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"Pardon me for staring at you, but the resemblance to Jack Wingfield at first sight is most striking," he added. "Has he travelled much in the West?" asked Prather. "Yes, much leading an aimless life." "Then he must be the one that I was taken for in Salt Lake City one day.
Yes, everybody in town seems to think so at first glance, so I am quite used to the comparison by this time," Prather put in, easily. "It is very interesting to meet the founder of a town, and I have come to you to find out about conditions here." Prather did not appear as if he had ever done manual labor.
"But Leddy's whole gang! We don't know what your plans are, but if there's going to be a mix-up, why, we've got to be with you!" "No!" said Jack, decidedly. "Remember, Jim, you were to trust me. This is a mission that requires only two; it is between Prather and me. We are going to get acquainted for the first time."
Through that night's march Jack had guessed enough. He had guessed his fill of chill misery, which now took the place of the hunger of inquiry. The full truth was speeding out to the desert. It was with John Prather. "Then I will not press you, Peter," he said. "But, Peter, just one question, if you care to answer; was it was it this thing that drove my mother into exile?" "Yes, Jack."
There was nothing in the world that he could do, except to be there and, now and then, to stave off a caller too insistent to be appeased by any bulletin issued by the maid. Among those callers was Prather, the novelist.
It occurred to me what a lot I had heard about that ancestor, and seeing a light in the library, and considering how late it was, I thought I might have a glimpse of him without inconveniencing any other member of the family. Do you mind?" He put the question with an inflection that was at once engaging and confident. "Mind!" gasped John Wingfield, Sr. "I am sure you do not!" Prather returned.
"That is real persiflage!" the Doge called after Jack. Jack had made his first visit to the Doge's garden since he had left it to meet Prather and Leddy rather brief when he found that Mary was not at home. She had ridden out to the pass. Her trips to the pass had been so frequent of late that he had seen little of her during his convalescence. Yet he had eaten her jelly exclusively.
The butler, apparently satisfied with the caller's appearance, or, at least, with his own ability to take care of a single intruder, stepped back, with a word to come in. Then, out of the obscurity of the vestibule, appeared the pale face of John Prather. Jack withdrew farther into the shadows instinctively, as if he had seen a ghost; as if, indeed, he were in fear of ghosts.
"Right, Doge!" said the man with the rope. "But it is some satisfaction to give him a scare." "And take care of P.D.!" called another. "Yes, if you founder Jack's pony you'll hear from us a-plenty!" This was their adieu to John Prather, who was left to pursue his way in safety to his kingdom, while they rode on, following a hard path at the base of the range.
"I'll get acquainted!" he declared, shaking himself free of his antipathy. "We are both from Little Rivers and that's a ready excuse for introducing myself." As he started across the floor toward the stairs, Prather straightened from his leaning posture. For an instant his glance seemed to rest on Jack. Indeed, eye met eye for a flash; and then Prather moved away.
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