He took up his task with
pleasure.
Farther and farther down the table extended the sphere of his mild
influence. He asked Mr. Wainwright to tell the story of how he treed the
bear so that the tenderfoot author could come and shoot it. Mr.
Wainwright responded with gusto. The story was a success. He varied it by
requesting young Dobel to describe the snowslide which had wiped out the
Vorheimer shack the winter before.
Young Dobel did well enough to make the men grunt at the end, and he
brought several little squeals of horror from the ladies.
All of this was for a purpose. Vance was setting the precedent, and they
were becoming used to hearing stories. At the end of each tale the
silence of expectation was longer and wider. Finally, it reached the
other end of the table, and suddenly the sheriff discovered that tales
were going the rounds, and that he had not yet been heard. He rolled his
eye with an inward look, and Vance knew that he was searching for some
smooth means of introducing one of his yarns.
Victory!
But here Elizabeth cut trenchantly into the heart of the conversation.
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