"Lad," and the stranger spoke in that same quiet, kindly voice that had attracted Willis the first time he had seen him, "do you remember that fall day when we last talked together? Up back of Daddy Wright's on the Cheyenne trail?"
"Yes, sir, I do," replied Willis, "and I remember every word you said, but—"
The stranger lifted his hand for silence, and then continued: "And do you remember you asked me if I had ever known a young engineer that used to be in these parts, and I said, 'Yes;' then you asked me if I knew a Tad Kieser that used to be a partner of his, and I told you I did?"
"Yes, yes, I remember all that," interrupted Willis; "but what has that to do with this mine?"
"A very great deal, my boy. Listen! I know Tad Kieser better than any man alive, and of all the men I ever knew, Tad is the strangest. I believe he owns a half interest in this property, does he not? But he hasn't been near it for half a dozen years, and to my knowledge he has never been inside of it since the day of the accident. What's more, my boy, there's just one thing in all the world that could ever induce him to enter it again—"
"What is the one thing?" questioned Ham.
"If it wasn't for the advice of old Ben here, I would not be here to-day, either; but Ben and I have been friends these twenty years, and in that time I have learned to know that Ben's opinions are expressed only after a very careful consideration of all the facts. I'm here because Old Ben insisted that I come."
Willis turned and looked at Ben. He stood by, smiling and puffing away at his pipe. "But what has all that to do with Tad Kieser?" questioned Willis a little disappointedly. "Of all the men in the world I would like most to see, it's Tad. Tell me where he is, if you know."
"But why do you want to see him so badly, may I ask?" questioned the stranger.
"Because he is the only man in the world that can straighten out a tangle of things that I don't understand. And I'm sure that if he knew I was here, he'd come to help me."