Harry's mustache was tickling his ear, as the big miner stared over his shoulder. Fairchild obeyed. They gasped together. Before them were figures and sentences which blurred for a moment, finally to resolve into:
Mr. Robert Fairchild,
Ohadi, Colorado.
Dear Sir;
I am empowered by a client whose name I am not at liberty to state, to make you an offer of $50,000. for your property in Clear Creek County, known as the Blue Poppy mine. In replying, kindly address your letter to
Box 180, Denver, Colo.
Harry whistled long and thoughtfully.
"That's a 'ole lot of money!"
"An awful lot, Harry. But why was the offer made? There 's nothing to base it on. There 's—"
Then for a moment, as they stepped out of the post-office, he gave up the thought, even of comparative riches. Twenty feet away, a man and a girl were approaching, talking as though there never had been the slightest trouble between them. They crossed the slight alleyway, and she laid her hand on his arm, almost caressingly, Fairchild thought, and he stared hard as though in unbelief of their identity. But it was certain. It was Maurice Rodaine and Anita Richmond; they came closer, her eyes turned toward Fairchild, and then—
She went on, without speaking, without taking the trouble to notice, apparently, that he had been standing there.