"Well, you hain't a-goin' to find hit up this way."

"Whut you want to keep us from goin' up here fer?" asked the uncle
with sarcastic suspicion. "Got a still up here?"

"That's my business," said little Jason.

"Well," shouted Arch angrily again, "this ain't yo' land an' I've
got a option on it an' hit's my business to go up here, an' I'm
goin'!"

As he pushed ahead of the geologist the boy flashed his old rifle
to his shoulder.

"I'll let ye come just two steps more," he said quietly, and old
Jason Hawn began to grin and stepped aside as though to get out of
range.

"Hol' on thar, Arch," he said; "he'll shoot, shore!" And Arch held
on, bursting with rage and glaring up at the boy.

"I've a notion to git me a switch an' whoop the life out o' you."
The boy laughed derisively.

"My whoopin' days air over." The amazed and amused geologist put
his hand on Arch's shoulder.

"Never mind," he said, and with a significant wink he pulled a
barometer out of his pocket and carefully noted the altitude.