Ross said nothing. "When you bring down your first buck," pursued Sandy, unruffled by the boy's silence, "you'll begin to git the Western fever that ye said ye didn't want." Here Sandy chortled. "Guess ye think ye're enough of a doctor t' cure that fever, but wait and see!" As he said this, there was in the speaker's manner, or in his blue eyes or sandy-bearded face, a return of that subtle something which had caused Ross to decide that he "partly liked him and partly didn't." "I expect," said Steele laughingly, "that Doc here will get as quartz crazy as Wishing Wilson is. Of course, you fellows have seen Wishing." "Wishin' Wilson!" exclaimed Sandy and Waymart in one breath, Sandy adding, "What do ye mean? Whereabouts is Wishin'?" "Well! Well! How comes it you didn't know?" exclaimed Steele wonderingly. "Wishing is right up here in your midst. He's holding down his claims this minute up yonder," jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Sandy sat up and threw the lock out of his eyes. "Back to stay?" he asked with his forehead puckering into a scowl. Steele nodded. "Stay till the trail is shut up." The scowl on Sandy's forehead deepened. "Thought Wishin' was on the hog's back. Last I knew he was tryin' to sell out to a party in Omaha. When did he come?" Waymart crawled out of his bunk again and lighted his pipe. "We've been hunting'," he explained, "ye know. Didn't git back 'til yesterday. Place may be full of folks and we none the wiser!" "I don't think you're crowded up here yet," Steele rejoined. "And Wishing didn't come until--when was it?--only a few days ago, he and his new partner." "Pardner?" cried Sandy. "Pardner!" echoed Waymart, holding his pipe in his hand. "What pardner?" "Young chap," replied Steele, "about Doc's height and--what age should you say, Doc?" "Probably seventeen," returned Ross. "Not much over," adding, "his name is Jones, Leslie Jones. He's from Omaha." "Grub stake?" asked Waymart succinctly. "More than that," answered Steele. "Jones is going to stay and help." The scowl on Sandy's forehead smoothed itself out. He grinned genially at Ross. "I wonder now," he mused, "if there's enough of us old goats up here in Meadow Greek to round up the kids and take care of 'em!" "What about the kids taking care of the goats?" laughed Steele. "Sometimes they're bigger hustlers." Sandy nodded lightly. "This air'll take the hustle out quick enough. Such high mountains as these hain't made fer hustlers." As Ross was returning with Steele to Weimer's shack, the superintendent glanced at him sidewise. "I don't believe," he said slowly, "that the McKenzies intend to winter here. Of course, there's no object in their stayin'. We all know they're not here to work their claims, and it isn't necessary to stay in order to watch yours; and they've no winter supplies, nor," thoughtfully, "have they mud-chinked their cabin. You can see daylight anywhere between the logs. No, I don't think they have any intention of staying."