"Seems to me I've heard the name," replied the clerk. "But I can't just place it. You might ask Tom Dillon, over yonder. He knows all the old-timers in Butte," and the clerk pointed to a man who sat in a corner of the hotel lobby, reading a newspaper. Tom Dillon, round-faced and white-haired, put down his paper and smiled as the boys came up and addressed him. He was an old-time miner, who had "struck it rich," and who had known how to take care of his wealth. "Sure, I know most of the old-timers!" he exclaimed, genially, in reply to Roger's question. "Who are you looking for?" "Let me introduce myself first," said Roger. He gave his name and also those of his chums. "I am the nephew of the late Maurice Harrison, of this place." "You don't tell me! Maurice's nevvy, eh? Then you must be the son o' Senator Morr, o' the East?" "Yes." "Glad to know ye! Put her there, young man!" And Tom Dillon shook hands cordially all around. "Yes, I knowed your uncle well--we did a bit of prospectin' together onct. It broke me all up to hear how he died--so many o' the old-timers droppin' off." "It was a great shock to our family," replied Roger. "Perhaps you know what brought me to Butte," he continued, looking at the old miner, questioningly. "To settle up the estate, I reckon." "In a way, yes. I suppose you have heard about that lost mine?" "What, the Landslide? Sure. An' she's gone fer good, lad; don't bank on ever findin' it ag'in, for if you do, well, I think ye'll be disapp'inted." And Tom Dillon shook his head slowly. "You really think it can't be found?" asked Dave. "I ain't sayin' that. But chances are all ag'in it. Whar that mine was located, the big landslide changed the hull face o' nature, an' all kinds o' landmarks have been teetotally lost." "Well, I am going to do what I can," put in Roger. "And my two chums are going to help me. But I was going to ask you a question. The clerk suggested that we ask you. Do you know an old miner named Abe Blower?" "Sure." "Can you tell me where he is now?" "He lives with an old lady named Carmody, on the other side o' town. She is some kind o' a relative of his, and came on from the South to keep house fer him. But he ain't home much. He spends most of his time prospectin'. Seems like he can't give it up." "I wish you'd give me his address," said the senator's son, and, having received it, put it down in a note-book. As late as it was, it was decided to walk across town to where Abe Blower resided, and the three boys set out without delay. "I'd get a cab, if any was around," said Roger, who saw how tired Phil was. "Maybe, Phil, you had better go to bed and let Roger and me go to Blower's home," suggested Dave. "No, if you go, I'll go too," declared the shipowner's son, who never cared to be left behind when anything was going on.