Beyond the two sets of rails, nothing new caught his eye here until he had rounded the curve leading to the watershed. Then he came in sight of the original entrance to the mine--a shaft was being sunk nearly three-quarters of a mile away, but he was not aware of that at the moment--and noticed that a stout man, jauntily arrayed in a white canvas suit and brown boots, who had a cigar tucked into a corner of his mouth, had strolled out of a pretentious-looking office building, and was obviously surprised by the appearance of a mounted man in that place at that moment. MacGonigal had, in fact, recognized Willard the instant he swung into view, because none of the ranchers rode that way nowadays, a more circuitous but safer trail having been cut to avoid the rails. Mac had certainly remarked that he was dog-goned when he set eyes on Willard, and a similar sentiment was expressed more emphatically by the visitor; for there was no love lost between those two, and, in consequence, their greetings were unusually gracious. "Wall, Mr. Willard, ef this don't beat cock-fightin'!" cried MacGonigal, when the other halted at the foot of an inclined way leading to the level space from which rock had been blasted to provide room for the various structures that cluster near the outlet of a busy mine. "Now, who'd ha thought of seein' you hereabouts terday?" "Or any other day, Mr. MacGonigal," said Willard, forcing an agreeable smile. The prefix to MacGonigal's name was a concession to all that had gone before during a short half-hour's ride. The ex-storekeeper was now the nominal head of a gold-producing industry which ranked high in the state, and the bitterness welling up in Willard's mind had been quelled momentarily by sheer astonishment. "That's as may be," returned Mac affably, rolling the cigar across his mouth. "But, seein' as you air on this section of the map, guess you'd better bring that hoss o' yourn into the plaza. A bunch of cars is due here any minute." Willard jogged nearer, and dismounted, and a youth summoned by MacGonigal took charge of the mustang. "Hev' yer come ter see Power?" inquired the stout one, with just the right amount of friendly curiosity. "Well, no, not exactly. I shall be glad to meet him, of course. Is he somewhere around?" "No. He went East two days sence." Now, the movements of local financial magnates are duly chronicled in the Colorado press, and MacGonigal was sure that Willard had not only read the announcement of Power's departure, but had timed this visit accordingly. Still, that was no affair of his. Willard was here, and might stay a month if he liked, because he would have to pay for bed and board in the Bison Hotel, which MacGonigal owned.