RODERICK was prompt to the minute in keeping his appointment. He found the Major seated before a bright log-fire, and his first glance around the old familiar room showed the progress of some unusual preparations. The open lid of a traveling trunk revealed clothing and books already packed; the violin in its case rested on the centre table.

Buell Hampton interpreted his visitor’s look of wonderment.

“Yes, Roderick,” he said with a smile that was both tender and serious, “I am going away. But let us take things in their order. Sit down here, and let us smoke our pipes together in the old way—perhaps it may be for the last time in each other’s company.”

“Oh, don’t say that, my dear Major,” protested Roderick, in accents of real concern.

But Buell Hampton motioned him to his seat, and passed over the humidor. For a minute or two they smoked in silence. At last the Major spoke.

“Roderick, I have news that will greatly surprise you. I had a telegram from Boney Earnest just before we left San Francisco. I said nothing to you, for I did not wish with needless haste to disturb your happiness.”

“Not about Gail?” asked Roderick, his face paling.

“No, no. This has nothing to do with Gail—at least it only affects her indirectly. You spoke today at lunch time about turning in the profits of your gold mine into the Encampment Valley irrigation scheme. I want to put you right on this mining matter first. Boney Earnest’s telegram showed that neither you nor I have a gold mine any longer. Hidden Valley has disappeared. Our claims are under five hundred feet of water.”

“How could this have happened?”

“You have read in the newspapers that the cosmic disturbances of the San Francisco earthquake extended entirely across the continent. Indeed the shocks were felt distinctly in New York, Philadelphia, Boston, and other Atlantic points. Well, a number of prospectors have been up among the mountains getting ready to stake around our claims, and they report that three miles above Spirit Falls a vast new lake has been formed, completely filling the canyon.”

“The shake brought down the grotto cavern, I suppose.”

“And sealed it, damming back the river. That is undoubtedly what has happened. So Roderick, my dear fellow, you have to forget that gold. But of course you know that all I have is yours to share.”

“No, no, Major,” exclaimed Roderick, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Besides your all too generous gift at Denver, I have my salary from the smelter company, and I’m going to chip in to the limit of my power for the advancement of that glorious irrigation scheme of yours. I did without the mine before. Thank God I can do without it now. My dear father’s letter served its purpose—it brought me to Wyoming, and although I have no right to say so just yet I do believe that it has won for me Gail Holden’s love.”

“I am sure of it,” remarked Buell Hampton quietly. “She has loved you for a long time—you were all in all to her before you followed to San Francisco, as the poor girl’s anguish showed during those days when we both thought that you had perished.”

“Then, Major,” cried Roderick, the light of great joy illuminating his countenance, “if I have won Gail Holden’s love I have won greater treasure than the treasure of Hidden Valley—greater treasure than all the gold claims in the world.”

“Spoken like a man,” replied Buell Hampton as he gripped Roderick’s hand. The latter continued, his face all aglow: “Everything has come out right When my Unde Allen refused to help me in my New York ventures he really saved me from cruel and accursed Wall Street where more hearts have been broken and lives of good promise wrecked than on all the battlefields of the world. When he handed me my father’s letter, he took me out of that selfish inferno and sent me here into the sweet pure air of the western mountains, among men like you, the Reverend Stephen Grannon, Ben Bragdon, Boney Earnest, and good old Jim Rankin too, besides our dear dead comrade Grant Jones. Here I have the life worth living, which is the life compounded of work and love. Love without work is cloying, work without love is soul-deadening, but love and work combined can make of earth a heaven.”

“And now you speak like a philosopher,” said Buell Hampton approvingly.

“Which shows that I have been sitting at your feet. Major, for a year past not altogether in vain,” laughed Roderick. “From every point of view I owe you debts that can never be repaid.”

“Then let me improve this occasion by just one thought, Roderick. It is in individual unselfishness that lies the future happiness of mankind. The age of competition has passed, the age of combination for profit is passing, the age of emulation in unselfishness is about to dawn. The elimination of selfishness will lead to the elimination of poverty; then indeed will the regeneration of our social system be begun. Think that thought, Roderick, my dear fellow, when I am gone.”

It was ever thus that Buell Hampton sought to sow the tiny grain of mustard seed in fertile soil.

“But why should you go away, Major?” asked Roderick protestingly.

“Because duty calls me—my work for humanity demands. But we shall come to that presently. For the moment I want to recall one of our conversations in this room—in the early days of our friendship. Do you remember when I gave it as my opinion that it would be conducive to the happiness of mankind if there was no abnormal individual wealth in the world?”

“That a quarter of a million dollars was ample for the richest man in the world—I remember every word, Major.”

“Well, Roderick, today I have transferred to your credit in your Unde Allen’s bank precisely this sum.”

“Major, Major, I could never accept such a gift.”

“Just hear me patiently, please. The sum is quite rightfully yours. It is really only a small fraction of what your father’s claim might have produced for you had I taken you earlier into my full confidence and so helped you to the location of the rich sandbar with its nuggets of gold. Moreover, you know me well enough to understand that I count wealth as only a trust in my hands—a trust for the good of humanity. And I feel that, in equipping such a man as yourself, a man whom I have tested out and tried in a dozen different ways without your knowing it—in equipping you with a sufficient competency I really help to discharge my trust, for I invest you with the power to do unmeasured good to all around you. I need not expatiate on such a theme; you have heard my views many times. In sharing my wealth with you, Roderick, I simply bring you in as an efficient helper for the uplift of humanity. It therefore becomes your duty to accept the trust I hand over to you, cheerfully and wishing you Godspeed with every good work to which you set your hand.”

“Then, Major, I can but accept the responsibility. I need not tell you that I shall always try to prove myself worthy of such a trust.”

“I have yet another burden to place on your shoulders. The balance of the wealth at my present disposal I have also handed over to you—as my personal trustee. At this moment I do not know when and in what amount I shall require money for the task I am about to undertake. Later on you will hear from me. Meanwhile Allen Miller knows that my initial investment will be equal to his own in the valley irrigation scheme. You, Roderick, as my trustee may contribute further sums at your absolute discretion; if the work requires help at any stage, use no stinting hand irrespective of financial returns for me, because with me the thing that counts mainly is the happiness and prosperity of this town, its people, and the surrounding valley lands.”

“But, Major, can’t you remain with us and do these things yourself?”

“No; the call is preemptory. And if perchance you should never hear from me again, Roderick, continue, I beg of you, to use my money for the good of humanity. Count it as your own, use it as your own. I lay down no hard and fast rules to guide you. Give to the poor—give to those in distress—pay off the usurer’s mortgage and stop excessive interest that makes slaves of the poor family struggling to own a little thatched cottage. Give wherever your heart is touched—give because it is God’s way and God is prompting you by touching your heart.”

Roderick listened in silence, deeply moved. He saw that Buell Hampton’s mind was made up—that no pleading or remonstrance could alter the decision at which he had arrived. The Major had now risen from his chair; there was a softness in the rich full tones of his voice, a look of half pain in his eyes, as he went on: “But remember, although we may be parted, our friendship abides—its influences endure. Friendship, my dear Roderick, is elemental—without commencement and without end—a discovery. From the beginning of furthest antiquity, the pathway of the centuries have been lined with tablet-stones pronouncing its virtues. Friendship is the same yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever. It is an attraction of personalities and its power is unseen and as subtle as the lode-stone. It is the motive that impels great deeds of bravery in behalf of humanity. It speaks to the hearts of those who can hear its accents of truth and wisdom, and contributes to the highest ideals of honor, to the development of the sublimest qualities of the soul. It is the genius of greatness; the handmaiden of humanity. I have sometimes thought that if we could place in our own souls a harp so delicately attuned that as every gale of passion, of hope, of sorrow, of love and of joy swept gently over the chords, then we would hear in the low plaintive whisperings the melody of friendship’s sweetest note—that quivers and weeps and laughs on the shore line of immortality.”

“Your friendship, Major,” said Roderick fervently, “will always be one of the most deeply cherished things in my life. But I cannot reconcile myself to the thought that we should part.”

Buell Hampton laid a hand upon the young man’s shoulder.

“Duty calls—the two little words are enough, although it grieves me sore to think that most likely we shall never meet again. Your work is here—your usefulness lies here. But as for me, my mission in the hills is finished. I am going to a far away country—not a new one, because there are many in squalor and poverty where duty leads me. There I will begin again my labors for the lowly and the poor—for those who are carrying an unjust portion of life’s burdens. There is no lasting pleasure in living, my dear Roderick, unless we help hasten the age of humanity’s betterment. Good-by,” concluded the Major, smiling into Roderick’s eyes and pressing his hand warmly—“good-by.”

Almost dazed by the suddenness of the parting Roderick Warfield found himself out in the darkness of the night He was stunned by the thought that he had gripped his dear friend’s hand perhaps for the last time—that there had gone out of his life the one man whom above all others he honored and loved.

Thus passed Buell Hampton from among the people of the hills. None of his intimates in or around Encampment ever saw him again.