"There's something in that. There's time to see Bradshaw yet before the train comes. We'll kind o' leave it standin' in his hands."
They made a hurried call on Bradshaw, the lawyer, and asked him to be on the look-out for a buyer for the farm.
"Mind, I'm not actu'lly puttin' it up for sale," Harris cautioned him, "but I want you to keep your eye open for a buyer. Forty thousand dollars takes the whole thing as a goin' concern, an' the more cash the better. Get a line on a buyer if you can, and if I send you word to sell, see, you sell, and if I don't send you word, don't do anythin'. You understand?"
"I think I understand you perfectly," said the lawyer, who was also a dealer in real estate. Indeed, since the activity in farm lands had commenced he might be said to be a real estate dealer who was also a lawyer. "Not many buyers have that much ready cash, Mr. Harris, but it could no doubt be arranged to sell your agreement, or raise a mortgage on the property, that would give you the whole amount in your hand." Bradshaw, along with his other pursuits, was agent for a mortgage company, and always valued two commissions higher than one.
The lawyer wrote something on a sheet of paper. "This is a power of attorney, which will enable me to complete the documents without the delay of sending them to you, if you should decide to sell," he explained. Harris signed the paper, and Allan witnessed it.
With this understanding the journey westward was undertaken, and completed without event of importance. As his daughter had done a few weeks before, and his wife still later, Harris spent a few hours in the young city just beginning to stir itself on the sleepy, sunny slopes where the prairies ran into the foothills, stretching one last long tongue far up the valley of the Bow and lapping at the feet of the eternal snows. His original plan had been to spend a day or two in Calgary, "sizing up" the land situation for himself before joining Riles, but the possibilities of the coal mine speculation had grown upon him with every mile of the journey. He had only to use his ears to hear of so many men, apparently no more capable men than he and Allan, who had grown suddenly rich from fortunate investments. It was a case of recognizing the opportunity when it presented itself, and having the nerve to seize it without hesitation. He found himself now in a country and an atmosphere where "playing safe" was somewhat to a man's discredit—where the successful man was the man who dared to throw discretion to the winds and take the chance. And because money, not earned in the country, was pouring in from outside, and by its own buoyancy raising the price of land and labour, the chance, even the foolish chance, was likely to turn out to advantage and justify the daring of the speculator rather than the discretion of the careful buyer. Harris had, all his life, lived in an atmosphere of conservatism, where saving a penny was greater merit than making two, but he was amazed to find how quickly the gambling spirit of the new land seized upon him. Unlike Riles, he was a man who responded to his environment; in a community of hard-working, money-saving farmers he worked hardest and saved most; but in a community of reckless, unlicensed speculation he had the qualities which would soon make of him the greatest gambler of them all. He was astonished and somewhat frightened by this hitherto unrevealed side of his own character. His long-dormant imagination began to revive; with imagination came hope and optimism; and hope and optimism, unchecked, soon breed recklessness. He saw the evidence of prosperity on every side—not the prosperity that hedges itself about with socialisms and affected dignity, but the prosperity that stays on the job in its shirt-sleeves. He saw men who were doing big things—building railways, opening up wildernesses, farming or carrying on business transactions on a scale of which he had never dreamed—and he began to see that the only reason these men could do these things was that they dared to do them. Well, he too—he and Allan—would dare some things…He paid a dollar for their lunch without a grumble, and again they took the train.
Riles met them on the station platform. He had met every train for a week, as it had been agreed that it would be better that the Harrises should not visit Gardiner's ranch until plans were more fully developed. Jim was still there, and Gardiner insisted that Jim should not meet Harris at present. He allowed Riles to think that he feared trouble if former employer and employee should meet; as a matter of fact, he feared that if their coal mine proposition should reach the ears of Travers the young man would attempt to dissuade Harris from having anything to do with it, or at least would urge a fuller investigation than might be desirable. Besides, he meant to make of Travers an unwitting party to the affair.
Riles, in overalls and shirt-sleeves, leaned against the iron rail at the back of the station platform, his big hands stuffed in the bulging band of his trousers, and his under-jaw busy with an ample ration of tobacco. He watched the passengers alighting from the train with little interest; he had no particular expectations of meeting Harris on this occasion, and, if the truth be told, he had little desire to meet him. Riles had no pangs of conscience over his part in the plot against his old neighbour, but he had an uneasy feeling of cowardice. When suddenly his eye fell on Harris and his big, strapping son, his first impulse was to slip away in the crowd before they should notice him. But it was only for a moment; the next, Harris was calling, "'Lo, Hiram," and the two were shaking hands as old friends met in a far country.
"Didja get my letter?" asked Riles, ignoring the commonplaces with which it was their custom to introduce any important topic. "Didja sell the farm?"
"I got the letter, Hiram, but I didn't sell the farm. Thought we'd just have a look over this coal mine before goin' into the business altogether."