ish in thin air.

The man at the window of the Medicine Bow Hotel drew in his breath with a
slight hissing sound, as the whole magnificent landscape sprang into
dazzling light. It had always taken him like that. He remembered the day
when, as a boy of seven, he had first seen the sun soar over the ridge,
from the old "Prairie Schooner" encamped in "The Garden of the Gods." No
less wonderful was it now; for Jim Conlan, late owner of Topeka Mine, and
almost millionaire, was but a magnified version of the boy of twenty-three
years back. Time had brought its revenges, its rewards, its illusions; but
the great winds, the everlasting hills, and the wild life of the West had
combined in cementing the early resolutions and ideas.

He had won through by dint of muscle and hard thinking. He saw now that
the secret of his success was determination. He had earned a reputation
for never letting go anything to which he had put his hand. Men feared
him, but loved him at the same time. He had proved himself to be a staunch
friend but an implacable enemy. His six feet three inches of bone and
sinew was usually sufficient to scare off any trouble-seekers. Colorado
Jim, as they called him, was the product of primal Nature, unpolished,
rough as the gaunt mountains of the Medicine Bow, and as inscrutable.

All through the short summer night he had sat at the window waiting for
the dawn. The man who never let go had let go something this time, and
that something was nothing less than his whole life. He never believed it
would hurt him like it did. For the past three years he had been restless.
The soul and mind of him ached for expansion. The chief incentive to work
had gone. He had more money than he could spend--in the West. Yonder was
New York, Paris, London. Alluring visions of civilization flashed through
his brain. What was the use of money if not to burn, and where in the
whole of Colorado could one burn money and get full value?

The idea to sell out began to obsess him, and in the end he sold. Hating
sentimentality and fearing any demonstration of such, he had packed up
secretly and left the rough shack by the Topeka Mine for the comparatively
Arcadian comforts of the hotel in the township ten miles back. In a few
hours he would be on the train bound for the East--and the future.

Thorough in all things, he had packed his bags overnight, leaving but a
few necessities such as razor and tooth-brush (recent acquisitions) to
complete