“I'll certainly do that,” said Joe, promptly.
As they rode along Bill Badger told something of himself and of the mine his father owned, and then Joe told something of his own story.
“Did you say your name is Joe Bodley?” asked the young westerner, with deep interest.
“Yes.”
“And you are looking for a man by the name of William A. Bodley?”
“I am.”
“It seems to me I know a man by that name, although the miners all call him Bill Bodley.”
“Where is this Bill Bodley?”
“Out in Montana somewhere. He worked for my father once, about three years ago. He was rather a strange man, about fifty years old. He had white hair and a white beard, and acted as if he had great trouble on his mind.”
“You do not know where he is now?”