It was three weeks since they had met,--three weeks crammed with excitement, energy, achievement, and fortune to Key; and yet this place and this man were as stupidly unchanged as when he had left them.

A momentary fancy that this was the reality, that he himself was only awakening from some delusive dream, came over him.

But Collinson's next words were practical.
"I reckoned that maybe you'd write from Marysville to Skinner to send for the hoss, and forward him to ye, for I never kalkilated you'd come back." It was quite plain from this that Collinson had heard nothing.

But it was also awkward, as Key would now have to tell the whole story, and reveal the fact that he had been really experimenting when Collinson overtook him in the hollow.

He evaded this by post-dating his discovery of the richness of the ore until he had reached Marysville.
But he found some difficulty in recounting his good fortune: he was naturally no boaster, he had no desire to impress Collinson with his penetration, nor the undaunted energy he had displayed in getting up his company and opening the mine, so that he was actually embarrassed by his own understatement; and under the grave, patient eyes of his companion, told his story at best lamely.