Carson went to his hotel with a lighter heart than he had had for months. He lit a cigar and sat by the window, then felt for something in his pocket, and threw it in the wood-box. "There are other jug handles," he said to himself. He walked the streets aimlessly until supper. He retired early and tried to sleep, but his thoughts ran wild on the events of the day. He could think of no one except Annie. It was still early in the night, when he arose from a restless bed and went out on the streets. Lights blazed from the Lone Tree saloon, and as he entered he saw a crowd about the faro table. The sudden exclamations of many voices told that some one was winning heavily. He pressed forward through the crowd and saw the form of a woman. When she partially turned her face, he felt his heart give a great throb, and he fled into the street. The remainder of the night he walked through the crunching snow, while the silent stars seemed to gaze with tearful eyes upon him in this, the greatest misery he had ever known. He walked several miles out of town to avoid meeting anyone he knew and then presented himself at the Amos residence. "I believe it is seven o'clock, Miss Annie," he said, when she answered his call. "Yes, and I am ready," was the cheerful answer. XXII. A VOICE FROM CENTURIES PAST. Buchan was ready to throw the lever of his engine and roll out of Tucson, when a messenger handed him a packet bearing the postmark of Peru. The missive showed signs of age, and, having traveled much, had reached its destination at last. He tossed it into his tool box and an hour later when speeding over the scorched deserts of Arizona, he opened the packet. The letter was dated at Truxillo and read: "Dear Don Juan--I have been ill for many months, and I feel that my end is drawing nigh, but before I go I want to do something for you. I have heard how Don Rodrigo so justly met his end, and with this knowledge I die easier. You are young and strong, with a long life of usefulness ahead, and I feel that in entrusting to you a family secret, I am only doing that which I would have done had Felicita lived. She was the last of our house and the heritage of our family belonged to her. As it is, I make you my heir to the valuable papers handed down to me from my ancestors. May they prove to you a blessing. Would that I had more to give you. May the blessings of the Virgin ever rest upon you. "Julian." Accompanying the letter was a parchment scroll, dated Lima, 1752. It read: