His statistics were carefully revised, showing there was five times as much capital per capita in the mining camp of Butte City, with her 50,000 people, as in the cities of New York, Philadelphia or Boston.
Vance had spent a good deal of time in preparing the article, and every statement was supplemented with irrefragable proof. The latter half of the article was devoted to Waterville and the agricultural resources of the Thief River Valley. The exports of surplus crops had increased from 100 carloads per annum to 3,000 carloads in four years’ time, and a clever comparison was drawn between the farmers of eastern and New England states and the farmers of the great Thief River Valley, showing that for a given amount of labor, the farmer in the Thief River Valley received at least three dollars where the eastern farmer received only one.
The wonderful water power in the rapids of the Thief River, where the new town of Waterville was building, was also dwelt upon, as well as the centrality of location of the new city—not only from a local standpoint, but as to the entire northwestern section of the United States. The yield of wheat and other cereals was briefly referred to, all showing that Gilder had been most painstaking in preparing the article.
The managing editor, at Buzzard’s Bay, was enjoying his morning smoke when the Banner was laid on his table. Glancing it over leisurely, his eye caught the head-lines, “Two Honorable Exceptions.” In a moment he was all animation. His cigar was permitted to go out in his general neglect of everything else, in devouring every sentence and word of the article. He then paced back and forth across his room and swore like a pirate, declaring he would not have had the article appear in the columns of the Banner for $10,000.
“Just to think,” said he, “the very thing I sent that young fool of a Gilder into the west to accomplish, he has in this one article spoiled forever. Half a dozen of my friends have been asking me about mining investments in Butte City. I have pleaded ignorance, but assured them we had sent a trusty man to inspect the merits of such investments, and they could expect reliable information in the columns of the Banner. Here it is, and a pretty mess he has made of it. He has,” continued the managing editor, angrily, “completely lost his head; only one thing will bring him to his senses, and that is a prompt dismissal from the Banner force.”
Accordingly he wired the assistant managing editor, directing him to notify Mr. Gilder by letter that his services were no longer required. He also instructed his assistant to send the clearest headed man on the force immediately to Butte City, Montana, and Waterville, Idaho, and have an article for the coming Sunday issue that would entirely counteract the effect of Mr. Gilder’s communication.
While these arrangements were being made at the Banner office, Vance was preparing to return to Butte City by way of Waterville, in order to make some investigations and secure additional information for his next letter to the Banner.
The old miner, Ben Bonifield, had assured him they would reach the 300 foot level by the following Saturday night, and Vance promised to return to Gold Bluff early the following week. Vance waited over one stage in order to travel in the one driven by Steve Gibbons.
As a special mark of distinction to Vance, Gibbons invited him to a seat on the top of the stage. As they were whirled away from the beautiful little village of Gold Bluff, the sun was beginning to gild with gold the eastern hills. Vance felt it was a sight never to be forgotten. The evening before starting he was at the Bonifields. When Louise said good-bye, with the sweet truthfulness of youth, and assured him that she would be lonely when he was gone, he felt like declaring then and there, he would stay forever if she would but make the request. She gave Vance a letter of introduction to her sister Virginia, whom Vance promised to call upon as soon as possible after reaching Waterville.
Steve Gibbons was in his element on top of the stage coach.