There had been no sign of life about the place since the day of Jim’s death, hence I was not surprised to find the cabin empty. Not a trace of the dead man’s wife or child could be found! Nor were they ever heard of again. Whether the poor little woman had witnessed the disaster that made her a widow, and the raging Tuolumne had received the sorrowing, despairing mother and her innocent child, we never knew. I have always entertained a vague hope that Jim had already conveyed them to a place of safety when he met his death. As our party was searching the cabin for clews to the disappearance of Jim’s family, Big Brown found upon a shelf in the little cupboard where Toppy’s rather primitive supply of dishes was kept, a letter, carefully sealed, and addressed to me. He handed me the letter, and I fancied his voice trembled a little as he said-- “Well, Doc, Jim never forgot his fren’s. I don’t know what Toppy’ll say when he gits back ter town.” “Poor Toppy,” I said, “It will grieve him sorely, when he learns that the gallant Jim is gone forever.” The burly miner watched me curiously as I opened and read the letter. The expression of my face as I read must have startled him, for he grasped me by the arm and exclaimed, “What’s the matter, Doc; air y’u sick?” I handed him the letter and staggered to a chair. Big Brown laboriously read the letter through to the end; When he came to the signature he put his huge hand gently on my shoulder and said: “Doc, ye needn’t be ashamed uv relations like him, even if he was a gambler. Who was he, anyhow?” And I was not ashamed as I answered-- “My brother--little Jim.” TOMMY THE OUTCAST “Hello, Fido!” “I beg pardon, sir; did you speak to me?” “Why, don’t you know me, Fido?” “Great heavens! Tommy Baker, as I’m alive! Why, what on earth--?” “I don’t wonder that you are surprised, Fido, old boy--for I’m not the same Thomas Baker as of yore. Four years away from the old farm have wrought great changes in me. Four years of life in a large city, with its ups and downs, its luxuries and its hardships, are enough to demoralize anybody. And still, you look sleek and comfortable enough.” “Oh, thank you, Tommy,” replied Fido, “I am doing tolerably well, that’s a fact. You see, I’m living with Mrs. Geeswillem--she’s the wife of old Geeswillem the brewer, you know, who bought me just after you ran away from home. I’ve got a mighty soft job, and don’t you forget it. I have only one complaint to make, and that is that my mistress insists on making me wear this measly red blanket, and this stiff collar with its confounded bells. Then, too, I have to ride out with her every pleasant afternoon, and she stuffs me with _bon bons_ and such truck until I feel like a corner in sugar stock. Why, Tommy, old chap--do--you--know--I haven’t even _smelled_ a rat since I took my present place!”