“On vacation here?” he asked, puzzled to find any other excuse for so much ability running wild among the rocks in that bleak place.
“Something like that,” answered Slavens noncommittally.
“When you’re passing through Cheyenne, stop off and see me,” giving Slavens a respectful farewell.
Dr. Slavens advanced several points in the appraisement of Governor Boyle, although, to do the Governor justice, he had seen from the beginning that the wandering physician was a master. Boyle had been weighing men for what they were worth, buying them and selling them, for too many years to place a wrong bet. He told Slavens that unlimited capital was back of him in his fight for Jerry’s life, and that he had but to demand it if anything was wanted, no matter what the cost.
Dr. Slavens told him bluntly that his son was in a fix 335 where one man’s money would go as far as another’s to get him clear, and that it had very little weight in the other end of the scales against the thing they were standing in front of, face to face.
“Save him to me, Doctor! For God’s sake save him!” begged the old man, his face bloodless, the weight of his unshored years collapsing upon him and bowing him pitifully.
Again Slavens felt the wonder of this man’s softness for his son, but pity was tinctured with the thought that if it had been applied in season to shaping the young man’s life, and his conscience, and his sense of justice, it might have commanded more respect. But he knew that this was the opportunity to make the one big chance which the years had been keeping from him. At the start Slavens had told the old man that his son had a chance for life; he had not said how precariously it lay balanced upon the lip of the dark cañon, nor how an adverse breath might send it beyond the brink. The weight of the responsibility now lay on him alone. Failure would bring upon him an avalanche of blame; success a glorious impetus to his new career.
He took a walk down to the river to think about it, and breathe over it, and get himself steadied. When he came back he found Smith there, unloading Agnes’ things, soaking up the details of the tragedy with as much satisfaction as a toad refreshing itself in a rain.
Smith was no respecter of office or social elevation. If a man deserved shooting, then he ought to be shot, 336 according to Smith’s logic. As he made an excuse to stay around longer by assisting the doctor to raise Agnes’ tent, he expressed his satisfaction that Jerry Boyle had received part payment, at least, of what was due him.
“But I tell you,” said he to the doctor in confidence, turning a wary eye to see that Agnes was out of hearing just then. “I’m glad he got it the way he did. I was afraid one time that girl over there was goin’ to let him have it. I could see it in her eye.”