Men great in the mining world had smiled compassionately at his story, others with money to invest had coldly turned their backs on him, and it had been given to a railroad hand and a surveyor, who had longed for an opportunity for splitting roofing shingles in return for enough to eat, to prove that, after all, the skill he had once been proud of had not deserted him.
He had patiently borne defeat, and now the thrill of the long-deferred triumph had crushed him out of existence.
In a moment or two Devine spoke again in a different tone.
"Well, we'll get supper.

You want to cool off and quiet down." Weston felt that this was true, and it was a relief to start the fire and prepare the meal, for he had found the rush of emotion which had swept over him almost overwhelming.

It was, however, not until the meal was ready that he was quite master of himself, and they ate it before they said anything further about the matter.

Then Devine took out his pipe, and lying with his back against a fir, turned to his comrade as the soft dusk settled.
"Whether Grenfell knew where he was going when he started out last night, or was led by some blind impulse or subconscious memory, is more than I can tell, and, anyway, it's not a point that greatly matters now," he said.

"The cold fact is that you struck the water on the creek where, as he told you, he once got a drink." "But things don't fit in," objected Weston.
"Oh," said his companion, "you let me talk.