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Updated: May 12, 2025
Gratified to discover sufficient food and bedding for himself and his pony, Van made no complaint. At six in the morning he was rousing up the blacksmith, fortunately not yet gone to join the reservation rush. Suvy was shod, and at seven o'clock he and Van were again at Glenmore's cabin. His man was in waiting. In his hand he held an envelope, unsealed. "Mr.
On a Wednesday morning Glenmore's man arrived by stage from Starlight, instruments and all. His name was Pratt. He was a tall, slow-moving, blue-eyed man, nearly sixty years of age, but able still to carry a thirty-pound transit over the steepest mountain ever built. Glen met him by appointment at the transportation office and escorted him at once to Mrs. Dick's.
It urged him, in case he had arrived in Goldite, to hasten southward forthwith "and bring a bunch of money." Glenmore's letters always appealed for money a fact which Bostwick had remembered. The man sat down at his table and wrote a letter to himself.
The business of buying Glenmore's mine, he said, required unexpected dispatch. Perhaps both he and Glen might return by the end of the week. By that morning's train the body of Culver was shipped away and the camp began to forget him. The sheriff was after Cayuse.
Bostwick sat opposite and drew his forged letter from his pocket. He had placed it in Glenmore's envelope after tearing the young man's letter into scraps. "This letter," said he, "was sent from way down in the desert from Starlight, another new camp. It looks to me as if the boy has struck something very important. I'll read you what he says or you can read it for yourself." "No, no read it.
He appeared at Mrs. Dick's while Beth was still in her room, indisposed. She had eaten no dinner. She took no breakfast. But with Glenmore's advent she was suddenly awakened to a new excitement, almost a new sort of hope. Young Kent was a smooth-faced, boyish chap, slightly stooped, exceedingly neat, black-haired, and of medium height. He was like Beth only in a "family" manner.
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