Las Vegas optic., 1914-09-10
By
Joe H.
Ransom

that lifted him out OF and away from
the material.
6uperficially he was not attractive,
silent, stern. wordless man OF the
! hills. But / had lived In the same
room with him two years. | had eat
en- his bread, hoped the same hope,
dreamed, though not so perfectly, the
same dream.
Spencer came into my room in the
hotel one night and l could see that
he had something to say. An odd
kind Of embarrassment had come upon
him and he hedged and countered and
| hemmed and hawed and talked of COM
monplaces for a half-hour. At last
he told me- 1t was part of the dream.
| 1t was. | think, the mother of the
| dream.
Ten years before, in small town in
one of the middle Western states, Sam
Spencer had loved a girl
They had seen each other occasion
ally, had walked together in the won
derful spring of youth, had met at
church, at parties.
There had been very little oppor
tunity for talk, had not the youth been
so sorely tongue-tied in the presence
of the little great god. That part OF
II was common enough
That was why l wondered about the
| woman.
Sam Spencer had come to the seek
ing of the golden fleece wherewith to
line his nest. Ten years he had
sought 1t with shrine In his heart
on which the fire had never died. Ten
years he had labored and hoped and
dreamed and worshiped the goddess of
his sacrifice in secret.
And now the fleece was found, the
dream stood ready for fulfillment. 1t
made my blood cold to think of what
the years might have done.
| was with him when he posted the
letter which told of his winning a
fortune. 1t was like participating in
some holy rite. 1t meant so much to
Spencer, 1t was so much part of
him, the urge, | am now quite sure,
Of all his endeavors.
remember the stun, the sudden
sickening sink that came over me
when the telegram was thrust before
my eyes, telling of the accident in the
Orc pass.
Spencer had gone for quick trip
to Boise, expecting to return in two
days We had parted with joyful an
ticipations, having in common that
great secret which draws all men into
} a common kinship. He would return,
and together we would read the reply
of the woman.
3 Foolish, bearded children. Ten
years may do many things besides
wrest a fortune from the unwilling
hills. Ten years!
I Sam Spencer was dead.
d The Orc pass had taken 90 lives, ot
which his was one. 1t seemed to me
that Destiny had indeed turned pessl
mist, who would lead man to the
door of realization after ten years
toll and bolt it even as he touched the
Intel. 1t seemed unspeakably ironi-
cal, this last bit of fate's sarcasm.
| felt that upon me rested the duty
of putting the last touch to the picture
now turned tragic into the secrets of
whose building had been initiated.
waited for reply from the girl. The
days crowded on. l took charge Of
Spencer's estate, following the simple
instructions of his will.
The weeks went by. I began to
wonder IL the girl
Then came the first word had had
from Alice Dale. She wrote me of the
small doings of her intimate life, the
little impersonal personalities a wom-
an writes.
Then came this:
Tell me how these Western men feel.
I received a letter the other day from
one who has been away ten years. hunt
ing his fortune in gold-feds. He had
just succeeded and wrote to me here.
1 had forgotten him, and by racSing
my memory could remember nothing ex-
cepting that he had red cheeks and brown
eyes The letter was written with lead
pencil three sheets, the greater part OF
which was devoted to telling of his sue
cess.
Then in the coolest manner In the world
he offered to share 1t with me. Not one
sentimental word, mind you, unless the
superscription could be termed that.
1 really was angry at first. Then I
read the letter a great many times, trying
to decide whether should answer 1t or
not
forgot to say that in a postscript he
placed the characteristic dollar-mark OF
the West upon the letter by saying that
If would come. answer at once and he
would send me ticket and expense
money.
Then this:
Now tell me, what feeling prompted the
letter. Not love, because, as I remember
the affair was very ordinary. nothing be.
yond walking home of afternoons. am
not asking your advice. understand. I am
merely asking out of curiosity
They surely must look at life from q
different viewpoint than people do who
live near civilization.
l wanted to laugh, wildly, grimIy
bitterly.
How little do men know!
How wise is Destiny after all!