“Why, did he believe it?” asked Archie, in reply. “Could he fool me that way about his own country? Just before that Eugene had been telling him that wild Indians had often been seen in the streets of New York, and I had to back him up. Wild Indians, and bears, and panthers go together, don’t they? I told him that he could find bears in Wall Street any day, and so he can; and if they haven’t been known to take men, not only from behind the counters of their stores, but right out of house and home, then I have read the history of speculations in Wall Street to little purpose.”
Uncle Dick laughed until the cabin rang again.
“But the idea of the Rocky Mountains being only a hundred miles from New York,” said Frank.
“I didn’t tell him so,” answered Archie, quickly. “I said that they were at least that distance away; and so they are. I had to make my statements correspond with Eugene’s, didn’t I? Just before that he had been telling Fowler that the whole of America was about as large as Ireland—”
“Hold on,” interrupted Eugene. “Didn’t I tell him that it was fully as large as Ireland?”
“That’s a fact,” said Archie, accepting the correction; “so you did. Well, now, the United States and the British possessions in America cover about six million square miles, and of these the Rocky Mountains cover nine hundred and eighty thousand, or nearly one-sixth of the surface of the whole country. When I came to build my mountains, I had to build them in proportion to the size of the country they were supposed to stand in, didn’t I?”
“When Fowler began to question me on distances I had to be careful what I said,” continued Archie. “When he asked me how big the Rocky Mountains were, I told him that they covered at least five thousand square miles, and you ought to have seen him open his eyes. He said he had no idea that there was room enough in America for any such mountains. Now, since Ireland contains thirty-three thousand square miles, I think my proportion was a pretty good one. If you can come any closer to it in round numbers, I’d like to see you do it.”
Frank could not combat such arguments as these, so he went to his room and tumbled into bed.
The week following the one on which the Stranger was hauled into the dry-docks, found the Club settled on a sheep-farm a few miles in the interior, the guests of Uncle Dick’s friend and fellow-miner, Mr. Wilbur. If we should say that they enjoyed their liberty, their target shots, and horseback rides, we should be putting it very mildly. The change from their cramped quarters on board the schooner to the freedom of the country was a most agreeable one, and they made the most of it. They were almost constantly on the move, and there was not a station (in California it would have been called a ranche) for miles around that they did not visit, or a piece of woods that they did not explore.