“An’ what the—Gosh! I’ll bust! What’s a ‘quest,’ anyhow?”
“In this instance, it implies a pilgrimage in far lands. Don’t ask me anything else, Mac, because I shall not answer.”
“You’ll be needin’ a plug or two, maybe?” put in Jake anxiously.
“If I do, I’ll send word.”
They could extract no further information. Certain documents were signed with due solemnity, and the conclave broke up. The three trustees took the opportunity offered by Power’s departure for the town to sound Dacre, who was present, as to their client’s intentions. But he, as a loyal friend, though greatly in Power’s confidence, could not reveal his motives; while, as to his plans, he was free to admit, quite candidly, that he had not the slightest notion of their nature. Thus, Bison awoke one morning to find that its chief citizen had left the place overnight. It was only by degrees that the inhabitants discovered how thoroughly he had inquired into and anticipated local needs. Means were forthcoming for every judicious social enterprise. The man had gone; but his money remained.
Dacre accompanied him to Denver. They separated on a platform of the station at the foot of 17th Street, and, at the twelfth hour, the Englishman made a last effort to dissuade his friend from embarking on what he regarded as a fantastic adventure.
“I don’t know where you are heading for, Power,” he said. “You have not told me, and I can only suppose you mean to be lost to the world.”
“Something like that,” and Power smiled frankly. His face no longer wore the hunted, harassed aspect of a man who finds the unhappiness of life almost unbearable. A new look had come into his eyes. He seemed to be gazing constantly at some far horizon not bounded by earth and sky, a dim, sunless line beyond which lay a mysterious land of peace, a kingdom akin to Nirvana, the realm of extinction.
“Shall I not hear from you, even once a year?”
“It is improbable,” was the grave answer.