show him her letter--what do you say?"

"I reckon it wouldn't hurt," Bill conceded.

"How'd you like it, Wilfred? We can't produce our little gal to
keep you company, but her letter would sort of be like hearing her
talk, wouldn't it? And if you stay with us a spell, we'll let you
read 'em as they come."

Wilfred perceived that Willock was anxious to get his mind off the
harrowing adventure of the crevice, and as he was eager to hear the
letter, and as Brick and Bill were anxious to hear it again, nothing
more was said about the "big Injun."

"Who'll read it?" asked Bill, as he drew the precious letter from
the strong box behind the stove.

"Let Wilfred do the deed," Willock suggested. "It travels slow in
my company, and though Bill reads 'er correct, he does considerable
droning. I expect if Wilfred reads it with unction, it'll sound
like a new document."

Wilfred drew the only stool in the room up beside the lantern, and
Bill and Brick disposed themselves on the bench, each holding his
pipe on his knee as if fearful of losing a word. Red Feather, his
beady eyes fastened on the young man's face, sat gracefully erect,
apparently alert to all that was going on. The lantern reddened the
strong clean-cut face of the young man, and touched the upturned
pages to the whiteness of snow. A sudden wind had sprung up, and
the flaring blaze from the open stove-door touched to vivid