys—and heads count on a goat trail.”
The doctor looked at Mills rather sharply. Evidently he was not used to being spoken to in just that way.
“I have climbed the Matterhorn,” he replied.
“We got a different kind o’ stone out here,” said Mills. “It ain’t reliable. What’s the matter with me going too? I ain’t had a good climb since I hunted bighorns last, five years ago. And we can all ride up to the lake on my horses, and I can see how the trail’s standing up after the rain.”
“Three on the rope are better than two, of course,” the other said. “And I’d be glad of your experience. I have at least climbed enough to know that it is safer to have a guide who knows the cliff.”
“Stranger,” Mills smiled, in his quiet way, “you seem kind o’ sore at me. But I’m the Park Ranger for this district, and Uncle Sam don’t want no accidents in here. You may be the next thing to a mountain goat, but I’ve never seen you climb, and it’s up to me to be kind o’ what you’d call sceptical. Now, wouldn’t you act so, if you was here for Uncle Sam?”
The doctor put out his hand. “I’m ready to climb anywhere you say we can get,” he said. “You’re the sort Uncle Sam needs everywhere. Shake, and say we’re friends.”
The boys saw them shake hands, and then they heard Dr. Kent calling.
“Tom,” he said, “Mr. Mills is going with us to see that we don’t break our necks. We leave to-morrow at five o’clock. Is that too early, Mills?”