“Would you mind telling me all about him—­all you know?” asked Willis.  The miner looked at him curiously a minute, then asked, in a quiet, well-controlled voice, “Did you know the man, lad?”

“Not so well as I would like to have known him, sir; but perhaps I may get better acquainted with him now.  He was my father, but I hardly remember him, except for the stories and pictures that mother has told me about.  I’ve always wanted to know more about him.”

“I can’t tell you much, my boy,” returned the miner in a kind, friendly voice, “only that he was the best man that ever set a hoisting plant in this region, and the finest, cleanest young fellow that ever came into these hills.  Every man was his friend.”

“Did you ever know a Mr. Kieser who was a friend of my father’s?” asked Willis, after a moment’s thought.

“Seems like I did,” replied the miner, “a great many years ago, but he disappeared from this region long since.”

“Did you say the mine which once belonged to my father seemed to be the best in the canyon?” broke in Willis.

“Yes, it did, the last I knew of it; but nothing ever came of it, except that there have been two men there to-day, preparing to do this season’s assessment work.  You can never tell, you know, about a gold mine, for most of them have just been ‘holes full of hope,’ and the hope usually leaked out sooner or later.”

Chuck halloed from up the trail to get under way, or they would never reach the top by dark.

“Going to camp up in the Park to-night, I presume?” asked the miner.

“Yes, if we can make it,” replied Mr. Allen.  “Have you been up to the top lately?” “Yes, I was up yesterday, and it’s a grand sight at this season of the year.  The Maraposa lilies are blooming in great profusion, and the spring is running a fine little stream.  I had a very pleasant surprise up there, too.  Years ago there was a large herd of deer which lived in that park, but they were supposedly all killed off.  Yesterday, about this time, as I sat on a dead log just back from the spring, quietly thinking over some of the memories of old times when I had hunted on that very ground, I heard the dry twigs snap, and, turning, I saw a doe and two tiny, spotted fawns cross the park and enter the timber at the other side.  If you build a fire to-night you may get a glimpse of them.”

“I’m coming to have a long talk with you some of these days,” called Willis as they started off.

At last the entrance to the Park was reached, and they came upon a stretch of level ground.  The entire country changed.  Instead of the stony tallus of the canyon, there was soft, black soil under foot.  Instead of the great spruces and firs scenting the air, there were only tall, stately aspens on every side, their leafy tops lost in the deepening shadows.  Instead of the ground cedar and berry bushes, wild grass grew in rank profusion.  The air was tinged with a faint fragrance, and somewhere in the distance came the sound of gently-splashing waters, “Like a voice half-sobbing and half-laughing under the shadows.”