Bud had got his hand on the door, but getting no answer to this very direct and to him very important question, he turned and scrutinized the face of the big man curiously at first and then with amazement, as he exclaimed: "Fer the love of Mike! He ain’t heard me. Say, Mr. Hampstead! Say!" Bud went back and shook the big man’s arm, with a look of apprehension on his face, and shouted very loud, as if to the deaf: "Say! Come out of it, will y’? Don’t write. Telegraph her. Gosh! She might blame me!" After which parting gun in behalf of duty and of prudence, with a sigh and the air of having done a man’s best, the lad got hastily through the door and slammed it after him very loudly. *CHAPTER XV* *THE CATASTROPHE* Bud was right. John had not heard him. He stood with the telegram torn open in his hand. "Charles fell from El Capitan," it ran. "Body brought here. ROSE." For a moment the man gazed fixedly, deliberately but absently crushing the envelope in one hand, while the other held the open message before him. Then his lips moved slowly and without uttering a sound, they framed the words of his thought: "Charles!—Dead!—Merciful God!" For a reflective interval the gray, startled eyes set themselves on distance and then turned again to the message. It was dated April 4. April 4? What day was this? On the dresser was an unopened newspaper. John remembered now he had bought it yesterday, or rather he assumed it was yesterday. The date upon the paper was April 14. If it were yesterday he bought that paper, to-day was the 15th, and Charles had been dead eleven days! What had they thought—what had they done without a word from him in this crisis? What had become of them? And there were unopened letters on the dresser, three of them, all from Rose. John tore them open, lapping up their contents with his eyes. "Poor, poor Rose!" he groaned. "What must she think of me?" The first letter told of the death of Charles and the lucky sale of "Dawn in the Grand Canyon" which afforded money for the recovery of the body and its decent interment, but little more. The second letter was briefer and expressed surprise at not hearing from him in response to her message, which the telegraph company assured her had been delivered to him in person. This letter showed Rose bearing up under her grief and stoutly making plans for taking up the support of her children. The third letter was addressed by the hand of Rose, but the brief note enclosed was penned by the kind-hearted Doctor Morrison, the railroad’s "company" physician, to whom, as a part of his outside practice, Rose would have applied in case of illness. "Your sister," Doctor Morrison wrote, "has suffered a complete nervous breakdown. Long rest with complete relief from financial care is imperative."