On the strength of this promise Norton Bixby told his story. It is too long to repeat here, but in substance was as follows:―― After leaving the New York penitentiary he had gone West, and there fallen in with my father, and with him gone to South Dakota, getting my parent to pay the expenses. My father had really fallen over a ravine, and lay at the bottom dead. Bixby had run from the spot in horror, and had never gone near the corpse again. When he got back to Chicago he noticed my uncle’s arrival at one of the hotels through the newspapers, and he at once called upon him. Then came a letter from Yates, asking him to take a hand in the Bayport robbery; and knowing that Bayport was close to Bend Center, he had concocted the scheme to appear upon the scene as my uncle and guardian. There was not much to be gained by it; but the idea had fascinated him, and he had carried it out as is known. “I was sure Enos had no intention of coming here,” he finished; “but I was mistaken.” “It is funny I didn’t get any word from my father during the time you were with him.” “He said he wasn’t going to write until he had good news. He was afraid of disheartening you.” “And you never went back to bury him?” I went on, with a quiver in my voice. “No, I couldn’t. When he went over, he let out a scream that seemed to freeze the very marrow in my bones. For a moment I couldn’t move. At last I looked over the edge of the rocks, and I saw he was all crushed and bruised.” “But he must have been alive.” “Not much. That fall was all of a hundred feet and on the bare rocks. I would have gone down; but it was such a lonely spot I got frightened, and simply ran away as hard as I could. That’s the plain truth.” And Norton Bixby wiped the cold perspiration from his forehead. I looked the man in the eyes, and could not help believe that in this particular the fellow spoke the truth. But in my heart how I wished he had returned and made sure that my father was really dead! There might have been a spark of life remaining, and if so, prompt treatment might have given him back to me. I bowed my head, and the tears began to well up in my eyes. Norton Bixby saw them, and turned away his head. Then the jailer appeared. “A man up-stairs wants to see you at once,” he said to me. “Who is it?” I asked, drying my eyes. “Didn’t give any name, sir.” I went up to the court room. The man who wished to see me was standing near the door. I gave one look, paused to make sure that I was not dreaming, and then rushed forward and threw myself into his arms. [Illustration] The new-comer was my father. “Father!” It was the only word I could utter; but how much it told! “Reuben!” he replied. “I thought you were dead,” I went on, after a long embrace. “Norton Bixby said so.” “I have been very near to death,” my father answered. “You have heard how I fell from the top of a ravine to the bottom?” “Yes; Bixby just told the story.”