“Hurt?” My question for the moment conveyed nothing to him, and he repeated the word, blinking with red eyes at me over the rim of his lifted glass. “No, nobody’s hurt. I’ve been here a long while, and seen them as was hurt, though.” Here he nodded at me depreciatingly, and I felt how short was the time that I had been here. “Th’ other side pays better,” he resumed, “as toorists mostly go to bed early. Six bits is about the figger you can reckon they’ll spend, if you know anything.” He nodded again, more solemn over his whiskey. “That kind’s no help to business. I’ve been in this Territory from the start, and Arizona ain’t what it was. Them mountains are named from me.” And he pointed out of the door. “Mowry’s Peak. On the map.” With this last august statement his mind seemed to fade from the conversation, and he struck a succession of matches along the table and various parts of his person.
“Has Mr. Jenks been in the Territory long?” I suggested, feeling the silence weigh upon me.
“Luke? He’s a hog. Him the people’s choice! But the people of Arizona ain’t what they was. Are you interested in silver?”
“Yes,” I answered, meaning the political question. But before I could say what I meant he had revived into a vigor of attitude and a wakefulness of eye of which I had not hitherto supposed him capable.
“You come here,” said he; and, catching my arm, he took me out of the door and along the track in the night, and round the corner of the railroad hotel into view of more mountains that lay to the south. “You stay here to-morrow,” he pursued, swiftly, “and I’ll hitch up and drive you over there. I’ll show you some rock behind Helen’s Dome that’ll beat any you’ve struck in the whole course of your life. It’s on the wood reservation, and when the government abandons the Post, as they’re going to do—”
There is no need for my entering at length into his urgence, or the plans he put to me for our becoming partners, or for my buying him out and employing him on a salary, or buying him out and employing some other, or no one, according as I chose—the whole bright array of costumes in which he presented to me the chance of making my fortune at a stroke. I think that from my answers he gathered presently a discouraging but perfectly false impression. My Eastern hat and inexperienced face (I was certainly young enough to have been his grandchild) had a little misled him; and although he did not in the least believe the simple truth I told him, that I had come to Arizona on no sort of business, but for the pleasure of seeing the country, he now overrated my brains as greatly as he had in the beginning despised them, quite persuaded I was playing some game deeper than common, and either owned already or had my eye upon other silver mines.
“Pleasure of seeing the country, ye say?” His small wet eyes blinked as he stood on the railroad track bareheaded, considering me from head to foot. “All right. Did ye say ye’re going to Globe?”
“No. To San Carlos to visit an army officer.”
“Carlos is on the straight road to Globe,” said Mr. Mowry, vindictively. “But ye might as well drop any idea of Globe, if ye should get one. If it’s copper ye’re after, there’s parties in ahead of you.”
Desiring, if possible, to shift his mind from its present unfavorable turn, I asked him if Mr. Adams did not live between here and Solomonsville, my route to Carlos. Mr. Adams was another character of whom my host had written me, and at my mention of his name the face of Mr. Mowry immediately soured into the same expression it had taken when he spoke of the degraded Jenks.