“Then I must ask another favor of you,” she said. “I want ten men to go to work on the Sure Thing to-morrow.”
At my request, Harry promised to have the men at work by nine o’clock, and as I write this I can hear the blasts and see the white smoke puffing from the Sure Thing claim. Just now I see Harry and the “Silver Queen” coming down the trail. They are riding this way; Harry is holding a piece of rock in his left hand; they are talking about it, and they both look very happy. Aye, verily, the surprises are surprising; hope springs eternal.
Good-by,
Cy Warman.
XI.
Hoffman House,
New York, April 27, ’92.
My Dear Cy:—Your last letter is a daisy. I read it with all the interest of a novel.
What a magic camp Creede must be, after all! It was manly in those vigilantes who hustled Ketchum out of camp so unceremoniously to treat our little friend, Polly, to so generously and so delicately—but it is characteristic of the West.
She is a courageous and capable girl isn’t she?—her quickness of wit in jumping that Sure Thing claim shows it.
I’m glad you like her, and I knew you would, if you got to know the quick and courageous spirit that is in her. She didn’t waste a day crying over spilt milk when her pap busted and all the ease and luxuries and adulations that surround a rich man’s daughter vanished from about her like dew before the sun, but just jumped in and went to learning how to earn her own living and help take care of the family.