“No, we haven’t seen him, except when you went by a while ago.”

Willis was interested in what the stranger was doing.  He was bent over a big rock, filing a metal instrument.  His back was turned.  Willis was looking about to see what they could have been hammering, but could see no sign of their work.

“Prospecting a little?” queried Ham, as he picked up the light sledge that lay on the snow.

“Well, not jist exactly,” drawled Old Ben; “it’s too tarnal cold to do much prospectin’.  We’re jist on an observin’ trip this time.”

“Observing the scenery, or what?” persisted Ham.  “We heard you doing some mighty loud observing up here a few minutes ago.  Come, now, no secrets.  What are you up to?  Do you know you are trespassing this very moment?”

“Trespassin’, eh?  Well, I expect Old Ben knows when he’s trespassin’ an’ when he ain’t.  This time he ain’t.”  He turned to the stranger and continued:  “I jist come along to give my friend here a little moral support.  He’s so tarnal foolish about this old hole.”

“Not foolish, Ben,” answered the stranger, as he turned from his work, “not foolish, but—­why, good morning, lad!” He advanced with extended hand toward Willis.

Willis could hardly believe his own eyes.  What was this man doing here?

“It seems like our paths cross often, doesn’t it?”

“Why, I—­” exclaimed Willis.

“I know you are surprised,” continued the stranger, “but no more so than I, for I didn’t expect to find you here on such a morning as this.”

“But what are you doing here?” stammered Willis.  “What is there about this mine that is of interest to you?  This mine is my father’s property, and it’s locked—­the tunnel, I mean—­”

“Yes, I know, lad,” he interrupted.  “I know it does seem strange, but it isn’t half as strange to you as it is to me, and besides—­”

“But, sir, how dare you tamper with locked property?”

“Lad,” and the stranger spoke in that same quiet, kindly voice that had attracted Willis the first time he had seen him, “do you remember that fall day when we last talked together?  Up back of Daddy Wright’s on the Cheyenne trail?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” replied Willis, “and I remember every word you said, but—­”

The stranger lifted his hand for silence, and then continued:  “And do you remember you asked me if I had ever known a young engineer that used to be in these parts, and I said, ‘Yes;’ then you asked me if I knew a Tad Kieser that used to be a partner of his, and I told you I did?”

“Yes, yes, I remember all that,” interrupted Willis; “but what has that to do with this mine?”

“A very great deal, my boy.  Listen!  I know Tad Kieser better than any man alive, and of all the men I ever knew, Tad is the strangest.  I believe he owns a half interest in this property, does he not?  But he hasn’t been near it for half a dozen years, and to my knowledge he has never been inside of it since the day of the accident.  What’s more, my boy, there’s just one thing in all the world that could ever induce him to enter it again—­”