"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. He grinned, not looking at the other, apologized,
and was proceeding on his way, when he chanced to look toward the
doorway of the building he was passing.
Alva Dale was standing just inside the doorway, watching him, and as
Sanderson's gaze met his Dale grinned sneeringly.
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