The following telegram was put on the wires immediately for the San Francisco papers.
“James Slack, widely known as the ‘Bad man from Bodie,’ was killed in a pistol fight tonight by Edward Clancy. The killing was justifiable. Slack has relatives in San Francisco.”
About noon on the following day a message was received by the postmaster of Lundy reading:
“San Francisco, California, July 15.
“Please take care of James Slack’s body till my arrival. I come on first train.
Signed, His Mother.”
Four days later, the lumbering stage coach drew up in front of the hotel, and a little, old lady alighted. She was modestly attired and possessed a sweet, gentle face.
“I am Mrs. Slack, the mother of James Slack, the man who was killed a few days ago. Where will I find his remains?”
Every hat was doffed as the old lady passed out into the back room where laid all there was of James Slack.
There were no tears in her eyes as she stooped down and kissed the dead man on the forehead.
“My poor little Jimmie,” she murmured, “my poor little Jimmie.”
It was decided to bury the remains at Lundy and a grave had already been dug for that purpose, over which some heartless fellow had placed a head board, bearing the following inscription: