on a heavy stone as supplying a weapon of defense.
But his eyes rested only on a dog, a dapper fox-terrier, whose furtive curiosity changed instantly to alarm, as it retreated some distance, and barked excitedly. Then Power saw the animal’s master, a stranger, or, at any rate, a newcomer, in the district, a man of about his own age, who rode a compactly-built pony with the careless ease of good horsemanship, and was dressed de rigueur, except for the broad-brimmed hat demanded by the Colorado sun.
Evidently the horseman was not surprised at finding someone lying in the Gulch.
“Hullo!” he cried. “Had a spill?”
Power tried to speak; but the dust and grit in his throat rendered his words almost inaudible. Then the other understood that if, as he imagined, copious drafts of champagne had caused some unaccustomed head to reel, the outcome was rather more serious than a mere tumble. He urged the pony rapidly nearer, and dismounted, and a glance at Power’s face dispelled his earlier notion.
“What’s up?” he inquired in a sympathetic tone. “Are you hurt?”
Power’s second effort at ordered speech was more successful. “Yes,” he said. “My leg is broken.”
“Ah, that’s too bad. Which leg?”
“The left.”
“Were you thrown?”
“No.”
The stranger noted the soiled condition of the injured man’s clothing. He saw that a spur had been torn off, and among the drying dirt on Power’s face and hands were some more ominous streaks; since a man may not squirm in agony beneath a shower of jagged granite and escape some nasty abrasions of the skin.
“I see,” he said gently. “You fell from up there somewhere,” and he looked at the cliff, “tripped over that missing spur, I suppose. Well, what’s to be done? Were you at the ranch? I didn’t happen to come across you. Shall I take you there?”
“No, please – to Bison – to MacGonigal’s store.”
“Ah, yes. But it’s an awkward business. You can’t possibly hold yourself in the saddle. Can you stand on one leg, even for a few seconds?”
“I fear not. I’m about done.”
“But if I carry you to the face of the rock there, and prop you against it?”
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
This friend in need pulled the reins over the pony’s head, passed them through his arm, lifted Power, not without some difficulty, and brought him to a spot where the precipice rose like a wall.
“There you are!” he gasped; for he was of slender proportions, and Power’s weight was deceptive, owing to his perfect physical fitness. “Now I’ll mount, and hold you as comfortably as I can; but I don’t know how this fat geegee will behave under a double load, so I must have my hands free at first. Will you grip me tight? It may hurt like sin – ”
“Go right ahead!” said Power.
Sure enough, when the pony found what was expected of him, he snorted, raised head and tail, and trotted a few indignant paces.
The rider soon quieted him to a walk; but they were abreast of the scene of Power’s accident before he was aware that the man clasping his body had uttered neither word nor groan, though the prancing of the horse must have caused him intense agony.
“By Jove!” came the involuntary cry, “you’ve got some sand! I’d have squealed like a stuck pig if I was asked to endure that. Who are you? I’m Robert H. Benson, Mr. Marten’s private secretary.”
“My name is Power,” was the answer, in a thick murmur.
“Bower?”
“No – Power.”
“Not John Darien Power, who was at Sacramento!”
“Yes.”
“Gee whizz! I’ve written you several letters. You remember my initials, R. H. B.?”
“Yes.”
“Can you talk? Say if you’d rather not.”
“No, no. It’s all right. Anyhow – I’d – sooner – try.”
“Does the boss know you’re here?”
“I guess not. I wrote him – to Denver; but he’s been engaged – otherwise.”
“Ra-ther! Getting wed. You’ve heard? I’m sure you’re as much surprised as any of us. You could have knocked me down with a feather when he told me why I was wired to come West by next train from New York. ‘I want you to take hold,’ he said. ‘I’m off to Europe for six months on my wedding trip.’ That was the day before yesterday, and here he’s gone already! I had a sort of notion, too, that our beloved employer would never take unto himself a wife, or, if he did, that the U. S. A. would hear about it.”
A hard smile illuminated the pallor of Power’s face. “Marten doesn’t hire a brass band when he has any startling proposition in mind,” he said.
Benson laughed. He was a cheerful, outspoken youngster – exactly the kind of private secretary the secretive millionaire might have been expected to avoid like the plague, if Marten had not chosen him deliberately because of those very qualities.
“No,” he chuckled. “You and I know that, don’t we? But signing on for a wife is a different matter to securing an option on a placer mine. I should have thought there would be things doing when H. M. joined the noble army of benedicts, especially after he had sorted out such a daisy… Sorry, Power! The peak of this saddle must be dashed uncomfortable. And, perhaps, I’m not carrying you to rights. One ought to be taught these things. Now, a cavalry soldier would be trained in the art of picking up a wounded mate, and in carrying him, too.”
“It’s not far. I can last out.”
“You don’t mind having a pow-wow? Guess you prefer it? You knew Miss Willard, I suppose? By the way, were you coming to the wedding?”
“No. I am here by chance.”
“Well, of course, I rather fancied that. If I had been asked offhand how much time that Sacramento job would use up, I should have said another three months, at least. Is all the machinery there?”
“Yes.”
“Pumps, and all?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry if I appear inquisitive, but – ”
“The pumps are working. I got a hustle on the contractors.”
“Great Scott! I should think so, indeed. They’ll make a song about it in Chicago. Have you sent in the consulting engineer’s certificate?”
“Yes. It’s in Denver.”
“Then I’ll tell you something that is good for broken legs. The boss was talking of you only yesterday. He said you were to collect five thousand dollars when that placer mine was in shape. He forgets nothing,
