discreet to open it before witnesses, but in the solitude of the
trail home broke the seal. It contained another letter with no
address--clearly the one SHE expected--and, more marvelous still, a
sheaf of trout-hooks, with delicate gut-snells such as Leonidas had
only dared to dream of. The letter to himself was written in a clear,
distinct hand, and ran as follows:--


DEAR LEE,--How are you getting on on old Casket Ridge? It seems a coon's
age since you and me was together, and times I get to think I must just
run up and see you! We're having bully times in 'Frisco, you bet! though
there ain't anything wild worth shucks to go to see--'cept the sea
lions at the Cliff House. They're just stunning--big as a grizzly, and
bigger--climbing over a big rock or swimming in the sea like an otter or
muskrat. I'm sending you some snells and hooks, such as you can't get at
Casket. Use the fine ones for pot-holes and the bigger ones for running
water or falls. Let me know when you've got 'em. Write to Lock Box No.
1290. That's where dad's letters come. So no more at present.

From yours truly,

JIM BELCHER.


Not only did Leonidas know that this was not from the real Jim, but he
felt the vague contact of a new, charming, and original personality
that fascinated him. Of course, it was only natural that one of HER
friends--as he must be--should be equally delightful. There was no
jealousy in Leonidas's devotion; he knew only a joy in this fellowship
of admiration for her which he was satisfied that the other boy must