ith the flood of recollections.

"Started along back about a year ago," he said. "I was up to the
Sullivan Mountains working a claim. There wasn't much to it, just
enough to keep me going sort of comfortable. I pegged away at it
pretty steady, leading a lonely life and hoping every day that I'd cut
my way down to a good lead. Well, the fine ore never showed up.

"Meantime I got pretty weary of them same mountains, staring me in the
face all the time. I didn't have even a dog with me for conversation,
so I got to thinking. Thinking is a bad thing, mostly, don't you
agree, Ronicky?"

"It sure is," replied Ronicky Doone instantly. "Not a bit of a doubt
about it."

"It starts you doubting things," went on Gregg bitterly, "and pretty
soon you're even doubting yourself." Here he cast an envious glance at
the smooth brow of his companion. "But I guess that never happened to
you, Ronicky?"

"You'd be surprised if I told you," said Ronicky.

"Well," went on Bill Gregg, "I got so darned tired of my own thoughts
and of myself that I decided something had ought to be done; something
to give me new things to think about. So I sat down and went over the
whole deal.

"I had to get new ideas. Then I thought of what a gent had told me
once. He'd got pretty interested in mining and figured he wanted to
know all about how the fancy things was done. So he sent off to some
correspondence schools. Well, they're a great bunch. They say: 'Write
us a lot of letters and ask us your questions. Before you're through
you'll know something you want to know.' See?"

"I see."

"I didn't have anything special I wanted to learn except how to use
myself for company when I got tired of solitaire. So I sat down and
wrote to this here correspondence school and says: 'I want to do
something interesting. How d'you figure that I had better begin?' And
what d'you think they answered back?"

"I dunno," said Ronicky, his interest steadily increasing.

"Well, sir, the first thing they wrote back was: 'We have your letter
and think that in the first place you had better learn how to write.'
That was a queer answer, wasn't it?"

"It sure was." Ronicky swallowed a smile.

"Every time I looked at that letter it sure made me plumb mad. And I
looked at it a hundred times a day and come near tearing it up every
time. But I didn't," continued Bill.

"Why not?"

"Because it was a woman that wrote it. I told by the hand, after a
while!"

"A woman? Go