"But we were there for weeks and saw nothing, no evidence of humanity."
"I don't care. The mountains are filled with secret nooks you could pass by within a stone's throw and never see into, she may be in one of them. I suppose she is dead and it's all foolish, this hope, but I'll never believe it until I have examined every square rod within a radius of fifty miles from your camp. I'll take the long chance, the longest even."
"Well, that's all right," said Robert Maitland. "Of course I intend to do that as soon as the spring opens, but what's the use of trying to do it now?"
"It's use to me. I'll either go mad here in Denver, or I must go to seek for her there."
"But you will never come back if you once get in those mountains alone."
"I don't care whether I do or not. It's no use, old man, I am going and that's all there is about it."
Robert Maitland knew men, he recognized finality when he heard it or when he saw it and it was quite evident that he was in the presence of it then. It was of no use for him or anyone to say more.
"Very well," he said, "I honor you for your feeling even if I don't think much of your common sense."
"Damn common sense," cried Armstrong triumphantly, "it's love that moves me now."
At that moment there was a tap on the door. A clerk from an outer office bidden to enter announced that old Kirkby was in the ante-room.