“Do you hear it, fellows?  There, now, listen!  Don’t you hear it?” Ham was saying as he sat back from the fire.  “There it is, calling, calling!”

“What is calling?” asked Willis, straining his ear to catch the sound.

“Mother Nature,” answered Ham, dryly.  “Mother Nature’s call—­the call of the wild.  See, even the leaves are beckoning us back farther into the deep, quiet wilderness.  Some day I will part with my earthly possessions and answer that call, for, do you know, I believe that the Indian did come the nearest to living an ideal life of any of us!”

Every one knew that Ham was in for a long, private soliloquy, and so began supper operations, for, although they had all heard the call of Mother Nature, as Ham put it, to some of them at least it was only an empty stomach calling to be fed.

Mr. Allen and Willis were the last ones to take to their blankets, for they had many things to talk over between themselves.

What can draw out the innermost thoughts of a fellow’s heart more quickly than a chat with a sympathetic friend when both are seated before a fire in such a place and on such a night?  If you really wish to know a fellow in a few days’ time, you need to camp with him, to eat with him, and to sit with him before an open fire in the wilderness under a canopy of stars with the music of Nature about you.  Then man speaks with man, and all the conventionalities of life are forgotten.

“Yes, I have often wondered if I will ever find my father’s partner,” Willis was saying.  “I would rather see him than any man on earth, sometimes.”

“Wouldn’t you be happier if you didn’t ever find him, though?” questioned Mr. Allen.

“No, I wouldn’t, Mr. Allen, because he could explain so many things to me that I have wondered about.  I don’t know that I ever told you, but it has always seemed so strange to me that my uncle, Mr. Williams, has never once mentioned my father’s name to me.  He was the last man that saw him alive, yet he has never spoken of him.  I have been going to talk with him several times, but he is so gruff and absorbed I can’t get up my nerve.  There is one thing that has bothered me a lot lately, though, and I’ve never told you of it, but I’m going to now.  I probably never would have thought much about it if it hadn’t been for what the old prospector told me the other day over on Cheyenne.  I’ve been wondering if there possibly could be any connection between his not wanting me to come on this trip and the fact that he was just then sending men to do his assessment work on the claim that once belonged to my father.

“There is another thing, too, Mr. Allen.  I feel ashamed of even thinking of such things, yet the night we had our meeting at Bruin Inn I heard that same prospector discussing a Mr. Williams with Old Ben.  I heard him say that Williams was a thief and a sanctimonious old hypocrite.  The thing that bothers me is, how much does Williams know of my father’s affairs that he has not told my mother.  Surely he would not dare to be crooked in such a thing as that.”