“And I might say, now a good time as any, to let up on the ‘Mister.’  My name is Ezra Melville, and I’ve been known as ‘Ezram’ as long as I can remember, to my friends.  The Darbys in particular called me that, and you’re a Darby.

“I’ll say in the beginning I can’t do for you all I’d like to do, simply because I haven’t the means.  The first time you saw me I was walkin’ ties, and you’ll see me walkin’ some more of ’em before you’re done.  I know you ain’t got any money, and due to the poker habit I ain’t got much either—­in spite of the fact I’ve done two men’s work for something over forty years.  On this expedition to come we’ll have to go on the cheaps.  No Pullmans, no hotels—­sleeping out the hay when we’re caught out at night.  Maybe ridin’ the blinds, whenever we can.  I’m awful sorry, but it jest can’t be helped.  But I will say—­when it comes to work I can do my full share, without kickin’.”

Ben stared in amazement.  It was almost as if the old man were pleading a case, rather than giving glorious alms to one to whom hope had seemed dead.  Ben tried to cut in, to ask questions, but the old man’s words swept his own away.

“To begin at the beginning, I’ve got a brother—­leastwise I had him a few weeks ago—­Hiram Melville by name,” Ezram went on.  “You’d remember him well enough.  He was a prospector up to a place called Snowy Gulch—­a town way up in the Caribou Mountains, in Canada.  Some weeks ago, herdin’ cattle in Eastern Oregon, I got a letter from him, and started north, runnin’ into you on the way up.  The letter’s right here.”

He drew a white envelope from his coat pocket, opening it slowly.  “This is a real proposition, son,” he went on in a sobered voice.  “I’m mighty glad that I’ve got something, at least worth lookin’ into, to let you in on.  I only wish it was more.”

“Why should you want to let me in on anything?” Ben asked clearly.

The direct question received only a stare of blank amazement from Ezram.  “Why should I—­” he repeated, seemingly surprised out of his life by the question.  “Shucks, and quit interruptin’ me.  But I’ll say right here I’ve got my own ideas, if you must know.  Didn’t I hear that while you was rampin’ around the underworld, you showed yourself a mighty good fighter?  Well, there’s likely to be some fightin’ where we’re goin’, and I want some one to do it besides myself.  If there ain’t fightin’, at least they’ll be worklots of work.  Maybe I’m gettin’ a little too old to do much of it.  I want a buddy—­some one who will go halfway with me.”

“Therefore I suppose you go to the ‘pen’ to find one,” Ben commented, wholly unconvinced.

“I’m going to make this proposition good,” Ezram went on as if he had not heard, “probably a fourth—­maybe even a third—­to you.  And I ain’t such a fool as I look, neither.  I know the chances of comin’ out right on it are twice as good if somebody young and strong, and who can fight, is in on it with me.  Listen to this.”