aby, Willard's wife soon died, a victim of his
cynicism and studied cruelty. The future of this helpless stepdaughter
of my brother's became a matter of the most intimate concern to me. My
brother was mercenary to a marked degree. I had become successful in my
inventions of mining machinery. I was fast making a fortune. Willard
called upon me frequently for loans, which I never refused. In fact, I
had voluntarily advanced him thousands of dollars, from which I expected
no return. A mere brotherly feeling of gratitude would have been
sufficient repayment for me. But such a feeling my brother never had.
His only object was to get as much out of me as he could, and to sneer
at me, in his high-bred way, while making a victim of me.

"His success in getting money from me led him into deep waters. He
victimized others, who threatened prosecution. Realizing that matters
could not go on as they were going, I told my brother that I would take
up the claims against him and give him one hundred thousand dollars, on
certain conditions. Those conditions were that he was to renounce all
claim to his little stepdaughter, and that I was to have sole care of
her. He was to go to some distant part of the country and change his
name and let the world forget that such a creature as Willard Sargent
ever existed.

"My brother was forced to agree to the terms laid down. The university
trustees were threatening him with expulsion. He resigned and came out
here. He married an Indian woman, and, as I understand it, killed her by
the same cold-hearted, deliberately cruel treatment that had brought
about the death of his first wife.

"Meantime Willard's stepdaughter, who was none other than Helen, was
brought up by a lifelong friend of mine, Miss Scovill, at her school for
girls in California. The loving care that she was given can best be told
by Helen. I did not wish the girl to know that she was dependent upon
her uncle for support. In fact, I did not want her to learn anything
which might lead to inquiries into her babyhood, and which would only
bring her sorrow when she learned of her mother's fate. My brother,
always clever in his rascalities, learned that Helen knew nothing of my
existence. He sent her a letter, when Miss Scovill was away, telling
Helen that he had been crippling himself financially to keep her in
school, and now he needed her at this ranch. Before Miss Scovill had
returned, Helen, acting on the impulse of the moment, had