“What was the matter?”
“Them panic times came along, and the fellow that owned the Melody went broke. He went back to Frisco. I always expected him to ride into camp some day, when the panic was over, hitch down there at the Waldorf, and sing out, ‘Howdy, Steve!’ and things would begin to hum once more. But he never come back. Guess it’s likely he ain’t made good out in California.”
“Perhaps he’s dead now,” Brainard suggested.
“P’r’aps—but some other feller will work the mine, one of these days. Copper’s booming all over the world, you understand. I’m waiting for that day!”
The old man spat meditatively.
“What is that large house on the hill?” Brainard asked, pointing to the lonely mansion beyond the town.
“That’s where the old man lived—Krutzmacht’s house,” he replied. “He used to live there with his folks.”
“He had a family, then?” Brainard inquired quickly.
“Some said she warn’t really his wife—couldn’t be, because she had a husband where she came from, back East. I don’t know. I never asked him. Folks always talk, you understand. Well, she’s dead now. The old man left her here when he went away. She stayed on with the girl—”
“With what girl?”