"No less than I am, old man. It's good to get back and I certainly missed you."
The Indian smiled his pleasure. He had associated so long with the white people that he spoke, except at rare moments, after the manner of his white brothers. Even his habits, thoughts and manners were no different and to the ordinary observer it would have been impossible to recognize him as an Indian, except for his copper-hued complexion.
"I'm sorry about your mother, Tom, but it was a blessed thing for you to have been home before she passed away."
"That is was, partner. But I had some time getting there." And he went into the story of how he made his way, and how sickness had overcome him.
"I don't know what I would have done without the help of a little angel of mercy who took me to the hospital, wrote home for me and then saw to it that I got enough money to get home."
The Indian listened interestedly.
"Now tell me what has happened here," Tom added.
"Well, I've had some proof that there is silver here. Not much proof, but some. I have been waiting for you to come back so that we could rig up another block and tackle and bore and go to it at a certain point that may show results. I think there is some chance of its proving 'pay dirt.'"
"I shall be ready at any time," replied Tom. "It would be splendid if we could make a strike, wouldn't it?"
The Indian nodded his head; then as something came to his mind, he added: