Again there was a silence through which the roar of the river reached us brokenly, and for some minutes I breathed the smell of hot dust and resinous twigs that entered the open doorway.
“I hold on to the first,” I said finally.
“And I stand by you,” answered Harry.
Simultaneously we glanced at Johnston, who looked up with the same gay indifference he had manifested when we floundered half-fed, knee-deep in slush of snow. “I’ll save you unpleasant explanations,” he said. “I’m a stormy petrel, and the monotonous life of a farmer would pall on me, so I’ll see you through the railroad contract, and then—well, I’ll thank you for a space of pleasant comradeship, and go on my way again. The mountain province is sufficiently good for me, and some day I’ll find either a gold mine in it, or, more likely, a grave. If not, you can count on a visit whenever I am hard up and hungry.”
The words were typical of the man, though their undercurrent of melancholy troubled me; but, for we knew he spoke the truth in regard to the farming, the matter was settled so. I should much have preferred that Harry return to Fairmead, but it was clear that the task most suited me. Perhaps Johnston guessed my reluctance, for he said playfully: “Is not banishment worse than snow slides or the high peak’s frost, and what are all the flowers of the prairie to the blood-red rose of the valley that was grafted from Lancastrian stock?”
Thereupon Harry deftly dropped an almost-empty flour bag on his head, and the consultation broke up amid a cloud of white dust.
“This,” remarked Johnston, “is the beginning of riches. Two days ago, he would have carefully swept up the fragments to make flapjacks.”
Thus it came about that the next morning I boarded the 211 main line express, and traveled first-class with a special pass, while as luck would have it the conductor, who evinced an unusual civility when he glanced at the autograph thereon, was the same man I had worsted the memorable night when I arrived a penniless stranger on the prairie. “If you want anything in these cars, just let me know,” he said.
“I will,” I answered, thrusting back the wide-brimmed hat as I looked at him. “The last time we traveled together you were not so accommodating. We had a little dispute at Elktail one night in the snow.”
“General Jackson!” exclaimed the conductor. “But you didn’t travel with that name on your ticket then. Say, it was all a mistake and in the way of business. You won’t bear malice?”