happened during thirty odd years.
He passed the matter over in silence, and in that instant Bryce guessed
that the man knew as much, if not more, than he did.

"Do you know why I advertised that expedition as dangerous?" Bryce
asked, seeing that the other made no attempt to reply.

The man shook his head. "No, I don't," he said distinctly.

"I'll tell you," said Bryce, and he leaned forward in simulated
confidence. "I'm fat and I wheeze. My bellows are all to blazes and the
doctors won't give a rap for my heart. I might go out any minute, more
especially if there's any extra exertion. Now I want a man who won't ask
questions, who will do the exertions for two, and take what's coming
with a grin."

"That sounds simple enough," the man remarked. "May I ask what we are
after?"

"I'm searching for gold," said Bryce with a startling clearness.

The other shifted in his seat, looked at Bryce as if to measure the
possibilities of his next remark, and then said, "There's no gold
there."

"You mean," said Bryce, "that none's ever been discovered there; quite a
different thing. I hope to discover some before I'm done."

"It's too far west for mines," the other asserted.

Mr. Bryce passed over the man's statement in a way that showed that as
far as he was concerned that aspect of the matter was over and done
with. The obvious answer for him to make would have been, "Gold comes in
other ways than out of mines," but he was cautious enough not to air all
his knowledge at once.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

"Abel Cumshaw," the other answered, and saw by the way Bryce screwed up
his brows that it conveyed nothing to him.

"Well, Mr. Cumshaw, would you care to take this job on?"

"How long would we be away?"

"Six weeks or two months. I'm not certain of that."

"When do we start?"

"This is Monday. Be here Friday and we'll get right away. Friday
morning, mind, at ten-thirty sharp. That's all, I think. Good-day."

After Mr. Cumshaw had gone Bryce slipped back in his chair and laughed
till his whole face creased up in rolls of quivering fat. "That's a good
one on him," he murmured. "He didn't ask what screw he was to get, and I
didn't tell him because I wanted to see if he'd ask. But he didn't, so
he must have been thinking of something else. He's anxious to get to the
Grampians, darned anxious. From the way he went on he seems to know a
bit about the place too. I wonder has he any suspicion?... Good Lord!
woul