Mrs. Worth, sitting on the wide veranda of her home after a lonely
supper, lifted her eyes frequently from the work in her lap to look
down the street. Perhaps it was unusual for a banker's wife to be
darning her husband's socks; it may be, even, that bankers do not
usually wear socks that have been darned. But Mrs. Worth was not
sensible that her task was at all strange.

A group of dust-covered cow-boys, coming into town for an evening's
pleasure, jogged past with loud laughter and soft-clinking spurs and
bridle-chains. "There's Jefferson Worth's place," said one. "D'ye
reckon he'll make good corralin' all the money there is in the
world?"

Now and then a carriage, filled with well-to-do citizens out for an
evening ride, drove slowly by. The people in the carriages always
saluted Mrs. Worth and she returned their salutations with a prim
little bow. But no one stopped to chat or to offer her a seat. In
this, also, there was nothing strange to the woman on the porch of
the big, empty house. Sometimes the people in the carriages,
entertaining visiting friends, pointed to Jefferson Worth's house,
with proper explanations, as they also called attention to the
Pioneer Bank--Jefferson Worth's bank.

When dusk came and she could no longer see, Mrs. Worth laid aside
her work and sat with folded hands, her face turned down the street.
Inside the house the lights were not yet on; there was no need for
them and she liked to sit in the dark.

The Indian servant woman came softly to the door. "Does the Senora