admitted, his face suddenly broadening. "Trust
you women folks for finding things out in a hurry. But he ain't
teaching school up here--believe me!"

"No?"

"He's helping clean up my hog lot. I dunno but maybe he thinks it
isn't any worse than managing Polktown boys," and the elder chuckled.

But Janice was serious and she bent forward and laid a hand upon the
old man's arm. "Oh, Elder Concannon! don't be too hard on him, will
you?" she begged.

He grinned at her. "I won't break him all up in business. We want to
use him down town in these meetings we're going to hold for temperance.
He's got a way of talking that convinces folks, Janice--I vow!
Remember how he talked for the new schoolhouse? I haven't forgotten
that, for he beat me that time.

"Now; we can't afford to hire many of these outside speakers for
prohibition--it costs too much to get them here. But I have told Mr.
Haley to brush up his ideas, and by and by we'll have him make a speech
in Polktown. He can practise on the pigs for a while," added the elder
laughing; "and maybe after all they won't be so dif'rent from some of
them in town that I want should hear the young man when he does spout."

So Janice was comforted, and ran down town to the Drugg place in a much
more cheerful frame of mind. Marty was waiting at the store for the
car. There was a special reason for his being so prompt.

"Look-a-here!" he called. "What d'ye know about this?" and he waved
something over his head.

"What is it, Marty Day?" Janice cried, looking at the small object in
wonder.

"Another letter from Uncle Brockey! Hooray! he ain't dead yet!"
shouted the boy.

His cousin seized the missive--fresh from the post-office--and gazed
anxiously at the envelope. It was postmarked in one of the border
towns many days after the report of Juan Dicampa's death; yet the
writing on the envelope was the handwriting of the guerrilla chief.

"Goodness me!" gasped Janice, "what can this mean?"

She broke the seal. As usual the envelope inside was addressed to her
by her father. And as she hastily scanned the letter she saw no
mention made of Juan Dicampa's death. Indeed, Mr. Broxton Day wrote
just as though his own situation, at least, had not changed. And he
seemed to have received most of her letters.

What did it mean? If the guerrilla leader had been shot by the
Federals, how was it possible for her father's letters to still come
along, redirected in Juan Di