Mark spent two hours in doing some trading and in seeing the sights. At one spot was an amusement hall, and he stopped for a few minutes to listen to some music on a banjo and watch a colored man dance a breakdown. Near at hand was an open bar at which several men were drinking. As was natural, the men at the bar presently caught the youth's eye and he looked them over, wondering if he had seen any of them before. One looked strangely familiar and Mark cudgeled his brain to place the individual. "I know I've seen him somewhere," thought the boy. "The question is where? Did I meet him on the trail, or elsewhere? I am sure he isn't a miner." Presently the man turned away from the bar, and walked past Mark. He gave the youth a sharp look, and then both started. "Hullo!" cried Mark, involuntarily. "Hullo yourself," said the man, gruffly. "Where--er--where have I met you before?" "In Philadelphia," answered Mark, quickly. "Is that so?" "Yes, you got into my step-father's office by mistake one day." "Did I? I don't remember it," said the man, coldly. He had fully recovered his self-possession. "Yes, I met you on the stairs. I was going up and you were coming down." "Is that so? It has slipped my mind entirely." The man pretended to yawn. "What's your name?" "Mark Radley. My step-father's name is Jadell Powers." "I don't know him." "What is your name?" "Morgan Fitzsimmons." "You are from Philadelphia, aren't you?" "I have been there a few times," answered Morgan Fitzsimmons, and pretended to yawn again. "I am a great traveler. Just now I am doing the gold fields." "Then you are not going to try your luck at mining?" "Hardly." The man gave a short laugh. "I am not used to such hard work. Are you at it?" "Yes." "Here?" "No, over to White Rock Gulch." "Alone or with your step-father?" "I am with three friends." "Then your step-father didn't come out?" "Not that I know of. I haven't heard from him for some time." "I'll wager a dollar you ran away from home," said Morgan Fitzsimmons, with a smile that Mark did not admire--it was so full of sarcastic cunning. "Maybe you know that I did run away," said the boy, boldly. "Me! Why--er--not at all," stammered the man. "What makes you think that?" he added and gave Mark a sharp look, as if to read his very thoughts. "Oh, it doesn't matter," said Mark. "Are you stopping here?" "Yes, for a few days." "And after that?" "I don't know where I will go. But see here, boy----" "I may see you again," said Mark, and walked away, before Morgan Fitzsimmons could ask him any more questions. Mark's heart was beating rapidly. He recognized the man fully as the individual who had come away from his step-father's office on that fateful day when the safe had been robbed of three hundred dollars. "He looks just slick enough to be the robber," thought Mark. "But how am I going to prove it out here and at this time?"