I knew him well enough. He was in jail, convicted of forgery last week, waiting to go to the penitentiary for five years. And even this wild border community that hated law courts and punishments had not been sorry, for he had cheated his friends too often, and the wide charity of the sage-brush does not cover that sin. Beneath his pretty looks and daring skill with horses they had found vanity and a cold, false heart; but his sister could not. Here she was, come to find him after lonely years, and to this one soul that loved him in the world how was I to tell the desolation and the disgrace? I was glad to hear her ask me if the stage went soon after supper. “Now isn't that a bother?” said she, when I answered that it did not start till morning. She glanced with rueful gayety at the hotel. “Never mind,” she continued, briskly; “I'm used to things. I'll just sit up somewhere. Maybe the agent will let me stay in the office. You're sure all that shooting's only jollification?” “Certain,” I said. “But I'll go and see.” “They always will have their fun,” said she. “But I hate to have a poor boy get hurt--even him deserving it!” “They use pistols instead of fire-crackers,” said I. “But you must never sleep in that office. I'll see what we can do.” “Why, you're real kind!” she exclaimed, heartily. And I departed, wondering what I ought to do. Perhaps I should have told you before that Separ was a place once--a sort of place; but you will relish now, I am convinced, the pithy fable of its name.