Hamlin and the editor, the latter might have recognized in the occupant
of a dust-covered buggy that was coming leisurely towards them the tall
figure, long beard, and straight duster of his late visitor, Mr. James
Bowers. For Mr. Bowers was on the same quest that the others had just
abandoned. Like Mr. Hamlin, he had been left to his own resources, but
Mr. Bowers's resources were a life-long experience and technical skill;
he too had noted the topographical indications of the poem, and his
knowledge of the sylva of Upper California pointed as unerringly as Mr.
Hamlin's luck to the cryptogamous haunts of the Summit. Such abnormal
growths were indicative of certain localities only, but, as they were
not remunerative from a pecuniary point of view, were to be avoided by
the sagacious woodman. It was clear, therefore, that Mr. Bowers's
visit to Green Springs was not professional, and that he did not even
figuratively accept the omen.
He baited and rested his horse at the hotel, where his bucolic exterior,
however, did not elicit that attention which had been accorded to Mr.
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