Corrigan got up and walked to the window, from where he looked out at Manti. The town looked like an army camp. Lumber, merchandise, supplies of every description, littered the street in mounds and scattered heaps, awaiting the erection of tent-house and building. But there was none of that activity that might have been expected from the quantity of material on hand; it seemed that the owners were waiting, delaying in anticipation of some force that would give them encouragement. They were reluctant to risk their money in erecting buildings on the strength of mere rumor. But they had come, hoping.
Corrigan grinned at Braman. “They’re afraid to take a chance,” he said, meaning Manti’s citizens.
“Don’t blame them. I’ve spread the stuff around—as you told me. That’s all they’ve heard. They’re here on a forlorn hope. The boom they are looking for, seems, from present conditions, to be lurking somewhere in the future, shadowed by an indefiniteness that to them is vaguely connected with somebody’s promise of a dam, agricultural activity to follow, and factories. They haven’t been able to trace the rumors, but they’re here, and they’ll make things hum if they get a chance.”
“Sure,” grinned Corrigan. “A boom town is always a graft for first arrivals. That is, boom towns have been. But Manti—” He paused.
“Yes, different,” chuckled the banker. “It must have cost a wad to shove that water grant through.”
“Benham kicked on the price—it was enough.”
“That maximum rate clause is a pippin. You can soak them the limit right from the jump.”
“And scare them out,” scoffed Corrigan. “That isn’t the game. Get them here, first. Then—”
The banker licked his lips. “How does old Benham take it?”
“Mr. Benham is enthusiastic because everything will be done in a perfectly legitimate way—he thinks.”