But Mary Temple did not reveal to Artie the full details of this tragic
story. There was something about the expression on her father’s face
that had always lingered in her memory; an expression so fraught with
anxiety and keen disappointment, that a lapse of ten years had not
obliterated the impression one bit.
She was quite young then but she had not forgotten her father’s evident
apprehension for those lost men.
Her mother then told her in full how it had all happened and what a
financial loss it had been to the railroad with which Mr. Temple was
connected. It meant a terrific loss to him at the time, being one of the
largest stockholders, but being the man he was he took his loss
cheerfully, seeming to be more concerned with the surveyors’
disappearance, than with his own losses.
So it happened that no one but the Temple family and Uncle Jeb Rushmore
knew the true details of this unsolved mystery.
It seems that Mr. Temple undertook this trip to Eagle City for the sole
purpose of looking over this mountain pass, that was to give way to
modern engineering and serve its end as a branch line for the railroad.
The surveyors had secured a sort of agreement from one Ezra Knapp, a
farmer, whose property ran parallel to Mr. Temple’s and which he wanted
to procure so that the thing could be accomplished by extending the
branch line through the distant pass and so on down the ravine.
After the agreement had entered their possession the surveyors wired Mr.
Temple for one of his representatives to come without delay and close
the contract.
He decided then to go himself, not only for the benefit of his
fellow-stockholders but for his own personal satisfaction.
Arriving at Eagle City, he found to his dismay that there wasn’t any
hotel in the immediate vicinity.
The station agent directed him to the general store about procuring some
conveyance to ride in to the Inn, which was about fifteen miles distant
and on the way to Eagle Pass, which was Mr. Temple’s destination.
As he was strolling over leisurely, amusedly observing the quaint
hitching posts outside, his attention was arrested by a picturesque
figure emerging from the store.
Mr. Temple stood contemplating this young-old man, who was in the act of
lighting a pipe as unusual looking as himself.
He judged him to be about sixty years of age, as his face was deeply
lined, although he realized one could not tell definitely about that
either, as the carriage and raiment of this strange figure bespoke the
fact that he was ostensibly a trapper or guide and the outdoor life
would in itself line his face indelibly, as a sequence of his continuous
battle with the elements.
His hair was snowy white and two shrewd eyes of deep blue twinkled out
from under heavy brows and lashes. A drooping mustache of pure white
also marked a vivid contrast to his brown, leather-like skin. Withal
there was a vivacity and good-humor about him that was undeniably
contagious.
Looking up he saw Mr. Temple standing there watching him and with a
genial smile of welcome on his face walked over.
“I take it yure a stranger in these parts!” he said, cordially shaking
Mr. Temple’s hand.
“Yes, I am indeed,” Mr. Temple returned. “And with whom, may I ask, is
it my good fortune to speak?”
“Me?” he asked, his face wreathed with the light of the noonday sun.
“Why, I’m probably what you Easterners call Old Timer.” He chuckled
softly to himself.
“Well, well,” Mr. Temple said laughingly. “Surely such an individual as
you, should bear a name more in keeping with yourself.”
“Yes, yes,” he laughed heartily this time. “I wuz born to the name of
Jeremiah Rushmore and they call me Jeb for short. All the folks
hereabouts has allus called me Uncle. I’m Uncle to everybody and yit I
hev’n’t one relative in the world,” he concluded.
“That, I should think,” Mr. Temple remarked, “is rather a mark of
respect.”
“I s’pose so, stranger,” he said more soberly, and then: “Who may you
be, sir?” he asked respectfully.
Mr. Temple then proceeded to tell him, and of the nature of his visit
and how he wanted a guide to take him through the pass. He also told him
that he wanted to get the agreement from his surveyors so that he could
close the deal with Ezra Knapp.
“Wa-al,” drawled Uncle Jeb, “I can guide yuh to whar yuh want ter go,
fer I wuz jest on my way up to the Inn to take a look-in on my ol’
pardner afore goin’ home. So, you might jes as well come along with me,
Mr. Temple.”
And that was the way that Mr. Temple met Uncle Jeb Rushmore.