“Me? No, indeed. Born in New York State and raised in Michigan. Never laid eyes on anything west of the Mississippi until I came out to Colorado to work in the mines. Then I drifted into New Mexico and down here.” Scott was riding with his knee around the pommel and talking meditatively over his shoulder.
“You see, I’ve got mining in my blood. My grandfather was a Forty-Niner.”
“Did he get rich?” asked Polly, interestedly.
“Not so’s you’d notice it. Spent all he had and died trying to get home.”
“Oh!”
“Hard luck, wasn’t it? My folks went to Detroit when I was a little codger and they both died there. I was adopted by an uncle—an uncle who was the whitest man God ever made,” declared Scott, solemnly.
“Why was he—I mean, how was he?” Polly had by nature that healthy capacity for asking questions, which is one of the most flattering characteristics that a woman can have or assume.
“He was always doing decent things. Didn’t have much money, either, but somehow he always made it do for a lot of folks who didn’t have any. He adopted a girl that wasn’t any kin to him, had her educated and then married her. She made him a fine wife, too, thought the world of him. Well, he adopted me and sent me to school and when he saw I had the roving instinct and couldn’t stick to the books, he gave me a lift to go West to the mines. He knew that there was no use arguing.
“He was queer, too. Didn’t like city folks nor their ways. He owned one of those big farms out near what’s now Grosse Pointe—ran down to the river—and when the town began to grow out toward them, instead of holding on to his land as it began to get valuable, he’d sell out and go further away. Died, leaving Aunt Mary just enough to live comfortably on—might have been a millionaire. But Uncle Silas was a wise man.
“Sometimes when I look at these tight-fisted old guys who make their millions and tie ’em up into estates to hand down, and then remember Uncle Silas—not giving a hoot for money and always pulling along a dozen or two poor relations and setting ’em on their feet, living comfortable and happy, leaving a wife that’s as fond of him to-day as she was the day he died—well, I sort of wonder if money and success mean as much as folks think they do.”