“Yes,” he pursued. “So it was. I’ve been there. I must look into it again. It’s one more place. You were born and raised there, you say? Lived there some time? Wait! Did you ever happen to see the mate to this, in curiosity shops, say, or among relics of the old-timers?” Thereupon he unsnapped a small protective leather case and passed me the half of a silver coin, pierced as if it once had been strung. “An old half dollar?” I hazarded. “Yes. If you’ve aviator’s eyes you can read the lettering around the rim, young man.” So I could. “God Be With You----” was the legend, unfinished as if cut short. He was gazing anxiously at me, his lips a-tremble. I turned the piece over and passed it back. “No,” said I; “I never happened to see the other half. A keepsake?” His face set sternly. He restored the half coin to its case. “A keepsake. You are married, young man?” “Not yet.” “Don’t,” he barked. “Don’t. Pray God you may be spared that.” A woman-hater, he; odd in a man who should be mellowing. But upon looking him up I found that this was his only apparent defection. A strange, restless man, however, with few friends; antecedents unknown; personal history taboo with him; and wanderlust possessing him today as yesterday and the day before. “Again?” his banker blurted. “Bound across again? He only just got back from San Francisco, by automobile, via Salt Lake, Cheyenne and Denver. Drove alone. So he’s going through with you? That’ll be his fifth or sixth trip this year. He’s a regular Wandering Jew.” “And his business?” I invited. “Business? None.” “On the trips, I mean.” “My dear man, nobody knows. He goes and comes, goes and comes. You’d think he was hunting a lost mine; or a lost child, only he says he isn’t married. I believe he has covered the West from end to end and border to border. Did he show you his pocketpiece?” “A half coin? Yes. And asked me if I’d ever seen the other half.” “That’s it. He asks everybody the same, especially if they’re Western people. What he wants of the other half, no one knows. A fad, maybe; an excuse to keep moving. He’ll not find it in the air, that’s certain.” “Not in the air,” I agreed. “He must have other reasons for going by that route. To avoid women, he intimated.” “And to get there quickly. He never comes home satisfied. No sooner gets here than something seems to call him; you’d think he had an S. O. S. wireless by the way he hustles out again, maybe over the very same trail. Always searching, always searching; that’s the life of old John. And never finding.” “He’s past sixty?” I asked. “Past sixty! He’s past seventy, but nobody’d guess it.” And I accepted John Brown as passenger. No one else offered as likely. I notified him to be ready. We hopped off in the morning. * * * * *