That was Luck's way.

Be it a telegram, instructions to his company, or a quarrel with some one who crossed him, Luck said what he wanted to say--and paid the price without blinking.
I don't know what the dried little man thought when the operator handed him that message the next morning; but I can tell you in a few words what he did: He arrived in Dry Lake just two trains behind Luck.
Luck did not sleep that night.

He lay in his berth with the shade pushed up as high as it would go, and stared out at the tamed plain, and perfected the details of his Big Picture.

Into the spell of the range he wove a story of human love and human hate and danger and trouble.

So it must be, to carry his message to the world who would look and marvel at what he would show them in the drama of silence.