“Why, no. I can’t deny the very probable presence of gold in considerable quantity.” This being rather in the nature of a professional question, Rawley instinctively leaned toward conservatism in his reply. “Well, that’s our object. We feel it’s going to be worth the expense of building the dam. Other people may possibly want to make use of our dam, when they see it. In that case, we should be able to get back at least what money we are going to put into it. We’ll know, to a dollar. Nevada has got the education and training the rest of us lack and can tell us at a minute’s notice just what the work is costing us. That’s her job. And Old Jess has signed a contract with us three. The idea was his in the first place, and the claims that produced the gold to do the work with are his--most of them. He gets half of all the gold we take out. We repay, out of our share, one-half the expense of building the dam, and the three of us share equally in the rest. In other words--I suppose I’ve put it clumsily--he takes half the net proceeds, we divide the other half. And since we inherit, at his death, we are all satisfied.” He stood up and smiled down at Rawley in the half darkness of early night. “So you see, son, why I won’t need any of that gold you and the Injun are looking for. I expect to be pretty well fixed myself, before so very long.” CHAPTER FIFTEEN THE LAND OF SPLENDID DREAMS For days Rawley watched the might of the rushing Colorado and wondered at the temerity of men who would calmly plan to check its headlong progress to the sea. A splendid dream, he was compelled to own; a dream worthy a better man than old Jess Cramer. But every man must have one vision of great things during his life, else he would lack the spark of immortality. He may distort the vision to baser depths, but to each life is given one dream, one glimpse into the realm of beautiful possibilities. So Jess Cramer had dreamed his dream, had seen his vision, and had held aside the curtain so that others might see. It interested Rawley in his days of helplessness to observe the reactions of that dream upon the diverse natures that dwelt within the basin. Old Jess Cramer had become a vulture in human form, his whole soul enslaved by the greed fostered by his individual conception of the vision. Rawley could look at the river and picture Old Jess down in its slimy bed of mud bars, rocks and groping streamlets, wildly scrabbling amongst the gravel and stones for the gold his insatiable soul craved. He pictured Old Jess gloating over his gold, weighing it in his hands, stupidly goggling without the wit to give it for what pleasures his spent old life could still enjoy.