it! I know it!" Weston exclaimed. "It is the highest peak on
that ridge between here and the Tasan. The side this way is very steep
and rocky, is it not?"

"Yes, and the summit is bare. It was there I had a desperate fight
with an eagle, killed it, and carried off its eggs, which saved my
life. From the high point I caught the first glimpse of the river."

"And suppose you find the gold, what then?" Weston asked.

"Oh, I shall take my share of it, of course."

"And after that?"

"I am not altogether sure. But there is one thing I should do before
undertaking anything else. In fact, I am almost pledged to it. Harmon
will never forgive me if I don't."

"Harmon, did you say?" Weston questioned. "I once knew a man by that
name."

"It is Harmon, editor and principal owner of the _Vancouver Telegram_
and _Evening News_. He has been a father to me, and is greatly
interested in my welfare. He has a hobby which I call 'a wild-goose
scheme,' and he thinks that I am the only one who can carry it out. He
is not the Harmon you knew, I suppose?"

Weston did not at once reply, but sat staring straight before him as if
he saw something strange in the wall. His bronzed face had a peculiar
pallid color, and his eyes expressed wonder and incredulity. He was
forced to keep his hands clasped before him, so great was his emotion.
Reynolds watched him curiously, but said nothing.

"And what is Harmon's hobby?" Weston at length found voice to enquire.

"Oh, a pet scheme for the finding of a man who disappeared years ago."

"And the man's name?" Weston was once more calm.

"Henry Redmond, so he told me. He was a prominent business man, but
after the death of his wife he mysteriously vanished, and left no trace
of his whereabouts."

"Strange, was it not?" Weston queried, as he furtively eyed the young
man. "Perhaps he is dead."

"That is what I suggested to Harmon, but he would not entertain the
idea at all."

"Did he give any reason for his belief that the man is alive?"

"He showed me a clipping taken from a paper years ago. These are the
words which I committed to memory:

"'I go from the busy haunts of men, far from the worry and bustle of
business life. I may be found, but only he who is worthy will find me,
and whoever finds me, will, I trust, not lose his reward. From the
loop-holes of retreat I shall watch the stress and fever of life, but
shall not mingle in the fray.'"

"Was there any name si