For several weeks after my return I waited and wondered what had become of Anderson. He had failed to turn up at the appointed place, at the appointed time, and he had even neglected to write me. I had just about given him up for dead when one day I received a letter from him informing me why he had not shown up on January 5th in Palo Alto, and also explaining why he had not written or wired me as agreed. It thoroughly vindicated him. There seemed to be some "hoodoo" about his existence for having unusual things happen to him, and as a consequence he was always doing the unexpected. His letter read: Pueblo, Colo. MY DEAR JACK: As I commence this letter, old man, I feel very much like a prisoner with an excellent case of circumstantial evidence against him, striving to vindicate himself, and at the same time knowing the task to be an extremely difficult one. Now, you have doubtless wondered why I didn't live up to the mutual agreement, didn't let you know immediately of anything which turned up to prevent me from doing so, and, strangest of all, why I haven't written you long before this. Now, Jack, I am going to try to explain, although it is a mighty hard thing to do on paper, but before I begin, I want to remind you that while you and I have peddled a goodly portion of the warm oxygen together, that I have always been "on the square" with you, as I trust you have with me: so don't think that I've taken this from one of last century's novels, for every word of it is gospel truth, so help me God! I will begin with the minor things leading up to the climax and grand finale, so that you can more fully comprehend it. You see, old man, I went back to Dakota with the purpose of earning money and saving it. I surely earned it with the sweat of my brow, as the "Good Book" says, but it was the old, old story. It slipped through my fingers. Well, I went from Arlington to Huron. Work then was beginning to get rather scarce, but I went to a boarding place, and by a straightforward story secured board in advance. Then, for a time, I managed to get just about enough work to liquidate my weekly board bills. Finally the thing petered out about altogether, but I was given credit for a week. During that week of hanging around I waxed loquacious, and revealed a little of my past history. That made it good for another week. Then I told them that I expected money from home, which I did. I then wrote for twenty-five dollars, which I received in company with a lengthy sermon, and paid fifteen dollars out for board, leaving me with a miserable little ten dollar bill.