“Perhaps you will suggest a more direct method; I confess I am finding myself rather at a loss in the matter.”
“I suppose you are aware that your friends might have been stricken with the cholera, for instance; or the Indians may have killed them; or they may have gone astray on the plains and so lost their lives; or they may have been made prisoners by the Indians, may even now be prisoners? Or,” continued Young, “for reasons of their own they may wish you to think something of this sort has happened, and at this moment be alive and well in California.”
“That,” said Benson, “is quite impossible. If they are alive their families would have heard from them.”
“Their families? Men sometimes forget,” and the governor's short upper lip curled unpleasantly.
“Some men might, not these.”
“Had they much money with them?”
“Yes, a large sum,” and he added, seeing the drift of Young's mind, “but only a small part of what they might have brought. The leaders of the party were men of ample means.”
“Then something must have happened to them; men don't abandon money.”
Benson ignored this; but it occurred to him that Young was probably speaking now in his worldly capacity, and that his worldly views were very worldly indeed; the views of one who neither trusted nor respected men.
“I will tell you what I will do,” said Young. “If they got as far as Salt Lake they must have had business dealings with some of our people. I can have inquiries made, if you will furnish me with a description of these men.”