The old man was almost overcome with emotion and the girl whom he had trotted on his knee as a baby, kissed him tenderly on his wrinkled leathery cheek. “Dear Uncle Tex,” she said. “I’m sorry we worried you all so much. We won’t take chances again. Honest Injun;” and then in a higher tone, she added, “We’re powerful hungry. Have you something nice for us?” “That I have Miss Virginia dearie, an’ ah’ll open up a can of the preserved strawberries yo’ all like so much.” The young people did justice to the good meal, and, when the last delicious strawberry had been eaten Virginia sprang up, quite her old self again as she said, “Now brother Malcolm, let’s open the mail bag.” They went into the living-room and the young giant of a lad unbuckled the cover of the pouch and shook the letters and papers out on the library table. Margaret pounced upon one addressed in Bab’s familiar scrawl. Although Virginia received several letters from girl friends who were away at school, there was not a line from Tom. She was surprised to realize how truly disappointed she was, and, not feeling in a mood to read chattery letters from girl friends just then, she picked up one of the papers, and, sitting on the sunny window seat she idly glanced it over. Margaret was about to read the letter from Babs, when an excited exclamation from her friend sent her hurrying to her side as she inquired. “What is it, Virg? What have you found in the paper?” For answer the western girl sprang up and seizing the astonished Margaret, she whirled her about as she exclaimed gaily. “I knew it. I knew it all the time.” “Knew what?” asked the mystified Megsy. For answer Virginia drew her friend down on the window seat and then read aloud an astonishing bit of news. “WANTED, ONE TOM WENTWORTH.” “When I read that heading I was sure at once that it referred to our Tom,” Virg said. “And does it?” Megsy asked eagerly. “Read along and decide for yourself,” her friend replied and so Margaret bent her head over the sheet and read aloud: “To all whom it may concern, and to the young man calling himself Tom Wentworth in particular, this article is addressed: Be it known that a Mexican, Miguel Lopez, on his death-bed confessed to having been guilty of a crime, the circumstantial evidence of which he cleverly turned upon an innocent bystander who has ever since (being unable to prove his innocence) been a fugitive from justice. Tom Wentworth, a young man of about eighteen is tall, slim, with wavy light brown hair and blue-grey eyes. “When last heard of he was hiding in The Seven Peak Range just across the Mexican border in Arizona. Anyone reading this article who has knowledge of the whereabouts of the young man in question, will confer a favor upon the state authorities of Texas if he or she will inform the same that he is no longer held guilty of the crime which was unjustly attributed to him.” “There!” Virginia exclaimed. “Now what do you think of that?”