“She will take me back, for well I know her kind heart, and when I have finished my education, if you, my sweet cousin, will allow me, I will come to you, still known as Nina de Sutro--your name, which, as my guardian, you gave to me, for I wish not to have the world know of my unhappy wedded life and the sorrow I have brought upon myself. “As for the man who was my husband, I will not care what his fate may be, nor will I breathe his name even to you or the Mother Superior, for my past of misfortune, my dream of bliss that ended almost in despair, shall be as a sealed book.” The letter was addressed to an officer of the United States Army, who was stationed at a frontier post of the Northwest. And back to the convent went the unhappy girl, made her confession, was forgiven and received as before, for the good Mother Felicite, the superioress, loved her as her own child, and wept bitter tears of regret when, two years after, she finished her school-days and went to join her guardian and his wife in the United States. CHAPTER III. SILK LASSO SAM, THE OUTLAW. The coach on a branch of the Overland Stage Trail, with its terminus at Pioneer Post, was upon its way to its destination, with an extra hand known as Ribbons upon the box, Horseshoe Ned, the regular driver, being laid up for a short while. It had reached a part of the trail where there was a steep and rugged descent to the bed of a swiftly flowing stream known as Deep Dell Brook, and Ribbons had brought the team of six horses to a halt for a short rest and a cooling draft of water. There was a steep ascent upon the other side of the brook, with rocky cliffs some thirty feet in height upon either side for a few hundred yards. Ribbons, the driver, was a good hand with the reins, a bold fellow, and one who did not shrink from driving the Overland trails no matter what the danger might be. He was seated upon his box with the air of one who felt that a few hours more would give him rest, when suddenly a man rode down into the trail ahead of him, and two faces peered over the rocky cliff, their eyes glancing along the barrels of their rifles. “Hands up, Ribbons, or take the consequences,” said the horseman riding toward the stage, and at the same time the men on the cliff covered the driver with their rifles. “Pilgrims, we is in fer it!” cried Ribbons, turning to the window of the coach; and a voice quickly answered: “Road-agents, eh? Well, I fight.” With this, the speaker leveled his revolver at one of the men on the cliff, and pulled trigger. The man leaped to his feet, and, tottering, fell into the road below, while his companion on the other cliff fired a shot into the coach. At the same moment the horseman shouted: “Ha! that is your game, is it, Ribbons?” With his words, he pulled trigger, and the driver sank back dead on his seat.