"What was it?" asked Dave eagerly. "Was there a note pinned to my dress? I suppose I must have worn dresses, if I was so little at the time?" "Yes, you wore dresses," the ranchman said, with a far-off look in his eyes. He was struggling to recall the dim and distant past. "Yes, you had on a dress. I think it must have been white at the start, but the muddy water had stained it a dark brown. But there was no note or anything like that pinned to it. I looked for that. But you did have on something that perhaps might prove a clew." "What was it?" asked Dave eagerly. "It was a sort of life-preserver," said the cattle man. "At least I took it to be that. "A life-preserver!" echoed Dave. "Well, maybe I'm wrong about it, for I never had much to do with water or the sea," admitted Mr. Carson. "But it was some sort of a cork jacket. It was made from a lot of bottle corks, all strung together, and wound around in a sort of belt." "They don't make life-preservers that way," said Dave, who had been on a trip East, and had seen the life-saving apparatus on a steamer. "A life-preserver is made from broad sheets of cork, sometimes granulated, and pressed together. I never heard of one being made of corks from bottles strung together." "Well, that's what you had on," said the ranchman. "Maybe it was a home-made one. Come to think of it, that's probably what it was. I reckon it saved your life, too, for though you were on a pretty big piece of wreckage, you looked as though the waves had washed up over you a number of times. Yes, that home-made cork life-preserver undoubtedly saved you." "What became of it?" asked Dave. "I suppose you threw it away. You must have had your hands full, looking after a small baby." "Why, no, I didn't throw it away," said Mr. Carson slowly. "I sort of had an idea it might prove a relic, so I kept it." "Where is it now?" asked Dave, eagerly. "Well, I didn't take it all over with me," went on the owner of the Bar U ranch. "I left it in Denver with a lot of other things of mine. It's there yet I reckon, in storage." "Could you get it?" exclaimed the youth, his eyes shining with eagerness. "Yes, I reckon so. But what good would it do, Dave?" "It might--it might prove my identity." Mr. Carson shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he said. "There wasn't anything to it but a lot of corks strung together. They were wound around you like a belt." "But could you send for it? I should like to see it. And it might--it might, after all, be a clew." "Well, I'll get it, of course. I suppose you aren't satisfied to be just what you are. You know I'll look after you all your life. You know that, don't you, Dave?" asked the ranchman softly.