An expert mineralogist and metallurgist, he had been commissioned by a

large syndicate of eastern capitalists to come west, primarily to

examine a certain mine recently offered for sale, and secondarily to

secure any other valuable mining properties which might happen to be on

the market. A promoter, whose acquaintance he had formed soon after

leaving St. Paul, had poured into his ear such fabulous tales of a mine

of untold wealth which needed but the expenditure of a few thousands to

place it upon a dividend-paying basis, that, after making due allowance

for optimism and exaggeration, he had thought it might be worth his

while to stop off and investigate. The result of the investigation had

been anything but satisfactory for either the promoter or the expert.

He was the more annoyed at the loss of time because of a telegram handed

him just before his departure from St. Paul, which he now drew forth,

and which read as follows: "Parkinson, expert for M. and M. on trail. Knows you as our

representative, but only by name. Lie low and block him if

possible.

"BARNARD."

He well understood the import of the message. The "M. and M." stood for

a rival syndicate of enormous wealth, and the fact that its expert was

also on his way west promised lively competition in the purchase of the

famous Ajax mine.

"Five days," he soliloquized, glancing at the date of the message,

which he now tore into bits, together with two or three letters of

little importance. "I have lost my start and am now likely to meet this

Parkinson at any stage of the game. However, he has never heard of John

Darrell, and that name will answer my purpose as well as any among

strangers. I'll notify Barnard when I reach Ophir."

His plans for the circumvention of Parkinson were now temporarily cut

short by the appearance of the "double-header" rounding a curve and

rapidly approaching--a welcome sight, for the heat and blinding glare of

light were becoming intolerable.

Only for a moment the ponderous engines paused, panting and quivering

like two living, sentient monsters; the next, with heavy, labored

breath, as though summoning all their energies for the task before them,

they were slowly ascending the steadily increasing grade, moment by

moment with accelerated speed plunging into the very heart of the

mountains, bearing John Darrell, as he was to be henceforth known, to a

destiny of which he had little thought, but which he himself had,

unconsciously, helped to weave.

An hour later, on returning to the sleeper after an unsuccessful attempt

at dining, Darrell sank into his seat, and, leaning wearily back,

watched with half-closed eyes the rapidly changing scenes through which

he was passing, for the time utterly oblivious to his surroundings.

Gigantic rocks, grotesque in form and color, flashed past; towering

peaks loomed suddenly before him, advancing, receding, disappearing, and

reappearing with the swift windings and doublings of the train; massive

walls of granite pressed close and closer, seeming for one instant a

threatening, impenetrable barrier, the next, opening to reveal glimpses

of distant billowy ranges, their summits white with perpetual snow. The

train had now reached a higher altitude, and breezes redolent of pine

and fir fanned his throbbing brow, their fragrance thronging his mind

with memories of other and far-distant scenes, until gradually the bold

outlines of cliff and crag grew dim, and in their place appeared a cool,

dark forest through which flecks of golden sunlight sifted down upon the

moss-grown, flower-strewn earth; a stream singing beneath the pines,

then rippling onward through meadows of waving green; a wide-spreading

house of colonial build half hidden by giant trees and clinging

rose-vines, and, framed among the roses, a face, strong, tender, sweet,

crowned with silvered hair--one of the few which sorrow makes

beautiful--which came nearer and nearer, bending over him with a

mother's blessing; and then he slept.




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