that she wanted me to know she was sorry she had done
wrong. The doctor had told her she would get well, so she was going to
be an honest woman if I would help her. And what do you suppose she
wanted me to do?"

"Lend her some money, most likely," said Keeler.

"No, sir. She didn't want any money. Said she wanted to write to me
every Sunday, and to see me whenever I came to San Francisco. Of course,
I agreed, though I told her I don't go down to the city once a year, as
a usual thing. I told her if she thought she needed me to write and I
would try to get down. That seemed to satisfy her.

"Well, she has written to me every week since then. By the first of June
she was able to work. And since then she has earned an honest living,
scrubbing floors. Here is her last letter."

Keeler took the proffered sheet and read:

"San Francisco, Sept. 5, 1879.
Mr. Robert Palmer.

Dear Sir:

I have just read about the murder of Mr. Cummins. The papers say he
lived at Moore's Flat, and worked a claim once on Fillmore Hill. So
he must have been a friend of yours. It is too bad. I might help
you find the murderers, as all the bad men of Nevada County are
known down here. If you will come down here or send somebody, I
will help you all I can.

I am getting along all right.

Very respectfully,
Harriet Somers."

"I thought you said her name was Chesney," remarked Keeler, as he
returned the letter.

"Oh well, she claims to have been married to two or three different men.
Calling herself Mrs. Somers seems to help her keep her self-respect. She
says Somers is dead. For my part, I never enquired whether there ever
was a sure-enough Mr. Somers or not. But I am sure she can help us in
this business. I wish you would have a talk with the woman."

"There is no harm in that. I'll do it. And if I can find anything to go
on, I'll undertake to follow up those fellows. Perhaps I can find out
something at Nevada City. I reckon I'll have to let you look out for
Mrs. Keeler and the boy, as you say."

"I'm mighty glad to hear you say that. And I'll make out a check right
now. Smith, the livery man at Eureka South, will cash it; and you can
take the stage out to-morrow morning."

"All right. I reckon we'd better not lose any time."

Palmer had already got out pen and ink. It was something of a "chore"
for the old man to draw a check. Miners' paralysis was creeping on, and
two ye