They all poked about, to no result.

"Did you look on deck, where you were?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you lock the cabin door when you went out?"

"I _think_ I did," answered Charley, honestly. "I meant to."

"But you aren't certain?"

"N--no; not exactly."

"Anybody could pick the lock, I suppose," said Mr. Grigsby, from under
his bushy brows. "The thing looks to me like a put-up job. Who was
the man that urged you to jump over?"

"I don't know. I'd never seen him before."

"Well, describe him," bade Mr. Adams.

Charley described him as best he could--a medium sized man in white
linen suit, with iron-gray hair and short beard iron-gray to match.

"What color eyes?"

"I don't know," confessed Charley, truthfully. "B-black, I think."

"Don't know!" grunted Mr. Grigsby. "After this, notice those things.
A man can change his hair, but he can't change his eyes. When you've
followed the trail a while, like I have, you'll learn to size a man up
at a glance, and never forget him. Kit Carson was a great fellow for
that. So was Fremont. Well, the first thing to do is to look for
Charley's man. What do you say, Adams?"

Charley's father gravely nodded.

"I agree. Did you see any of that gang go ashore, Charley? Either of
the Jacobs cronies, I mean. Jacobs we saw ourselves, in the town."

"No, sir," said Charley. "But they might have gone."

"Didn't see them aboard ship, then?" asked Mr. Grigsby.

"No, sir; I didn't."

"Wait a minute," spoke Mr. Grigsby. "We did glimpse that fellow who
tried to use the knife, going into a grog shop. Remember?"

"I do," affirmed Mr. Adams. "That accounts for two, then. Well,
Charley," and he laid his hand on Charley's shoulder, "it's up to you
to find your man for us, and then we'll investigate him. Take a brace,
now, and don't feel bad. There's no use crying over spilled milk;
you're only wasting time. You simply made a mistake, and everybody
makes mistakes once in a while. The thing to do now is to go ahead and
correct that mistake, the best you can. We'll help you."

What a brick his father was! And so was Mr. Grigsby. Instead of
scolding him and confining him on bread and water, or sending him back
home, they were standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"The papers don't amount to so tearing much," mused Mr. Grigsby. "You
know what the sketch looks like. That assignment of the claim may be
important and may not. But of course nobody likes to