, with his hands in his pockets, and
smiling downward into his eyes.

"I've thought of that, too, Bill," he said, "and I can't afford to
lose you. I'd rather lose the Cross. So I'll tell you something that
I told Joan, long ago--that if ever the mine made good, and I could
give you something beside a debt, you were to have half of what I
made. A few days ago it would have been a quarter interest you owned.
Now it is a half. We're partners still, Bill, just as we were when
there was nothing but a sack of flour and a side of bacon to divide."

They looked at him, expecting him to show some sign of excitement, but
he did not. Instead, he reached over, and painstakingly pulled a weed
from the foot of the wall, and threw it away. He cleared his throat
once or twice, but did not look at them, and then got to his feet and
started as if to go down to the camp. Then, as if his feelings were
under control again, came back, and took one of Joan's and one of
Dick's hands into his own toil-worn palms, and said:

"Thanks, Dick! It's more'n I deserve, this knowin' both of you, and
havin' you give me a share in the Cross! And I accept it; but
conditionally."

He dropped their hands, and turned to look around, as if seeing a very
broad world.

"What is the condition?" Joan asked, laying her hand on his arm, and
looking up at him. "Can we change it?"

"No," he said; "you can't. I've had a hard hit of my own for a long
time now. I'm a-goin' to try to heal it. I'm goin' away on what may be
a short, or a long, long trail." His voice dropped until it was
scarcely audible. "I'm goin' away to keep goin' till I find The Lily.
And when I find her, I'll come back, and bring her with me, if she'll
come."

He turned his back toward them, unbuttoned the flap of his flannel
shirt, and reached inside. He drew out a sheet of paper wrapped in an
old silk handkerchief, as if it were a priceless possession to be
carefully preserved, and held it toward them. He did not look at
either of them as he spoke.

"I got that a long time ago," he said; "but somehow I could never say
anything about it to any one. And I reckon you're the only two in the
world that'll ever see it. Read it and give it back to me when--when
you come down the mountain."

He turned and stalked away over the trail, his feet planting
themselves firmly, as he had walked through life with firmness.

They watched him go, and opened the letter, and read, in a high,
strong handwrit