"I’ve thought of that often, myself," exclaimed Phil, a sudden light shining in his eyes. "This is a message, a call for help. It comes out of nowhere, so to speak, out of a hidden stone castle or prison, and in some way it reaches me, for whom it was intended. It seems to me that the chances were a million to one against its coming, but it came. It came! That’s the wonderful, the unforgettable thing! It’s an omen, Bill, an omen and a sign. If this little paper with the few words on it came to me through stone walls and over thousands of miles, well, I can go back with it to the one who sent it!" His face was transfigured, and for the time absolute confidence shone in his eyes. Bill Breakstone, a man of sympathetic heart, caught the enthusiasm. "We’ll find him, Phil! We’ll find him," he exclaimed. Philip Bedford, so long silent about this which lay nearest to his heart, felt that a torrent of words was rushing to his lips. "I can’t tell you, Bill," he said, "how I felt when that letter was handed to me. Jim Harrington, a farmer who knew us, brought it over from Frankfort. He was on his horse when he met me coming down the street, and he leaned over and handed it to me. Of course he had read it, as it wasn’t in an envelope, and he sat there on his horse looking at me, while I read it, although I didn’t know that until afterward. "Bill, I was so glad I couldn’t speak for awhile. We hadn’t heard from John in two or three years, and we were all sure that he was dead. After I read the letter through, I just stood there, holding it out in my hand and looking at it. Then I remember coming back to earth, when Jim Harrington leaned over to me from his saddle and said: ’Phil, is it genuine?’ "’It’s real,’ I replied, ’I’d know his handwriting anywhere in the world.’ "’What are you going to do, Phil?’ he asked. "’I’m going to start for Mexico to-morrow,’ I said. "’It’s a powerful risky undertaking,’ he said. "’I’m going to start for Mexico to-morrow,’ I said again. "Then from his height on the horse he put his hand on my head for a moment and said: ’I knew you’d go, Phil. I know the breed. I was in the War of 1812 with your father, when we were boys together. You’re only a boy yourself, but you go to Mexico, and I believe you’ll find John.’ "So you see, Bill, even at the very start there was one who believed that I would succeed." "The signs do point that way," admitted Bill Breakstone. "Every fact is against you, but feeling isn’t. I’ve lived long enough, Phil, to know that the impossible happens sometimes, particularly when a fellow is striving all his might and main to make it happen. What kind of a fellow was this brother of yours, Phil?"