The words seemed to cut Dave like a knife.

"Then if I am not your son, who am I?" Dave asked in a husky voice.

The ticking of the clock on the mantle could be plainly, yes, loudly
heard, as Mr. Carson slowly answered in a low voice:

"Dave, I don't know!"




CHAPTER IV

A SMALL STAMPEDE


Dave Carson--to use the name by which we must continue to call him, at
least for a time--may have hoped for a different answer from the ranchman.
Doubtless he did so hope, but now he was doomed to disappointment, for the
words of Mr. Carson seemed final.

"Dave, I don't know," he repeated. "I don't know who you are, who your
parents are, or even what your name is. I wish I did!"

Dave sank down in a chair. He seemed crushed. Mr. Carson, too, was
somewhat overcome.

"There--there must be some explanation," said the lad at length, slowly.