"I thought it was Mr. Robinson—Ashley Robinson," said Robert. "To be sure," returned Fitzgerald, rather disconcerted, for he had forgotten the name he had extemporized in Chicago; "I am always making mistakes about names. I have to enter everything in my diary." The morning after, Robert chanced to pick up a piece of paper just outside his employer's door. As there seemed to be writing upon it he picked it up, thinking that it might be of some importance. On the scrap of paper there was a name which immediately arrested Robert's interest—the name of Hugo Richmond. "Richmond," repeated Robert, in surprise. "Why, that is the name of the man I was said so strongly to resemble. Is it possible that Mr. Fitzgerald knows him?" Then he bethought himself that Richmond was not an uncommon name and there was no necessary connection between Hugo Richmond and the Julian Richmond whom he resembled. Still the discovery of this paper made him thoughtful. He would have liked to question his employer, but felt instinctively aware that it would do no good. Besides, from the manner in which he had found the paper, it would seem as if he were trying to spy out his master's affairs. "Robert," said Fitzgerald, after breakfast, "let us go out and take a walk." "With pleasure," answered the boy, politely. "I am going out to take a look at Mr. Robinson's land," said Fitzgerald. "Has he much?" "Oh, yes; he owns a quarter section, which he took up some years since at the government's price—a dollar and a quarter an acre. It must be worth a good deal more now." "I suppose he wants to sell?" "Yes. He lives so far away that he can't well look after it. Besides, by selling now he can make a large profit." "Do you think you can sell it readily, Mr. Fitzgerald?" "Yes; I have written to a land speculator to meet me here to-morrow. I think I can drive a bargain with him. I shall make a good commission myself on the sale." "I am glad of it," said Robert, politely. They left the road, and went across the fields over the level, prairie-like land. In the distance was a deserted cabin, which appeared to be partially burned. "Are you going to that cabin?" asked our hero. "Yes," answered his employer. "That cabin is on Mr. Robinson's land." "Did he build it?" [Illustration: ROBERT THROWN INTO THE DISUSED WELL.] "No; it was built by a squatter, who took advantage of the owner being a non-resident, and made himself at home here, without leave or license. The cabin had not been erected long, however, before it caught fire and was partially burned." "Does any one live there now?" "No." The two kept on their way till they reached the deserted cabin. A rod or two distant was an open well, which seemed, as well as the cabin, to be disused. "The squatter seems to have dug a well," said Robert. "Yes; I wonder whether it is deep," said Fitzgerald.