The words were bitter as gall, though uttered in a tone of quiet banter. None spoke in reply. Each man there had seen Power and the girl scampering together through Bison on their ponies so often that the two were marked down by good-natured gossip as "made for each other." Sympathy now would be useless and misplaced; so there was silence for awhile, until a safer and collectively interesting topic was broached by MacGonigal. "Kin anybody here tell me what's going on at the mill?" he asked suddenly. The "mill," as the agency through which many thousands of tons of low-grade telluride ore were transmuted weekly into a certain number of ounces of gold and silver, was the breath of life to Bison. If it stopped, the greater part of the little town's inhabitants was aware instantly of bare cupboards and empty pockets. Work might cease at the mines for varying periods without causing vital harm to the community; but the metal pulses of the mill must beat with regularity, or Bison suffered from a severe form of heart disease. Consequently, there was no rush to volunteer information; though some of those present had had their suspicions that all was not as it should be with the giant whose clamant voice rang ever in their ears. "Some books and things was carted from the office to Denver a-Wednesday," said the know-all who had spoken about the mortgage. "Why?" The storekeeper's tone was ominous, and the other man grinned uneasily. "Guess it's what they call an audit," he said. "Thar's been two audits a year fer ten years at Bison, an' the books hev never gone ter Denver afore." "Page has been nosin' around, too, like as if he was takin' stock," put in a feeder, whose task it was to guide and shovel ore into the rolls. "Page oughter know what's in the mill by this time," said MacGonigal, and indeed, the personage under discussion being the manager, the statement was almost excessively accurate. "Thar was talk in the papers awhile sence about some new process fer treatin' low-grade ores," commented the feeder, apropos of nothing in particular. Then he seemed to wake into cheerful activity. "But what's the use o' meetin' trouble halfways?" he cried. "Goldarn it! people said the mines was peterin' out more'n a year ago, an' we're workin' full spell this yer week.... Who's fer a fizz? I go on at six, an' I hev to eat a line fust." That evening, before the store filled with the day men, and Power alone was listening, MacGonigal was more outspoken. "I've a notion that the mill is goin' ter close down, Derry," he said glumly. "Probably, for a time," said Power. Such prompt agreement was unexpected; but MacGonigal passed it without comment. "Nit--fer good. They lost the main vein a year last Christmas, an' the treatin' of ounce ore has been a bluff whiles they s'arched high an' low beyond the fault. No, Derry, Bison is busted. Me for Denver tomorrow, an' any fellar kin hev this store at a vallyation, wid a good rake-off, too--dang it!"