you afraid?"

"Of what?"

The lawyer smiled.

"I don't know. Only--" and he leaned forward--"it's just as though I
were living my younger days over this morning. It doesn't seem any
time at all since your father was sitting just about where you are now,
and gad, Boy, how much you look like he looked that morning! The same
gray-blue, earnest eyes, the same dark hair, the same strong shoulders,
and good, manly chin, the same build--and look of determination about
him. The call of adventure was in his blood, and he sat there all
enthusiastic, telling me what he intended doing and asking my
advice--although he would n't have followed it if I had given it. Back
home was a baby and the woman he loved, and out West was sudden wealth,
waiting for the right man to come along and find it. Gad!"
White-haired old Beamish chuckled with the memory of it. "He almost
made me throw over the law business that morning and go out adventuring
with him! Then four years later," the tone changed suddenly, "he came
back."

"What then?" Fairchild was on the edge of his chair. But Beamish only
spread his hands.

"Truthfully, Boy, I don't know. I have guessed--but I won't tell you
what. All I know is that your father found what he was looking for and
was on the point of achieving his every dream, when something happened.
Then three men simply disappeared from the mining camp, announcing that
they had failed and were going to hunt new diggings. That was all.
One of them was your father--"

"But you said that he 'd found--"

"Silver, running twenty ounces to the ton on an eight-inch vein which
gave evidences of being only the beginning of a bonanza! I know,
because he had written me that, a month before."

"And he abandoned it?"

"He 'd forgotten what he had written when I saw him again. I did n't
question him. I did n't want to--his face told me enough to guess that
I would n't learn. He went home then, after giving me enough money to
pay the taxes on the mine for the next twenty years, simply as his
attorney and without divulging his whereabouts. I did it. Eight years
or so later, I saw him in Indianapolis. He gave me more money--enough
for eleven or twelve years--"

"And that was ten years ago?" Robert Fairchild's eyes were reminiscent.
"I remember--I was only a kid. He sold off everything he had, except
the house."

Henry Beamish walked to his safe and fumbled there a moment, to return
at last with a few sli