early always he had talked in the language
of the uneducated Westerner, in the jargon of yeggmen, and the
vernacular of the professional tramps with whom he had hoboed over the
West--a "gay cat," as he was pleased to call himself, when boasting of
the "toughness" of his life. He had affected uncleanliness, uncouthness;
but in spite of his efforts the glimmer of the "something good" of which
he was the runt had shown through.

Slim had had specific knowledge of a world which Bruce knew only by
hearsay; and when it had suited his purpose, as when Bruce had first met
him in Meadows, he had talked correctly, even brilliantly, and he had
had an undeniable charm of manner for men and women alike. But, once
well started down the river, he had thrown off all restraint, ignoring
completely the silent code which exists between partners in the hills.

Such fellows were well named "black sheep," Bruce thought, as he looked
at the picture.

A letter had been wrapped around the photograph, with an address and a
date line twelve years old. The letter read:

DEAR BROTHER: We have just heard that you were working in a mine
down there and so I thought I would write and tell you that I
hope you are well and make a lot of money. I hope you do and
come home because we are awful poor and mother says if I don't
marry well she don't know what we will do because there are
mortgages on everything and we don't keep horses any more and
only one servant which is pretty hard for mother. The girl is
sassy sometimes but mother can't let her go because she can't
pay her yet. Please, Freddie, come home and help us. Everything
dreadful has happened to us since father died. Mother will
forgive you for being bad and so do I although it was not nice
to see our names and pictures in the papers all the time. Write
to me, Freddie, as soon as you get this. Your loving sister,

HELEN.

P. S.--I am thirteen to-day and this is my picture. I wish I
could go West too, but don't mention this when you write.

Bruce wondered if Slim had answered. He would wager his buckskin bag of
dust that he had not. The marvel was that he had even kept the letter.
He looked again at the date line--twelve years--the mortgages had long
since been foreclosed, if it had depended upon Slim to pay them--and she
was twenty-five. He wondered if she'd "married well.