“Looks like I ought to know that there handwriting,” he meditated, scratching one ear reflectively. “Now, who in time is it makes them kind of tails to the—? Hm-mm. El Capitan,” he squinted at the postmark. “Huh—El Capitan. Well, I don’t know as—” “Why don’t you open it?” suggested Hilda, and Crosby winked at her and added: “Yes, rip ’er up and have a look at the inside.” Without further ado, Hank inserted his thumb and “ripped her up.” Carefully he drew forth and unfolded a soiled, dog-eared sheet of paper and stood studying it for some moments in silence, Hilda watching, Slew shifting from one foot to the other. Gradually the manager’s face changed, losing its anxious lines, taking on a half-surprised, half-incredulous expression. He looked out again over the green levels. “Lord! Lord!” he whispered. “Why, this almost scares me.” “What, Uncle Hank? What?” demanded Hilda, and the patient Crosby thanked her with a glance. “All right, Pettie. Ye see, Slew, this here’s from my old pardner, Tracey Jacox, that I used to run cattle with down yonder on the Pecos. He—Trace, he’s had some difficulty there at Capitan. He’s wrote for me to come and get his bunch of cattle and keep ’em—that is, till he—” “Till he gets out,” supplied Crosby, with prompt intelligence. “Well, yes—till he gets out,” assented the other mildly. Crosby’s eyes followed Pearsall’s across the tremendous sweep of green pastures. He knew well what was in the manager’s mind. “Comes in mighty good. I brought you something worth while this time, didn’t I? Well, so long! I got to pull my freight.” He walked away down the long line of box elders to his patient mules. Left behind, the old man stood murmuring over and over: “Twen-ty—sev-en—hun-dred—cat-tle! Twen-ty—sev-en—hun-dred! Why, Pettie, it looks like a hand stretched right down to a drowning man. For, as sure as my name’s Pearsall, I didn’t know whichaway to turn this spring.” “And we’re to keep the cattle how long, Uncle Hank?” The old man took out the penciled scrawl, and she read with him: El Capitan, Sandoval Co., Texas, March 28, 18—. Mr. dere Hank Pearsall, Ime in a little trubble and I write to know if you are thare at the Sorers if so would like to have you come imedietly and git my bunch of catel. Ime in a little trubble. he was a poplar man and the jury was pretty strong for hanging but my lawyer was a good one and I will be glad if you can come imedietly. Thare is 2700 of the catel most all grade Herefords and you can keep them on the Sorers thare till I get out that will be four years and I know Hank you will do right by me. my lawyer is pade and I want to see the catel in your Hands before I go and I will be glad to see you imedietly the sooner the better. Your old pardner, Tracey Jacox.