The two disappeared toward the dining car, but Clark did not stir. His eyes, which were gray and keen, still fixed themselves contemplatively on the ragged wilderness. His lips were pressed tight, his jaw slightly thrust out. Water rights--industries--unlimited power--land for an industrial city; all this and much more seemed to hurl itself through his brain. Presently he took a railway folder out of his bag and examined one of those maps which invariably indicate that the railway which has published the folder owns the only direct route between important points and that all other lines meander aimlessly in comparison. He noted, although he already knew it, that St. Marys, Ontario, was just across the river from St. Marys, Michigan; that Lake Superior flung itself down the rapids that roared between, and that to the south the country was fairly well settled--but to the north the wilderness stretched almost unbroken to the sub-arctics. A quarter of an hour passed when a long whistle announced the approach to the town. At the sound a new light came into the gray eyes, the traveler closed his bag with a snap and began to put on his coat. Just at that moment the porter hurried up. "This isn't Minneapolis, sir." Clark drew a long breath. "I know it--have changed my mind. I'm for St. Mary's now." He stepped off almost before the train came to a halt and looked curiously about. "Good day," he said to the nearest man. "Will you please tell me who is mayor and where I will find him?" Now it happened that the individual to whom this query was addressed was none other than Bowers, the town solicitor, for Bowers had a habit of deserting his office about train time and surveying new arrivals from a corner of the platform with the lurking hope of unearthing something which might relieve the monotony of days which were not only wearisome but unprofitable. When the stranger spoke to him, the lawyer noticed that he was of medium height with a strong barrel-like body and rather sloping shoulders. His face was smooth, his jaw somewhat heavy, his eyes exceedingly keen, and he carried with him an indefinable air of authority. He observed, also, that the voice had in it something peculiarly clear and incisive. With a little thrill and a sudden flicker of the flame of hope, he pointed down the street that led to the river. "Filmer is the mayor and his store is at the second corner down. His office is just behind." The stranger nodded and strode briskly off. Presently Bowers heard another voice. "Who's that, do you suppose, commercial?" The lawyer wrinkled his brows. "In a way, yes, but in another way, no. That fellow isn't selling anything, he's a buyer."