HKB
shoulder, and having promenaded the whole length of his body from his neck to his toes, he shook out his feathers and settled himself comfortably upon the hermit's left foot.
We all supposed he intended to take a nap, but in another two seconds he straightened up again, eyed each of us in turn, and, with an air of having thought it all out and at last decided the matter beyond dispute, he remarked in a tone of gentle resignation:
Having delivered this well-considered opinion with becoming solemnity, he threw back his head and laughed a rollicking laugh, as though he had made the very best joke that ever was heard.
"You black heathen, Sox!" cried his master. "I believe you would laugh at a funeral."
"Lies," said Sox, opening one eye and shutting it again; a remark which, though it sounded very much as though intended as an insult to Peter, was presumably but the continuation of his previous quotation.
"Get out, you old rascal!" cried the hermit, "shooing" away the bird with his hat. "Your conversation is not desired just now." And as Sox flew back to his perch, Peter continued: "How far down did you leave your ponies, boys?"
"About a mile," I replied.
"Then I believe the best way will be for one of you to go down and bring up one of the ponies. I can probably get upon his back with your help, and then, by going carefully, I believe we can get down."
"All right," said Joe, springing to his feet. "We'll try it. I'll go down. The little gray is the one, Phil, don't you think?"
"Yes," I answered. "The little gray's the one; he's more sober-minded than my pony and very sure-footed. Bring the gray."
Without further parley, away went Joe, and in about three-quarters of an hour he appeared again, leading the pony by the bridle.
"It's pretty rough going," said he, "but I think we can make it if we take it slowly. The pony came up very well. Now, Peter let's see if we can hoist you into the saddle."
It was a difficult piece of work, for Peter, though he had not an ounce of fat on his body, was a pretty heavy man, and being almost helpless himself, the feat was not accomplished without one or two involuntary groans on the part of the patient. At last, however, we had him settled into the saddle, when Joe, carrying the rifle, took the lead, while I, with the two shovels over my shoulder, brought up the rear. In this order the procession started, but it had no more than started when Peter called to us to stop.
In order to avoid going up the hill more than was necessary, we were skirting along the edge of the great snow-bank, when, as we passed just beneath the big tree upon one of whose roots Socrates was perched, Peter, looking up to call to the bird, espied something which at once attracted his attention.
"Wait a moment, boys, will you?" he requested, checking the pony; and then, turning to me, he continued: "Look up there, Phil. Do you see that black stone stuck among the roots? Poke it out with the shovel, will you? I should like to look at it."
Wondering rather at his taking any interest in stones at such a time, I nevertheless obeyed his behest, and with two or three vigorous prods I dislodged the black fragment, catching it in my hand as it fell; though it was so unexpectedly heavy that I nearly let it drop.
"Ah!" exclaimed Peter, when I had handed it up to him. "Just what I thought! This will interest Tom Connor."
"Why?" we both asked. "What is it?"
"A chunk of galena. Look! Do you see how it is made up of shining cubes of some black mineral? Lead--lead and sulphur. There's a vein up there somewhere."