"So you are Henry Creedon?"
"I am," and turning to Desmond, Creedon said:
"Your friend there one night made a fight for me, fed me and found shelter for me. He was a tramp then; I was footing it out West here."
"Henry," said Brooks, "what have you been doing all these years?"
"Mine hunting."
"Mine hunting for fifteen years?"
"Yes."
"And have you found a mine yet?"
The woodsman laughed, and Brooks said:
"Desmond, we did indeed take desperate chances, and we've been making a fool's chase, I reckon. Here is a man who has been mine hunting for fifteen years and has not found one yet. Where do we come in?"