"By the way," he said, "why did you give the new mine such a queer name--El Preço--I guess you know it means, 'The Price'? Why was it called that?"
"Derry's mostly odd, size him up anyways you hev' a mind ter."
"I could have understood it better had he christened the place, 'The Bargain.' He shook me up good and hard when he grabbed Dolores for five thousand dollars."
"He sure had his wits about him, had Derry," said MacGonigal admiringly.
"And he has gone now to New York, you tell me," went on Willard.
"Well, East stands for New York all the time. Is he making a long stay there?"
"He never said a word. Jest, 'So long, Mack,' an', 'So long, Derry.' That's all thar was to it. Kin I get you a drink? Thar's a chunk of ice somewhar in the outfit."
"No, thanks. Time I got a move on. How about those freight cars of yours? Have I a clear road back through the Gulch?"
"Thar's a half-hour's off spell right now," was the prompt answer, and a minute later the resident manager of El Preço mine was watching Willard descend the canyon in the direction of Bison.
"I'd give a ten-spot ter know jest why that skunk kem nosin' round here," he mused, gazing contemplatively after the slow-moving mustang and its rider. Then he called the youth who had held the horse during Willard's brief visit.
"What sort of an Indian air you, Billy?" he grinned.
"Purty spry, Boss, when the trail's fresh," said the boy.
"Well, hike after old man Willard, an' let me know when he's safe off this yer section."
Within a couple of hours Billy reported that Willard had entered a train bound for Denver, and MacGonigal blew a big breath of relief. It was not that he had the slightest misgiving as to the effect of Willard's ill will against either his partner or himself, but he was intensely anxious that Power should not come in contact with anyone who would remind him of the existence of Mrs. Hugh Marten. Power himself never mentioned her; so his faithful friend and trusted associate in business could only hope that the passing years, with their multiplicity of fresh interests, were gradually dimming the memory of events which had altered the whole course of his life.
MacGonigal did not think it necessary to tell Willard that Power had brought his mother from San Francisco soon after the mine proved its worth. Mother and son occupied the Dolores ranch. The presence of the gentle, white-haired woman was a positive blessing to Bison; for she contrived to divert no mean percentage of her son's big income into channels of social and philanthropic effort in which she took a close personal interest. A library and reading-room had been established; a technical instruction class offered an excellent supplement to the state school; a swimming bath was built close to the mills; two churches were in course of erection; a wideawake theatrical manager at Denver had secured a site for a theater and the township already boasted its ten miles of metaled roadway. In the self-satisfied phrase of the inhabitants, Bison was becoming "quite a place," and everyone testified that it was to Mrs. Power rather than her son that all these civic improvements were due. Men had even ceased to consult Power himself on such matters.