"Where is it now?" asked Dave, eagerly.
"Well, I didn't take it all over with me," went on the owner of the Bar U ranch. "I left it in Denver with a lot of other things of mine. It's there yet I reckon, in storage."
"Could you get it?" exclaimed the youth, his eyes shining with eagerness.
"Yes, I reckon so. But what good would it do, Dave?"
"It might—it might prove my identity."
Mr. Carson shook his head.
"I'm afraid not," he said. "There wasn't anything to it but a lot of corks strung together. They were wound around you like a belt."
"But could you send for it? I should like to see it. And it might—it might, after all, be a clew."
"Well, I'll get it, of course. I suppose you aren't satisfied to be just what you are. You know I'll look after you all your life. You know that, don't you, Dave?" asked the ranchman softly.
"Yes—Dad—I know that," and the youth's voice faltered. "But I want—I just want to know who I am. I don't intend to leave you. I guess you know that. I haven't any other place to go. But I would like to know who I am. Maybe—maybe," and Dave's voice was husky, "I might have a—a sister somewhere in this world. Oh, what I'd give if I had!" and unshed tears shone in his eyes.