One day the two were sitting in the doorway of Bill Dawkins’ hut, where the hospitable owner still made them welcome. They were looking over the few specimens of rock “rich in fine silver” that Mr. Ransom had produced that first day, when the man thrust his hands into his pockets to see if any more fragments remained there. Finally from an inside pocket he added to the growing pile of treasures a piece of flat, tarnished metal. He gave a little shudder as his fingers released it, and Jimmie glanced up in time to see a sudden change in his father’s eye, like a glimpse of suddenly remembered fear.

“What is it, father?” Jimmie cried sharply.

The man started, looked down and then smiled foolishly.

[301]

“I don’t know, son,” he replied slowly.

Jimmie picked up the bit of tarnished metal, and gave a sudden start in his turn. Quickly controlling himself, he asked as quietly as possible, “Where did you get this, father?”

“I don’t know, son,” repeated the man again. “I don’t know. I must have had it a long time,—son,—a long time.”

Jimmie looked at the little dull article a moment and then leaning forward fastened it to the breast of his father’s coat. Mr. Ransom began to look uneasy and a wild light sprang to his eyes for an instant. Jimmie immediately detached the metal piece and put it in his pocket. Then he began to chat with his father about the trees, the mountains, the hut and kindred matters, and apparently forgot all about the incident.

But the moment that Bill Dawkins returned from his day’s hunting in the mountains, Jimmie was off like an arrow from a bow for the camp down on the Big Bend.

[302]

The party were just enjoying a quiet evening meal prepared under Mountain Jim’s tutelage, when Jimmie burst in upon them.

“See that!” he cried breathlessly, holding up the piece of tarnished metal. “And that!” he added, turning the article over so as to show its blackened under side.

“It’s a badge!” cried Persimmons.

“A Northwest Mounted badge!” added Ralph.

“And it has a name scratched on the back!” reported the professor.

“And the name—is—Nevins!” concluded Mountain Jim in a tone of awe.

“And my father had that in his pocket!” said Jimmie, tears of excitement rolling down his cheeks.

“Could your father—possibly—be—Nevins?” asked the professor slowly.

“But Nevins died in the snow!” protested Harry Ware.

[303]

“No, Carthew only thought he died. No one knew,” said Mountain Jim reminiscently.

“But the Indians?” suggested Ralph.

“Maybe they saved him,—who knows?” said Jimmie, his eyes shining. “And maybe they let him wander away when he got stronger because they saw he was crazy!”

And so the talk went on, one suggestion and one surmise following another until the long evening was spent. The mystery co............