“Look here,” he said, dropping his hand upon that of the other, “I must go now, time presses. But, Stride, old chap, I want you to promise me something, and that is that if ever you are in want of a friend you will remember you have the best of that article here. For instance, prospecting is precarious work, and, I’m told, often very hand-to-mouth. Now, I happen to be one of those fortunate people who is frequently in a position to be of use to his fellow-creatures, and if ever you find yourself in any strait you must apply to me. There are often fairly comfortable bunks I can slide people into. Now, will you?”
“Yes, I will. You are awfully good, Denham.”
“That’s settled. So now good-bye, and don’t get well until it’s too late to go and get yourself half killed over again.”
A hearty handshake, a pleasant nod and a smile, and Denham was gone. But Stride called him back.
“You’ll give—her—my every good wish?”
“Certainly, old chap, certainly.”
The arrival of the missing man had been a source of boundless surprise. How on earth had he, a stranger, been able to make his way across that long distance of hostile country? Why, it would have taxed to the uttermost the experience and resources of any one among themselves, was the consensus of opinion. The thing was a mystery, and at such Denham left it. He supposed he was born lucky and with a bump of topography, was how he accounted for it in his easy-going way. But never by word or hint did he let drop anything as to the real agency which had got him through, not even to Verna.
And she? Well, to-day was her wedding day.