"Nothin'. Skinny's just got a letter an' is excited about it," the Ramblin' Kid said, handing the envelope to him. "It's for you." "My Gawd!" Old Heck exclaimed, "it's a telegram!" The cowboys resting in the shade of the bunk-house rose to their feet, sauntered over and surrounded Old Heck and the Ramblin' Kid, commenting meanwhile, frankly and caustically, on the fagged condition of the broncho Skinny was on: "Must 'a' been scared, the way you run that horse," Parker, range foreman of the Quarter Circle KT, a heavy-built, sandy-complexioned man in the forties, remarked witheringly to Skinny as the cow-puncher climbed from the saddle and slid to the ground. "He's mine, I reckon," Skinny retorted, "an' I figure it's nobody's darn' business how I ride him--anyhow I brought Old Heck a telegram!" he added triumphantly. "Blamed if he didn't!" Charley Saunders, with a trifle of awe, pretended or real, in his tone, said. "It sure is!" "My Gawd!" Old Heck repeated, slowly turning the envelope over in his hand, "it's a telegram! Wonder what it's about?" "Why don't you open it and see?" Parker suggested. "Yes, open th' blamed thing and find out," Skinny encouraged. "I--I've a notion to," Old Heck whispered. "Go on and do it, it won't take but a minute," Charley Saunders entreated. "Maybe he's one of these mind-readers and can read it through the envelope," Bert Lilly volunteered. "Aw, shut up and give him a chance!" Trembling, Old Heck tore open the envelope and silently read the message. "My Gawd!" he groaned again. "The worst has come to the worst!" "That ought to make it middlin' bad," Charley remarked soberly. "Ought to," Bert added sententiously. Parker crowded forward on sympathy bent. "Tell us what's in it," he said; "if it's sorrowful we'll be plumb glad to condole!" "It's worse than sorrowful--" "Melancholical?" Skinny inquired. "My Gawd!" Old Heck said again, his weatherworn features working convulsively, "it's more than a mortal man can endure and stand!" "Bet somebody's dead!" Bert whispered to the Ramblin' Kid. "Probably. Most everybody gets to be sooner or later," was the answer without emotion. Sing Pete, Chinese cook for the outfit, dish-rag over his shoulder, edged out of the kitchen door and shuffled around to the group. Glimpsing the yellow slip of paper held in the shaking hand of Old Heck and the awed interest of the cowboys gathered about the boss, he queried: "Teleglam?" No answer. "Teleglam? Maybe alle samee somebody sickee?" he continued, cheerfully confident that questions enough would ultimately bring a reply. He was rewarded: "What do you know about 'teleglams'? You slant-eyed burner of beef-steaks!" "Who's it from?" Charley asked. "Anybody we know--" "My Gawd," Old Heck mourned once more, "she's comin'!" "Who's she?" Parker coaxed. "A female," Old Heck replied, "she's a female!"