“A typewritten letter wouldn’t be consistent at all,” said Jeff. “I am supposed to be writing from darkest Old Mexico. No typewriters there. Besides, I can’t write with the damn thing to do any good. Say, don’t take it away from me, Judge; there’s a good fellow. I want to master it. I do hate to be beaten.” “The elasticity with which you adjust yourself to changing conditions is beyond all praise,” said the Judge, smiling. “Like the other Judge, in the Bible, I yield to importunity. I can deny you nothing. Keep your typewriter, then, with the express understanding that its use as a deadly weapon is barred. Here’s the pen.” Chapter VIII “Alice’s Right Foot, Esq., Hearthrug, Near the Fender, (With Alice’s love).” * * * * * “O, there be many systems But only one that wins-- When leading from your strongest suit, Just kick your partner’s shins.” --_Hoyle._ Jeff pulled the paper over and began to scribble madly; pausing from time to time to glance around for inspiration: at the Judge, at Mac, at the papers, the books, the typewriter. “I’ll slip in a note for the kids,” said Jeff. His lips moved, his eyes kindled in his eager absorption; his face took on a softer and tenderer look. The Judge, watching him, beamed with almost paternal indulgence. On the whole Jeff wrote with amazing swiftness for a man who professed to be unaccustomed to lying. For this communication, apparently so spontaneous, dashed off by a man hardly yet clear of the shadow of death, was learned by rote, no syllable unpremeditated, the very blots of it designed. This is what he handed the Judge at last: SAN MIGUEL, Chihuahua, March 24. _My dear Wife_: Since I last wrote you I have been on a long trip into the Yaqui country as guide, interpreter and friend to a timid tenderfoot--and all-round sharp from the Smithsonian. His main lay is Cliff-Dweller-ology, but he does other stunts--rocks and bugs and Indian languages, and early Spanish relics. I get big pay. I enclose you $100---- “A hundred dollars! Why, this is blackmail!” remonstrated the Judge, grinning nevertheless. “But,” said Jeff, “I’ve got to send it. She knows I wouldn’t stay away except for good big pay, and she knows I’ll send the big pay to her. I didn’t think you were a piker. Why, I had thirty dollars in my pocket. You won’t be out but seventy. And if you don’t send it she’ll know the letter is a fake. Besides, she needs the money.” “I surrender! I’ll send it,” said the Judge, and resumed his reading: ----and will send you more when I get back from next trip. Going way down in the Sierra Madre this time. Don’t know when we will hit civilization again, so you needn’t write till you hear from me.