“How are you, Grant? Delighted to see you. How’s the folks?”
Grant turned, and in the bearded, roughly dressed miner found it difficult to recognize his friend of the plains—Tom Cooper.
His face lighted up as he grasped Tom’s hand cordially.
“Your father and mother are well,” he said, “and so is Mr. Silverthorn.”
“What! have you seen that scoundrel?”
“I left him at Sacramento. He wanted me to pay his fare out here.”
“You declined?”
“Yes; I thought he would be company for your father. He may adopt Silverthorn in your place.”
“He’s welcome to him, if he likes. It’s good for sore eyes to see you, Grant. How do you feel?”
“Sore enough. I thought I should be shaken to pieces over the rough road.”