Roy was to leave in the morning with Weston and Doolin on his homeward trip. That afternoon, he had made final settlement with the company.
“I’m sorry to be payin’ you this,” said Mr. Cook, as he wrote out a check for over seven hundred dollars, “because it means you’re goin’ to leave us. But, aside from that, it’s the best earned money I ever saw go out of this office.”
“And I’m sorry, too,” answered Roy. “I’m sorry to think I’ve got to give up the Parowan, the mountains and the deserts. I’ve come to love ’em all. And I’m sorry to think I’m goin’ to leave the bungalow and you,” he added, holding out his hand to Mr. Cook. “I’ve seen some hard things out here, but among the worst of ’em, I’ve always found at least one man who stood for the fair and square, even if he didn’t talk about it.”
The boy and the man shook hands.
Mr. Cook was an abstainer as to intoxicants, but he always saw that his convivial guests were supplied with liquid refreshments. Both Doolin and Weston celebrated the occasion by reaching the talkative stage.
“I’m proud o’ the kid, Colonel,” announced Sink, at last. “An’ you got to give me credit fur bringin’ him to you. That right, Dan?”
“We shore did,” answered the grizzled teamster enthusiastically. “An’ I’m sorry to be takin’ him out. I reckon the boys out in the desert’ll be sorry to see him go. They tell me,” the old man continued, “’at he’s got a reg’lar mail route an’ took letters and papers leastways onct a week to them mis’able prospectors.”
“He did, and more,” replied Mr. Cook. “He’s changed the whole plan of doin’ things down here. In a year we’ll know more about this forsaken country than we’d have known in ten without what he’s taught us.”
“Right,” interrupted Weston. “An’ I brung him in. Don’t fergit that. He ain’t disappointed no one but me—”
Mr. Cook and Roy looked up.