"Well, sir, the place was a gully at the foot of a certain spur of the mountains, called the Red Cleft. Now, at that time I knew very little of geology. I know more now. Also, I had had but little experience in mining; and, moreover, whenever I mentioned Red Ridge I was simply laughed at by my mates. I was laughed out of giving the place a fair trial. But even after I left the Gold State the idea of the treasure hidden in the gully at the foot of Red Ridge haunted me day and night, something always prompting me to go back there and dig. Sir, it was intuition—inward teaching. When I went back to California I made for Red Ridge. Sir, when I first went to Red Ridge I dug there eight weeks without finding gold. That was the time my mates laughed at me. When I next went back—the time I now speak of—I worked four hours and then struck—struck one of the best paying mines in the Gold State. It is worked by a company now, but I have half of all the shares."
"You have been wonderfully blessed and prospered, Hartman."
"Yes," said the traveler, reverently bowing his head; "for their sakes, I have."
"And for your own, I trust, Hartman."
"Mr. Lyle—"
"Well, Hartman."
"May I ask you a favor?"
"Certainly you may."
"You addressed all your letters to me under the name of Joseph Brent."
"Yes, certainly—at your request."