"Well, you're pretty likely to have companionship on the road, too. There is another party that is going up that way either to-morrow or the day after. Pretty lucky for you."
"I'm glad of it, if he isn't a tenderfoot. That must be a pretty thickly settled region—where I'm heading."
"On the contrary, there's only three human beings in the whole district—and there's a thousand of square miles back of it without even one. These three are some men that went up that way prospecting some time ago, and this other party will make four." He paused, smiling. "Yes, I think you will enjoy this trip to-morrow, after you see who it is. I'd enjoy it, and I'm thirty years older than you are."
Ben's thought was elsewhere, and he only half heard. "All right—I'll be here before dawn to-morrow and get the horses. And now will you tell me—where Steve Morris lives? I've got some business with him."
"Right up the street—clear to the end of the row." McClurg's humor had quite engulfed him by now, and he chuckled again. "And if I was you, I'd stop in the door just this side—and get acquainted with your fellow traveler."
"What's his name?" Ben asked.
"The party is named Neilson."
Unfortunately the name had no mental associations for Ben. It wakened no interest or stirred no memories. He had read the letter the copy of which he carried but once, and evidently the name of the man Ezram had been warned against had made no lasting impression on Ben's mind.
"All right. Maybe I'll look him up."
Ben turned, then made his way up the long, straggly row of unpainted shacks that marked the village street. A few moments later he was standing in the Morris home, facing the one friend that Hiram Melville had possessed on earth.