The three men looked from one to another in silence. Stephen spoke first.
“Do you think she's gone with Gibbs?” he asked.
“I shouldn't wonder, there's been a good deal of talk,” It was Benson who answered his question.
“We should not have allowed him to start off after them,” said Stephen.
“I imagine we would have had our hands full if we had tried to stop him,” responded Bushrod with a shrug. Here, Jasper Walsh entered the room.
“Let us be off, Mr. Landray,” he cried. He was a boyish-looking young fellow, with a refined and gentle face, that was now working piteously enough. A stranger in Benson, fresh from an eastern college, he had come west—bringing with him a young wife—to teach school and in his leisure time study law, but he had decided that a year or so in California would furnish him with the means to carry out his ambitions, and from the savings of his slender earnings he had purchased a few shares in the company. “They are waiting for us, they are all ready—can't we start?” he asked.
“Yes, I know, Walsh,” said Stephen, then he added, “See here, why don't you throw it over? I'll see that your interests are well looked to. Come, be sensible, and stay here with your wife.”
“No,” answered the boy determinedly. “It's my chance. It's best for her, and it's best for me that I go, and I've parted from her and the worst is over,” his lips quivered. “What's keeping us?” he asked anxiously.
“Nothing,” said Stephen, but he did not move. Bushrod laughed dismally.
“Walsh is right, let's start. I don't want to hang about here until Anna's awake, and sees us go past the house.”