The Terms of Surrender Part 28

"Three or four years."

"Five?"

"It is possible."

"Six?"

"I should doubt it."

"Seven?"

"You are marching too rapidly. If Mrs. Power lived seven years with inflamed aortic valves, I should regard the fact as something akin to a miracle."

"But miracles do happen, even in science?"

"Um--yes."

"Thank you, Doctor. That is all I wish to know. Anything you want for your poorer patients?"

Stearn laughed. "Great Scott!" he cried, "you ought to come with me on a round of visits. It would be an eye-opener for a wealthy young sprig like you. Why, if I had ten dollars a day to spend on special diet, stimulants, and the like, I could get through every cent of the money."

"Sorry I haven't time today for slumming. Goodby. I may not see you again for quite awhile."

"Going abroad?"

"Yes; but my plans are indefinite."

"Well, young man, when you come back to Colorado, bring a wife, or, better still, look around for one before you go."

"I'll think it over. But I must be off. I'm due at my lawyer's."

"Those fellows who rake in gold by the bushel are all alike," grumbled Stearn, when the door had closed on his visitor. "I did imagine, after what he had said, that he would skin a fifty off his wad for the benefit of the poor bedridden devils on my list. Ah, well! They'll miss his mother at Bison. And what did he mean by his questions? On my honor, he struck me as slightly cracked."

A fortnight later, when Power was far beyond the reach of thanks, the cas.h.i.+er of Smith & Moffat's bank sent a formal little note, stating that he was instructed by Mr. John Darien Power to hand him (Dr. Stearn) one hundred dollars on the first of every month during the next seven years, "for the benefit of the sick poor in your district, and in memory of Mary Elizabeth Power." If the doctor would kindly call, etc.

Stearn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Oh," said he, to himself, "is _that_ what he was after? Well, it's a lesson, even to a grayhead like me. I misjudged him shockingly."

That same period of seven years proved a stumbling-block to others beside the gruff but kind-hearted medico. Peter MacGonigal, for one, was "dog-goned etarnally" when he heard of it. A lawyer and two bankers, one from Denver and another from New York, were appointed trustees of Power's estate, real and personal, and the arrangement was partly explained to Mac and Jake, so that they might understand how their interests would be safeguarded. On that historic occasion Jake's real name was disclosed. Hitherto, no one in Bison believed that he possessed a surname; but, under pressure, he "allowed" he was "riz" in Texas, and his father's name was James Cutler.

The arrangement was that MacGonigal should control the mine and Jake the ranch for seven years. If Power did not return about the end of that time, and both men were living, a further six months should be allowed to pa.s.s, and then each would become the owner of the respective properties under highly favorable terms.

"I may as well say that I shall come back right enough," said Power, smiling at their bewilderment. "I am only settling matters now to please my lawyer, who wants to avoid a suit for intestacy, or a long argument to presume my death in case I am not heard of again. That is all."

"Is it?" gasped MacGonigal.

"Yes. In any event, neither of you will be a loser."

"But whar in h.e.l.l air you goin', Derry?"

This, from the man who never swore, was electrical. Jake said afterward that he felt his hair "stannin' right up on end."

"I am undertaking a quest," said Power seriously.

"An' what the--Gos.h.!.+ I'll bust! What's a 'quest,' anyhow?"

"In this instance, it implies a pilgrimage in far lands. Don't ask me anything else, Mac, because I shall not answer."

"You'll be needin' a plug or two, maybe?" put in Jake anxiously.

"If I do, I'll send word."

They could extract no further information. Certain doc.u.ments were signed with due solemnity, and the conclave broke up. The three trustees took the opportunity offered by Power's departure for the town to sound Dacre, who was present, as to their client's intentions. But he, as a loyal friend, though greatly in Power's confidence, could not reveal his motives; while, as to his plans, he was free to admit, quite candidly, that he had not the slightest notion of their nature. Thus, Bison awoke one morning to find that its chief citizen had left the place overnight.

It was only by degrees that the inhabitants discovered how thoroughly he had inquired into and antic.i.p.ated local needs. Means were forthcoming for every judicious social enterprise. The man had gone; but his money remained.

Dacre accompanied him to Denver. They separated on a platform of the station at the foot of 17th Street, and, at the twelfth hour, the Englishman made a last effort to dissuade his friend from embarking on what he regarded as a fantastic adventure.

"I don't know where you are heading for, Power," he said. "You have not told me, and I can only suppose you mean to be lost to the world."

"Something like that," and Power smiled frankly. His face no longer wore the hunted, hara.s.sed aspect of a man who finds the unhappiness of life almost unbearable. A new look had come into his eyes. He seemed to be gazing constantly at some far horizon not bounded by earth and sky, a dim, sunless line beyond which lay a mysterious land of peace, a kingdom akin to Nirvana, the realm of extinction.

"Shall I not hear from you, even once a year?"

"It is improbable," was the grave answer.

"But I refuse to believe that you and I are parting now forever."

"If Providence wills it, we shall meet again. I hope so. If ever I find myself back in the crowded highway, I shall look for you."

"Can't I induce you, even now, to come with me to England? I'm tired of globe-trotting. You would find my place in Devons.h.i.+re a quiet nook."

"I'll come to you sometime."

Then, greatly daring, Dacre urged a plea so cruelly direct that he had not ventured to use it before this final moment.

"Have you reflected as to the effect of this action of yours on Nancy when she hears of it?" he said. "I may run up against her. There are only ten thousand of us, you know. She will surely ask me what has become of you. What am I to tell her?"

Power had not spoken of Nancy during a month or more, and his friend thought that a sudden thrusting of her image before his eyes would startle him out of the semihypnotic condition in which he appeared to exist. But, to Dacre's chagrin and astonishment, the ruse failed utterly. Power evidently found the point thus unexpectedly raised somewhat perplexing.

"Tell her?" he repeated, in a most matter-of-fact tone. "Is it necessary to tell her anything? But, of course, you will say you saw the last of me, and a woman hates to be ignored, even by the man she has discarded.

Tell her, then, that in India there are Hindus of devout intent who measure two thousand miles of a sacred river by prostrations along its banks. These devotees have done no wrong to any human being, and their notion of service is sublimely ridiculous. But if, among them, was a poor wretch who had committed an unforgivable crime, and _he_ thought to expiate it by carrying sharp flints on which to fling himself each yard of the way, one could understand _him_."

"That is no message to Nancy," persisted Dacre.

"If she pouts, and says so, remind her of my mother's death."

"Oh, I shall leave you in anger if you talk in that way."

"No, you won't. You're really more than a little sorry for me. You think, perhaps, I am rather mad; but, on reflection, you will be pleased at that, because a lunatic can be contented in his folly, and I know you wish me content. Here's my train. San Francisco is a great jumping-off place. 'Last seen in San Francisco' is quite a common headline in the newspapers. Goodby! I'll look you up in Devons.h.i.+re, never fear. Mind you are there to receive me."