The engineer's reply was prevented by the approach of Jefferson
Worth who had been talking with Texas Joe. The banker's head came
but little above the Seer's shoulders and in comparison with the
Irishman's heavy bulk he appeared almost insignificant, while his
plain business suit of gray seemed altogether out of place in the
wild surroundings. His smooth-shaven face was an expressionless gray
mask and his deep-set gray eyes turned from the Irishman to the
engineer without a hint of emotion. The two men felt that somewhere
behind that gray mask they were being carefully estimated--measured
--valued--as possible factors in some far-reaching plan. He spoke to
the Seer, and his voice was without a suggestion of color: "I see
that your friend has recovered." It was as though he stated a fact
that he had just verified.

Laughing at the memory of the Irishman's San Felipe experience, the
engineer said: "Mr. Worth, permit me to introduce Mr. Patrick Mooney
whom I have known for years as the best boss of a grading gang in
the West. Pat, this is Mr. Jefferson Worth, president of the Pioneer
Bank in Rubio City."

The Irishman clutched at his tattered hat-brim in embarrassed
acknowledgment of the Seer's formality. Jefferson Worth, from behind
his gray mask, said in his exact, colorless voice: "He looks as
though he ought to handle men."

As the banker passed on toward the big wagon the Irishman drew close
to the Seer and whispered hoarsely: "Now fwhat the hell kind av a
man is that? 'Tis the truth, Sorr, that whin he looked at me out av
that grave-yard face I could bare kape from crossin' mesilf!"