“Quite an international financier, eh?”
“That’s what the papers call him. Guess it’s Shakespeare’s English fer a dog-goned shark.”
“You know Willard is dead?”
“Know! Didn’t I celebrate with a school-treat fer two thousand kids?”
“Mac! Haven’t they taught you better than that at your Sunday-schools?”
“Thar’s a proverb about skinnin’ a Rooshan an’ findin’ a Tartar. That’s me, all the time, when any of that bunch shows up on the screen. What d’ye think Marten kem to Denver for?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“He wanted ter buy the ranch. No, not the mine,” for MacGonigal misread the amazement in Power’s face, “just the ranch. Said he was anxious for little Nancy to own the property whar her mother lived as a gal.”
“And what did you say—or do?”
“Handed him a joint straight outer the refrigerator, all fixed with mustard. ‘Marten,’ says I, just like that, ‘Marten, ef you want yer little gal ter grow up good an’ happy, don’t let her suspicion thar’s such a place as Dolores on the map.’ ‘Why?’ says he, lookin’ black as thunder. ‘Because,’ says I, ‘it’s well named when thar’s one of the Willard family on the location. Ef any children kin play around here an’ be happy, they’ll be Derry Power’s, not yours.’ Sorry, Derry, ef ye didn’t wish me ter rile him; but, till you was given up fer good, the one spot in Colorado his money couldn’t buy was this yer house an’ land.”