"The Bugologist," they called him in cardroom circles at the "store,"
where men were fiercely intolerant of other pursuits than poker, for
which pastime Mr. Blakely had no use whatever--no more use than had
its votaries for him. He was a dreamy sort of fellow, with big blue
eyes and a fair skin that were in themselves sufficient to stir the
rancor of born frontiersmen, and they of Arizona in the days of old
were an exaggeration of the type in general circulation on the Plains.
He was something of a dandy in dress, another thing they loathed;
something of a purist in speech, which was affectation unpardonable;
something of a dissenter as to drink, appreciative of "Cucumungo" and
claret, but distrustful of whisky--another thing to call down scorn
illimitable from the elect of the mining camps and packing "outfits."
But all these disqualifications might have been overlooked had the
lieutenant displayed even a faint preference for poker. "The Lord
loveth a cheerful giver--or loser" was the creed of the cardroom
circle at the store, but beyond a casual or smiling peep at the game
from the safe distance of the doorway, Mr. Blakely had vouchsafed no
interest in affairs of that character. To the profane disgust of Bill
Hyde, chief packer, and the malevolent, if veiled, criticism of
certain "sporty" fellow soldiers, Blakely preferred to spend his
leisure hours riding up and down the valley, with a butterfly net over
his shoulders and a japanned tin box slung at his back, searching for
specimens that were scarce as the Scriptures among his commentators.
Even on this hot October afternoon he had started on his entomological
work, but, finding little encouragement and resting a while in the
shade, he had dozed away on a sandy couch, his head on his arms, his
broad-brimmed hat over his face, his shapely legs outstretched in
lazy, luxurious enjoyment, his tall and slender form, arrayed in cool
white blouse and trousers, really a goodly thing to behold. This day,
too, he must have come afoot, but his net and box lay there beside
him, and his hunt had been without profit, for both were apparently
empty. Possibly he had devoted but little time to netting insects.
Possibly he had thought to encounter bigger game. If so his zest in
the sport must have been but languid, since he had so soon yielded to
the drowsy influences of the day. There was resentment in the heart of
the girl as this occurred to her, even though it would have angered
her the more had anyone suggested she had come in hope of seeing or
speaking with him.