“You haven’t a very good opinion of that uncle of yours, have you?” said Mr. Dean.  “I don’t see why he should be so vitally interested in keeping you away from an old cabin.  I think you imagine things, boy.”

“You know some things are true that you can’t see,” tersely replied Willis.  “You can’t see a pain in your stomach, but you can feel it and it tells you something is wrong.  It’s just the same in this case.  I can’t see it, but I know something is wrong, and the next thing for us to do is to get our heads together and find out the causes.  We’re interested in the causes.”

Mr. Beverly H. Pembroke sat idly in his office.  His feet were hoisted up on the window sill, his straw hat tipped far back on his head, while a long, slender cigar was held between his teeth.  He was decidedly an Englishman, and a very nervous, fidgety one at that.  As the three entered he got to his feet and inquired concerning their wants.

“Log cabin—­Buffalo Park—­Lode claim located August 22d.”  He puffed meditatively at his cigar, endeavoring to focus his thoughts on the matter before him.  A frown clouded his face, then suddenly disappeared.

“Why-a, yes, ba Jove, this ’ot weather ’as nearly set me crazy.  My brains ’ave been bemuddled all day, don’t you know.  Ba Jove, I most forgot that new claim.  Yes, yes, and you want ’ow many shares?”

Mr. Allen looked at Mr. Dean and smiled.  “You do the talking,” he said.

“Well, it’s like this,” said Mr. Dean.  Then he laid his proposition before the Englishman, who puffed away on his cigar and listened in silence.  “Sorry, very sorry, gentlemen,” he began, “but I ’ave just arranged with a party to ’old that site for a summer ’otel or a fruit farm, or some such a thing, don’t you know.  Sorry, beastly sorry, though, because I ’ave to refuse you.”

Mr. Allen looked at Mr. Dean, a great disappointment showing on his face.  He turned to Willis, who was standing in the background.  The boy was squinting out between half-closed eyelids and his fists were clenched hard at his sides.  He was gazing steadfastly at the floor.  Suddenly he looked up at Mr. Allen, then shoved himself behind the railing that separated them from the Englishman and spoke in clearcut tones.

“Mr. Pembroke—­” The little Englishman batted his eyes nervously and straightened noticeably.  He was all attention in a second.  Willis looked him straight in the eye and continued:  “I don’t suppose you know who I am, at least you don’t appear to.  I hate to ask favors of any man, or take undue advantage of any one, but in this instance I feel that I have just a little claim upon your attention and your consideration.”  Mr. Allen looked at Mr. Dean in utter astonishment.

“Very early this spring you and I were fellow passengers on a D. & P.W. train coming to Colorado Springs.  Do you remember?  That train was wrecked on a stormy afternoon by the splintering of the rails, which caused a collision with a heavy freight.  It was my pleasure at that time to save the life of your little son.”