of the world. It states where are the greatest herds. What reindeer hides are used for. How their meat, milk and cheese taste. How to prepare puddings from their blood. How the bulls fight. Their calls; their love-calls, danger-calls, hunger-calls. How their age may be calculated by the tines on their horns and the rings on their teeth and the set of their tails. In fact, sir,’ said I, ‘with this little volume in your pocket, it will be impossible for any man, no matter how dishonest he is, to palm off on you an old, decrepit reindeer under the specious representation that he or she is young, agile and tender.
“ ‘The price of this invaluable compendium puts it within easy reach of one and all. It will prove of enormous practical and educational value to each and any. It makes little difference whether you mean to rear these graceful, docile animals or not; you need this volume, for as a means of intellectual culture it is unsurpassed. It contains facts, nothing but facts. You need it. Do you want it? Are you progressive? It's price is the only small thing about it—only fifty-four cents. Let me put you down.’
“With that, so strong is the force of habit, I whipped out an old envelope to take his order on.
“ ‘What is fifty-four cents?’ he asked, ‘Have I got fifty-four cents?’
“ ‘Just what I was wondering,’ says I. ‘Turn your pockets wrongside out and I'll see.’
“He turned 'em and spilled a lot of metals on the ground. I saw these pieces of gold and told him they would do. I told him I would give him all five of my volumes, for that is the number I brought on this trip, and I'm sorry now I didn't bring more.
“He just pushed the gold over to me without blinking an eye and we traded. I told him where we were camped and he said tomorrow he would call and get the other four volumes. And, gentlemen, that is all I know.”
At the end of this tale, Standifer leaned back, smiling with pleasure at his sale. The two men sat studying him. At last Pethwick asked—
“You say he knew the title of your book?”
“Yes.”
“Was the title showing?”
“No, just a little corner stuck out of the knapsack.”
Pethwick considered a moment.
“You at first thought it was Cesare?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have a scar on the side of his face?”
“No, I would have noticed that sure. Still his face was painted very thickly. I couldn't see any scar.”
“You are sure it wasn't Cesare?”
“Absolutely sure.”
Here M. Demetriovich took up what might be called the cross-examination.
“You say he didn't understand English at first— could he read the book you sold him?”
“No, that was the odd part. I had to tell him what the letters were and how they made words; how words made sentences. But he caught on the moment I showed him anything and never forgot at all. I tried him.”
M. Demetriovich paused:
“You are sure it was an Indian?”
“Yes.”
“But he didn't know the value of gold?”
“Well, I don't know about that,” began Standifer.
“Did you say he gave you all that money for five dinky little books!” stormed Pethwick.
“Yes, but that doesn't say he doesn't understand—”
“A gold-miner,” interrupted M. Demetriovich.
“who is so highly scientific as to employ chlorophyll in a secret process of extracting gold and yet who—doesn't know the value of gold!”
The secretary caressed his glittering pile happily, yawned and slipped it back into his pocket.
“Anyway I wish I had a cartload of those books down here.”
Pethwick sat on his stool clutching his knee to his breast, glaring at the author. Finally he gave a nervous laugh—
“I'm glad you've cleared up the mystery, Standifer.”
“So am I,” returned the secretary genially. “I was getting worried about it myself.”
“I shouldn't think it would worry you, Standifer.” Pethwick gave another shuddery laugh.
“I'm not bad to worry,” agreed the secretary heartily.
The engineer sat moistening his dry lips with his tongue while little shivers played through him.
“By the way,” he asked after a moment, “did you think to enquire about those skeletons? Is that— cleared up, too?”
“Yes, I did. He said he put them up there to keep the animals away. He said you never knew what sort of animals were about and he didn't want any in till he was ready. He said he put one of every species he could find because each animal was afraid of its own dead.”
M. Demetriovich sat gazing at the boy. A grayness seemed to be gathering over the old man.
“That's a fact,” he nodded. “I'd never thought of it before—each animal is afraid of its own dead. No skeleton shocks a human being except the skeleton of a man. I suppose it's true of the rest.”
“Anyway, it's all cleared up now, Standifer,” repeated the engineer with his chattering laugh. “It is as you say, Standifer; there are no mysteries outside of fiction.”
He began laughing, shaking violently. His exclamations grew louder and wilder. M. Demetriovich jumped out of his seat, hurried over to his medicine-chest, fixed up a glass of something and with a trembling hand presented it to the engineer. Pethwick drank some and then the old man took a deep swallow himself.
“What's the matter?” asked the secretary, lifting a happy head.
“It's the reaction,” shivered the engineer less violently. “You cleared up the mystery——so suddenly——Go on to sleep.”
The boy dropped back to his pillow and was off instantly after his long walk.
The two older men sat staring at each other across the little table, their nerves calming somewhat under the influence of the sedative.
