awaiting the arrival of his little partner from Omaha. He was a
different man in appearance from the one who, the week before, had
come down from the mountains in charge of two obstreperous bear cubs.
On that occasion, he had worn overalls, a sheepskin jacket, heavy,
clumsy shoes, and an eared cap of ancient vintage. On the day of his
appointment, he was dressed as the ordinary business man about to take
the train for Ogden or points west. His fairly well-worn, black,
pin-striped suit, neatly pressed, fitted his six-foot-two frame as if
built by a professional clothier; a rolled-collar shirt, a blue polka
dot tie, freshly shined shoes, and a soft crush hat completed the
outfit. Over his arm he carried an overcoat. Other prospective
travelers wore their topcoats, but Sam Welborn was of the outdoors.

He had parked the Ford with its trailer attachment at the west end of
the platform. If his partner's impedimentia was not too bulky, the
ancient model was ready for another trek to the hills. Back and forth
along the long brick platform he strode in the bright autumn sun. It
was no sloven's gait. An observer would have said that somewhere,
sometime, in his career of maybe thirty years, he had faced a
hardboiled old topper who insisted with piratical invectives that
"heads up, shoulders back, stomachs in" was the proper posture for
humans who were eating government grub and drawing government pay.

Very true, Welborn was not in immediate need of exercise. In the last
week he had worked, and worked hard, during every daylight hour. He
had not slept in the last thirty hours. But these were figments,
incidents, to be disregarded now that success was just back of the
curtain. Now he was to meet the little man who had made this prospect
of success possible. Now his greetings must be cordial and
appreciative. Nothing should be left undone to overcome the
disappointments the midget must endure. In his first meeting with
Davy, Welborn had tried to discourage the plan of "holing up" in a
remote section, far removed from the things to which he was
accustomed. He pictured himself as an old grouch, soured on the world,
and surely uncompanionable. He dwelt on the lonely hours, the big
snows, and other bad features but it was of no avail. Davy was on his
way. In other days, in vastly different surroundings, Sam Welborn had
known the tactful duties of a genial host; now he would revert to that
role.

David Lannarck was the first passeng