“He was my father's cousin,” said Mrs. Crittendon. “Was he, ma'am? Well, I declare! And there was my father, of course, and myself. I always wished I could meet some one who could tell me something about him.” “I have always heard it was a Rogers who brought the first news about the finding of gold in California,” said Mrs. Crittendon. “That must have been my father. I reckon now, you never saw him,” said the colonel with regret. “Not to remember him if I did.” “Well, of course not, you were too young. I wish I could recall more about him, for I've always thought that fight left things a sort of blank with me. I only remember what happened back of it by fits and starts. What I'd like to know, though, is how those folks in Ohio learned about the outfit and what come of it—or did they ever learn?” “Mr. Benson went West to find out. It's too bad I don't know more, but I've only heard the older people talk about it. Mr. Benson was the Landrays lawyer, and people say he was in love with Stephen Landray's wife.” “Did she marry him?” “No, she never married again, nor Mrs. Walsh either. She makes her home with Mrs. Landray mostly, though she's got a married daughter, Mrs. Norton.” “I wish you'd tell me something about the Landrays,” said Rogers. “Why, there is Mrs. Landray, and Stephen Landray, a young fellow just out of college,” said Reddy. “Whose son is he, Riley?” asked the colonel. “Why he's Mrs. Landray's nephew,” said Reddy. “Her grand-nephew,” corrected his mother. “He is Captain Landray's son.” “A soldier in the late war?” “Yes.” Rogers hit the table sharply with his open hand. “I swear then he's the man I met at Appomattox! You've seen him, ma'am, of course? What's become of him?” “He's dead; he died years ago out in Kansas.” “And only Mrs. Landray and his son's left?” “Yes, least I never heard of any others.” “Sort of makes me feel like the last leaf on the bough,” the colonel stroked his grey beard reflectively. “This all fits into what I can call up. You know after the Indian fight, I was taken in and brought up by old man Raymond—Tom's father, Riley—you ain't forgot Tom?” Reddy shook his head. Rogers chuckled. “It takes all my influence to keep 'em from running Tom out of the country; Tom'll happen along here some day, ma'am, and you'll wonder why any one's prejudiced against Tom.” The colonel's lady made as if to interrupt the conversation, but the colonel restrained her by a gesture. “I don't indorse Tom, but his father was a mighty good friend to me when friends were scarce, and that gives Tom a sort of hold; I've kind of made myself responsible for him. There never was a better man than old Ephriam Raymond, Mormon or no Mormon! He brought me up, and gave me my start in life; I ain't forgot that, and I reckon I'll put up with considerable of Tom's cussedness yet for his sake.”