See that short, fat man playing cards with the little one at that table ?" He indicated a table near the rear of the barroom, visible through an archway that opened from the room in which a clerk with a thin, narrow face and an alert eye presided at a rough desk.
"That's Maison--Tom Maison, Okar's banker.

They tell me he'd skin his grandmother if he thought he could make a dollar out of the deal." Owen grinned.

"He's the man you're figuring to borrow money from--to build your dam." "I'll talk with him tomorrow," said Sanderson.
In their room Sanderson removed some of the stains of travel.

Then, telling Owen he would see him at dusk, he went out into the street.
Okar was buzzing with life and humming with activity when Sanderson started down the board walk.

In Okar was typified the spirit of the West that was to be--the intense hustle and movement that were to make the town as large and as powerful as many of its sister cities.
Threading his way through the crowd on the board walk, Sanderson collided with a man.