You can finish it there. I've got to go down to my bank, and you
be there to meet me. You'll have a good dinner; you bet you will.
God! what a man Valois was. Dead and gone, poor fellow!
"Now, I'm off! don't you linger now."
He strides to his carriage, followed by a crowd of "valets de place."
All know Joe Woods, the big-souled mining magnate. He always leaves
a golden trail.
Armand imagines the fairy of good luck has set him dreaming. No;
it is all true.
He packs up his kit, and sends for a coupe. Giving orders as to
the picture, he repairs to the home of the Dauvrays for his toilet.
He tells Pere Francois of his good fortune.
"Joe Woods, did you say," murmurs the priest. "He was a friend of
Valois. He is rich. Tell him I remember him. He knows who I am. I
would like to see him."
There is a strange light in Francois Ribaut's eye. Here is a
friend; perhaps, an ally. He must think, must think.
The old priest taps his snuff-box uneasily.
In a "cabinet particulier" of the Grand Hotel restaurant, Woods
pours out to the young man, stories of days of toil and danger;
lynching scenes, gambling rows, "shooting scrapes," and all
kaleidoscopic scenes of the "flush days of the Sacramento Valley.
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