“Oh, you mistake me, Mr. Craig. I meant that as I was here to look for a man, I had to give much of my time to the search, and, therefore, what I have seen of the Fair has been, as you might say, on the sly,” returns the sheriff, whose manner lacks the ease of a polished gentleman.
“And have you met with any success?”
“I have located him at last. He is in yonder building. A clever and a daring fellow. He made way with fifty thousand dollars belonging to the Hecla Mining Company, of which this same John Phœnix was treasurer. The president and manager of the company, probably as wealthy a man as Colorado boasts, though a stranger to me, was away, but in his absence the directors wired me to start after Phœnix, and said a photograph of him would be sent to me in Chicago. When it arrived I set to work, and gradually ran the fellow down. Would you believe me, he actually had the brass to take the president’s name. Yes, at a small hotel I found him registered as John Atherton, and putting on all the airs of a substantial mine king. I didn’t take him in at once—some little legal affair to comply with, you understand. Besides, I wanted to learn something about him, so I wired my employers and ever since I’ve just kept an eye on Phœnix while waiting for an answer.”
Craig is interested in the narrative, because, being a man who has seen something of life, he appreciates such a dramatic situation.
“You are fortunate then, Mr. Rocket,” he says.
“I mention these facts to you because you see, Claude, here, says you’re interested in the young fellow,” continues the Colorado sheriff.
“I? Impossible!” exclaims Aleck, glancing from his friend to the man from the West.
“Oh, yes you are! Show him the photo, Bob.”
Whereupon the sheriff takes out a cardboard and hands it over to the Canadian. It is somewhat battered from lying in the pocket of the officer, but the picture is plainly seen, and Craig holds his breath with sudden awe as the electric lights fall upon the features of the young miner whom he saw in the company of Dorothy.