belt answers the
purpose of a meal." Drilling as he talked, he soon finished the task
and held up the belt for inspection. "Rod Sinclair's gun," he
commented, sorrowfully. "And Rod's scarf, and hat, too. Ah, there was
a man, Miss Sinclair! I doubt if even you yourself knew him as I knew
him. You must ride and work with a man, in fair weather and foul; you
must share his hardships, and his disappointments, yes and his joys,
too, to really know him." A look of genuine affection shone from the
man's eyes as he stood drawing his fingers gently along the rims of
the shiny cartridges. He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to
the girl. His manner, the look in his eyes, the very tone of his
voice, were so intrinsically honest in their expression of unbounded
sympathy with his subject, and his mood fitted so thoroughly with her
own, that the girl's heart suddenly warmed toward this man who spoke
so feelingly of her father. She flushed slightly as she remembered
that upon the occasion of their previous meeting, his words had
engendered a feeling of distrust.

"You knew him--well?" she asked.

"Like a brother. For two years we have worked together in our search
for the mother lode that both believed lay concealed deep within the
bosom of these hills. A dozen times during those two years our hopes
have risen, as only the hopes can rise, of those who seek gold. A
dozen times it seemed certain that at last we had reached our goal.
But, always it was the same--a false lead--shattered hopes--and a
fresh start. Those were the times, Miss Sinclair, that your father
showed the stuff that was in him. He was a better man than I. It was
his Spartan acceptance of disappointment, his optimism, and his
unshaken faith in ultimate success, that kept me going. I suppose it
is my French ancestry that is responsible for my lack of just the
qualities that made your father the man he was. I lacked his
stability--his balance. I had imagination--vision, possibly greater
than his. And under the stimulus of apparent success, my spirits would
rise to heights his never knew. But I paid for it--no one knows how
bitterly I paid. For when apparent success turned into failure, mine
were depths of despair he never descended to. At first, before I
learned that his disappointment was as bitter as my own, his smiling
acceptance of failure, used to goad me to fury. There were times I
could have killed him with pleasure--but that was only at first.
Before