Late in the evening the doctor came to Danvers' room for the good-night call; but the talk was wholly of Judge Latimer's interests.
"I'm afraid that Arthur will have a hard pull," regretted the old friend, "but we will do all we can for him. I've had a telegram calling me back to Fort Benton, and must leave on the midnight train."
Danvers walked to the little depot, a mile from the city proper, with his friend, and after the train pulled out he again thought of Winifred.
As he passed, on his way back to town, the huge piles of loose rock that the miners had left in their sluicing for gold in bygone days, his thoughts followed the girl back into the long years since he had first met her on the Far West—a child eager for sympathy. It was odd that he had never seen her in all that time—the years when he had unconsciously longed for friendship, and the sight of a woman's face—a white face. The rings from his cigar melted around him, softening his face until it took on the boyish fairness of youth.
The evening before the convention found Judge Latimer at the club in conference with his friends. His nomination seemed doubtful, yet there was a possibility that he might win, and Danvers was working hard and hopefully.
The Honorable William Moore had arrived from Butte that day, and as he greeted various members of the club, watched for a chance to approach Judge Latimer.
"What are the prospects?" he inquired, after a chat on politics in general. "I calculate you'll need the support of Silver Bow County, and we'd like to help you out."