"Wait a minute," urged the doctor. "It's like this, Danvers. You're an American, as much as we are. You have taken out your naturalization papers. You never think of leaving Montana. You have a splendid cattle business, and you love Fort Benton almost as much as I do."
The cattleman smiled as the doctor outlined his position, and owned that he did love the country of his adoption.
"And here's poor Latimer struggling on alone up there at Helena, while you and I devote our time to making a fortune——"
"What are you offered for lots in Fort Benton now, Doctor?" teased Latimer, with a flash of his old humor. "Let me explain, Phil," he said.
"I know it would be a sacrifice for you to leave your business here; you've made a success with your cattle, and I envy you the independent, care-free existence."
"You don't appreciate the difficulties with drouths and blizzards," put in Danvers, "to say nothing of competition and low prices."
"Nothing!" exclaimed Latimer, with a gesture of his hand that swept away such trivialities like mere cobwebs that annoy but do not obstruct the vision. "All this is nothing! It is the complications with men—the relations with people—that weary and sicken and break the heart! I've tried to put up a clean record, a straight fight; I've tried to give honest service, and it seems as if the odds were all against me!"
"What do you want?" asked Danvers, more moved at the sight of his friend's distress than the need of his country.
"We want to put you in the Legislature as the senator from Chouteau County!" cried Latimer, flushed and eager. "If only a better class of men would go into politics! I can't blame them for wanting to keep out, and yet what is our country coming to? What can one man do alone? If you or the doctor or men of that character were in office, it wouldn't be so hard a fight. And with you in Helena, Phil——"
The familiar name, in the soft voice of the Southerner, stirred the heart of Danvers like a caress. He was lonely, too—he had not realized how much so, till the hand of his friend was stretched out to him, not only for aid, but for companionship. His heart throbbed as it had not done since a woman fired his boyish imagination. In the long years on the range he had grown indifferent, and rejoiced in his lack of feeling. Now he was waking, he was ready to take up his work in the world of men, ready to open his heart at the call of one who would be his mate.