"I never saw a face so like my old pard's," the stranger was saying to
Ben. "And you know, Ben, I often wonder if some day I won't hear
something from Bill's family. There was a wee boy, but what others, if
any, I don't know. The day of the wreck I saw a lad that did a brave
deed, and ever since I've been wondering if he might be Bill's boy--he
looked so like him."

"Tad, what became of that tarnal critter, Williams, that ye told me
about? The feller that jumped that placer claim up'n the gulch--do you
ever see him any more?"

"Yes, Ben, he is still in the city. Has a mighty sick wife--tuberculosis,
they say. He's crookeder than a cork-screw, they tell me; but he'll get
caught yet, that kind always does. You know his wife is a sister to
Bill's wife. If it hadn't been for that relationship to Bill, I'd have
had it out with him long ago. But what's the use, anyway. The mine's no
good and the ground's no good, and I haven't any money to fight him."

"Yep, but s'posin' the tunnel was good; what then?"

"I don't know, Ben. Old Williams has a good name, generally speaking, in
the city, and he has money--I couldn't fight him. Dad Wright used to say
he was a 'snake in the grass,' and Dad doesn't often misjudge a man."

"Who holds the key to that tarnal hole, anyway, Tad?"

"Williams was the last man in the tunnel, Ben, and I suppose he holds the
keys. I've never been inside since I carried out poor Bill's broken
body."