Yet Dave liked him. When they met at lunch, as they did more than once, the grizzled Westerner who had driven a line of steel across almost impassable mountain passes was simple and frank in talk. He had taken a fancy to this young fellow, and he let him know it. Perhaps he found something of his own engaging, dogged youth in the strong-jawed range-rider.
"Does a financier always hogtie a proposition before he backs it?" Dave asked him once with a sardonic gleam in his eye.
"Always."
"No matter how much he trusts the people he's doing business with?"
"He binds them hard and fast just the same. It's the only way to do. Give away as much money as you want to, but when you loan money look after your security like a hawk."
"Even when you're dealing with friends?"
"Especially when you're dealing with friends," corrected the older man.
"Otherwise you're likely not to have your friends long."
"Don't believe I want to be a financier," decided Sanders.
"It takes the hot blood out of you," admitted Graham. "I'm not sure, if I had my life to live over again, knowing what I know now, that I wouldn't choose the outdoors like West and Crawford."
Sanders was very sure which choice he would like to make. He was at present embarked on the business of making money through oil, but some day he meant to go back to the serenity of a ranch. There were times when he left the conferences with Graham or his lieutenants sick at heart because of the uphill battle he must fight to protect his associates.