“Your father was a sensible man,” remarked Buell Hampton, as at last he refolded the paper. “I like the spirit in which he wrote—the fervent expression of his hope that this wealth will prove a blessing to you instead of a disquieting evil. Yes, you have undoubtedly found your father’s lost mine. But, Roderick, why did you not tell me of this before? I would have gladly helped you to a quicker discovery. This map here I would have recognized at a glance as the map of my happy retreat, my Hidden Valley.”
“Well, Major, I may seem to have been a bit reticent—or independent, may I call it? But you will remember that it was early in our intimacy when you showed me and the others those rich ore specimens in your home. And you yourself were reticent—bound us to secrecy, yet gave us no-single clue as to the whereabouts of your wonderful discovery.”
“Because I wanted to protect this place from intrusion—I indulged in the dream that the treasure of the valley might be made to fall only into worthy hands, which dream could never be realized unless I guarded my secret from one and all.”
“Your sentiment I quite understand. But don’t you see, Major, it was this very reticence on your part that made me reticent—that virtually sealed my lips? I have often thought of showing you my father’s letter, of telling the full reasons that brought me to Wyoming. But to have done so after you had shown us that ore would have been simply to press you for further information—to have asked you to divulge the location of your mine which you had resolved to keep secret so that I might possibly be assisted in the quest for my father’s lost claim. I couldn’t do that I am sure you will now understand my feelings.”
“Fine feelings, Roderick,” exclaimed the Major, extending his hand. “Feelings after my own heart I understand them, and can only compliment you on your sturdy independence. But how did you get here?” And again he glanced up the precipitous mountains.
“Well, I think I might almost say I tumbled down into the canyon,” laughed Roderick. “I slipped and tobogganed down a steep slope. Then I followed the tracks of four deer I was after, and found myself here. By the way, have you looked at my splendid buck?”
Buell Hampton rose, and as if by force of habit drew his hunting knife and proceeded to dress and gambrel the deer. Roderick watched the skilled hands at work. Before many minutes the carcass was hanging on the peg of a broken limb.
“Certainly, a fine buck,” remarked the Major, stepping back admiringly. “Your first, I believe?”
“My very first.”
“Not often that a man kills his first deer and discovers a gold mine on the same day, eh?” laughed Buell Hampton. “But where is Grant Jones?”