“You see, about six months after this yer trouble I got this letter.” He picked out a well worn, badly written missive, and put it into Colonel Starbottle's hands, rising at the same time and leaning over him as he read. “You see, she that writ it says as how she hadn't heard from her son for a long time, but owing to his having spoken once about ME, she was emboldened to write and ask me if I knew what had gone of him.” He was pointing his finger at each line of the letter as he read it, or rather seemed to translate it from memory with a sad familiarity. “Now,” he continued in parenthesis, “you see this kind o' got me. I knew he had got relatives in Kentucky. I knew that all this trouble had been put in the paper with his name and mine, but this here name of Martha Jeffcourt at the bottom didn't seem to jibe with it. Then I remembered that he had left a lot of letters in his trunk in the shanty, and I looked 'em over. And I found that his name WAS Tom Jeffcourt, and that he'd been passin' under the name of Frisbee all this time.” “Perfectly natural and a frequent occurrence,” interposed the Colonel cheerfully. “Only last year I met an old friend whom we'll call Stidger, of New Orleans, at the Union Club, 'Frisco. 'How are you, Stidger?' I said; 'I haven't seen you since we used to meet--driving over the Shell Road in '53.' 'Excuse me, sir,' said he, 'my name is not Stidger, it's Brown.' I looked him in the eye, sir, and saw him quiver. 'Then I must apologize to Stidger,' I said, 'for supposing him capable of changing his name.' He came to me an hour after, all in a tremble. 'For God's sake, Star,' he said,--always called me Star,--'don't go back on me, but you know family affairs--another woman, beautiful creature,' etc., etc.,--yes, sir, perfectly common, but a blank mistake. When a man once funks his own name he'll turn tail on anything. Sorry for this man, Friezecoat, or Turncoat, or whatever's his d----d name; but it's so.” The suggestion did not, however, seem to raise the stranger's spirits or alter his manner. “His name was Jeffcourt, and this here was his mother,” he went on drearily; “and you see here she says”--pointing to the letter again--“she's been expecting money from him and it don't come, and she's mighty hard up. And that gave me an idea. I don't know,” he went on, regarding the Colonel with gloomy doubt, “as you'll think it was much; I don't know as you wouldn't call it a d----d fool idea, but I got it all the same.” He stopped, hesitated, and went on. “You see this man, Frisbee or Jeffcourt, was my pardner. We were good friends up to the killing, and then he drove me hard. I think I told you he drove me hard,--didn't I? Well, he did. But the idea I got was this. Considerin' I killed him after all, and so to speak disappointed them, I reckoned I'd take upon myself the care of that family and send 'em money every month.”