"My father was a doctor. He sent me out, and I got a job punching time
in the mines at Cripple Creek. I met some stock men, and one of them
offered me a job, and I came out and got in with them. Then I got hold
of a bit of land and began gathering up stock for myself. I stayed
with the Sparker outfit six years, and then my father died. I took the
money and got my start, and--why, that is all." He stopped in
astonishment. He had been sure his story would last several hours. He
had begun at the very start, his illness at eighteen, and here he was
right up to the present, and--he rubbed his knee despairingly. There
must be something else. There had to be something else. What under
the sun had he been doing all these fourteen years in the ranges?
"Don't you ever wish to go back?" Connie prompted kindly.
"Back to Columbus? I went twice to see my father. He had a private
sanatorium. My booming voice gave his nervous patients prostrations,
and father thought my clothes were not sanitary because they could not
be sterilized. Are you going to stay here for good?"
It was very risky to ask, he knew, but he had to find out.
"I am visiting my sister in Denver. We just came here for the Frontier
Days," said Connie primly.
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