Ezram had decided the whole thing in a flash, realizing that a lone pedestrian would be practically as effective in dealing with the usurpers as two horsemen, impeded by the pack animals.  If they didn’t shoot to kill at first sight of him Ezram would have time in plenty to seek refuge in the forest and do a sharpshooter’s business that would fill his old heart with joy.  And there really wasn’t any question as to which of the two should go.  Their partnership was of long duration; their comradeship was deep; Ben was young, and Ezram himself was old!

Ezram made his decision entirely casually, and he would have been surprised out of his wits if any one had expressed wonder of it.  He knew no self-pity or sentimentality, only the knowledge that he did not desire that his young buddy should be shot full of holes in the first moment of play.  The only fear that had visited him was that Ben might catch on and not let him go.  And now he could scarcely restrain his triumphant chuckles in Ben’s hearing.

Fie made his pack—­a few simple provisions wrapped in his blanket—­and a knife and camp axe swung on his belt.  He took his trusted pipe—­because he knew well that he could never acquit himself creditably in a fight without a few lungfuls of tobacco smoke first—­and he also took his rifle.  “You’ll be gettin’ my brother’s gun when you get to Snowy Gulch,” he explained, “and I may see game on the way out.  And you keep this copy of the letter.”  He handed Ben the copy he had made of Hiram’s will.  “I’m the worst hand for losin’ things you ever seen.”

“You’re sure you’ve got the directions straight?”

“Sure.—­And I guess that’s all.”

They said their simple good-bys, shaking hands over a pile of stores.  “I’ve only got one decent place to keep things safe,” Ezra confided, “and that ain’t so all-fired decent, either.  When I get any papers that are extra precious, I always stick ’em down the leg of these high old boots, between the sock and the leather.  But it’s too much work to take the boot off now, so you keep the letter.”

“I suppose you’ve got a million-dollar bank note hidden down there now,” Ben remarked.

“No, not a cent.  Just the same, if ever I get shuffled off all of a sudden—­rollin’ down one of these mountains, say—­I want you to look there mighty careful.  There may be a document or two of importance—­letter to my old home, and all that.”

“I won’t forget,” Ben promised.

“See that you don’t.”  They shook hands again, lightly and happily.  “So good-by, son, and—­’take keer of yerself!’”

The old man turned away, and soon his withered figure vanished into the thickets farther up the river.  He was following a fairly well-worn moose trail, and he went swiftly.  Soon he was out of hearing of the sound of the great river.

Then the little woods people—­marten and ermine and rodent and such other small forest creatures that—­who can say?—­might watch with exceeding interest the travelers on the trails, could have thought that old Ezram was already fatigued.  He sat down beside a tree and drew a soiled sheet of paper from his pocket.  Searching further he found then the stub of a pencil.  Then he wrote.