‘The old man made it all to suit himself, didn’t he?’ the voice drawled on. ‘Always a great hand for keeping things up, Dad was. Left his mark on everything. I can see it now. A kid wouldn’t—’
‘I think he was making it for you all the time,’ Elbert said, ‘just as if he was writing a letter to you, when he built those cabinets and stored them. I know he was—always thinking you would come back like this.’
‘A lot of work in that tunnel for one man to do alone,’ said Bart. ‘Must have taken him a year—’
‘More,’ said Elbert.
The next morning at breakfast a curious quiet settled between the two men. The spell was breaking, a different gleam in the eyes of the big fellow across the table. In a wordless fashion, Elbert sat for a time. Another sentence of old Bob Leadley’s cleared with deep meaning. ‘I’d get lonesome for him when he was right in the same room—’
‘We’d better not wait any longer before letting Mort Cotton know,’ Elbert finally said. ‘I’ll ride down to the Slim Stake and get him on the telephone—’
He was back within four hours and Mort reached the claim before sundown. It took two days for everything to be settled, and Elbert was tired in an altogether different way at the end. He had done more talking in those two days than in all the weeks in Sonora.
‘Bart,’ he said, when they were finally alone once more, ‘there’s nothing I’d like better than to work that gold tooth with you, but I’ll have to be away for a few weeks.’
‘Which way you headin’, Doc?’
‘East. Been away from home for a long time. I’ve got to see my father—’ Elbert caught that strange gleam again in the eyes of the other. ‘And my sisters,’ he added.