–mumbles to himself, ‘Female’; changes them around–mumbles, ‘Six years
old’; changes them this way and that–again mumbles: ‘Five teeth–one a-
coming–Catholic–yarn–cotton–kip–damn that kip.’ Then he straightens
up and gazes toward heaven, and plows his hands through his hair–plows
and plows, muttering, ‘Damn that kip!’ Then he stands up and frowns, and
begins to tally off his clues on his fingers–and gets stuck at the ring-
finger. But only just a minute–then his face glares all up in a smile
like a house afire, and he straightens up stately and majestic, and says
to the crowd, ‘Take a lantern, a couple of you, and go down to Injun
Billy’s and fetch the child–the rest of you go ‘long home to bed; good-
night, madam; good-night, gents.’ And he bows like the Matterhorn, and
pulls out for the tavern. That’s his style, and the Only–scientific,
intellectual–all over in fifteen minutes–no poking around all over the
sage-brush range an hour and a half in a mass-meeting crowd for him,
boys–you hear me!”
“By Jackson, it’s grand!” said Ham Sandwich. “Wells-Fargo, you’ve got
him down to a dot. He ain’t painted up any exacter to the life in the
books. By George, I can just see him–can’t you, boys?”
“You bet you! It’s just a photograft, that’s what it is.”
Ferguson was profoundly pleased with his success, and grateful. He sat
silently enjoying his happiness a little while, then he murmured, with a
deep awe in his voice,
“I wonder if God made him?”
There was no response for a moment; then Ham Sandwich said, reverently:
“Not all at one time, I reckon.”
VII
At eight o’clock that evening two persons were groping their way past
Flint Buckner’s cabin in the frosty gloom. They were Sherlock Holmes and
his nephew.
“Stop here in the road a moment, uncle,” said Fetlock, “while I run to my
cabin; I won’t be gone a minute.”
He asked for something–the uncle furnished it–then he disappeared in
the darkness, but soon returned, and the talking-walk was resumed. By
nine o’clock they had wandered back to the tavern. They worked their way
through the billiard-room, where a crowd had gathered in the hope of
getting a glimpse of the Extraordinary Man. A royal cheer was raised.
Mr. Holmes acknowledged the compliment with a series of courtly bows, and
as he was passing out his nephew said to the assemblage:
“Uncle Sherlock’s got some work to do, gentlemen, that ‘ll keep him till
twelve or one; but he’ll be down again then, or earlier if he can, and
hopes some of you’ll be left to take a drink with him.”
“By George, he’s just a duke, boys! Three cheers for Sherlock Holmes,
the greatest man that ever lived!” shouted Ferguson. “Hip, hip, hip–”
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! Tiger!”
The uproar shook the building, so hearty was the feeling the boys put
into their welcome. Up-stairs the uncle reproached the nephew gently,
saying:
“What did you get me into that engagement for?”
“I reckon you don’t want to be unpopular, do you, uncle? Well, then,
don’t you put on any exclusiveness in a mining-camp, that’s all. The
boys admire you; but if you was to leave without taking a drink with
them, they’d set you down for a snob. And besides, you said you had home
talk enough in stock to keep us up and at it half the night.”
The boy was right, and wise–the uncle acknowledged it. The boy was wise
in another detail which he did not mention–except to himself: “Uncle and
the others will come handy–in the way of nailing an alibi where it can’t
be budged.”
He and his uncle talked diligently about three hours. Then, about
midnight, Fetlock stepped down-stairs and took a position in the dark a
dozen steps from the tavern, and waited. Five minutes later Flint
Buckner came rocking out of the billiard-room and almost brushed him as
he passed.
“I’ve got him!” muttered the boy. He continued to himself, looking after
the shadowy form: “Good-by–good-by for good, Flint Buckner; you called
my mother a–well, never mind what: it’s all right, now; you’re taking
your last walk, friend.”
He went musing back into the tavern. “From now till one is an hour.