"Why, sure," was the answer. "What's on?"
"I want to go over to the stone valley, and make some calculations of the flow of water there. It isn't much of a stream, to be sure, but if we're going into this irrigation scheme, we can't neglect even a small flow of water. We might want it in dry weather. I need some one to help me make the measurements."
"Why sure I'll go. Be with you in a little while. There's a little matter
I want to see dad about, and then I'll come."
Though Dave spoke thus lightly of a "little matter," it was one that meant a great deal to him. For it was nothing less than an attempt he had made, or, rather, started, to solve the mystery of his identity.
All along, ever since Dave had been told the truth of his rescue from the Missouri flood, he had sought some means of finding out who he was. Mr. Carson had said there was no means of knowing, since he had made inquiries at the time in the vicinity of the flood, and no one had laid claim to the then small baby.
"Which led me to believe, Dave," the ranchman said, "that your parents and all your relations were drowned."
The young cowboy was silent after this, and a look of sadness came over his face.
"But there is a bare chance that some—even distant relatives—might have been saved," he said. "And on that supposition, if I had some little clew on which to start it might put me on the right track.
"How was I dressed when you found me? Wasn't there any distinguishing mark?"
"Huh! Well, now I come to think of it, perhaps there might have been," Mr.
Carson had said. This conversation had taken place some time previously.