"Mr. Struthers, here's a telegram for you." A messenger boy handed him a telegram.
"Read that fir me, jidge, will yer?" And he handed the telegram to the justice of the peace.
"Mr. Struthers, it is an offer from Col. Allston, of San Francisco. He says: 'I will give you three hundred thousand dollars and one quarter share for your Red Gulch mine. Answer. Pay in cash.' That's all, sir, only the news has been on the street for half an hour!"
"Wal, I declare that's prime news! Let's take a drink, boys. Squire, you jist answer that tillygram, will yer? Tell Kurnel Allston I'll take the offer, and he may send the cash yere. Say, boys, thet's gud news, but I must tell my neese!"
"Mr. Struthers, before you go will you tell us about your niece?"
"Sartlingly! Yer see boys, abeout fifteen years agone my sister died an' left har leetle one—Nannie was her name—left her with a widder woman in 'Fresco. I war away in Nevady; hed only been gone three months. The young un war only nine y'ars old, an' when I got thet news I war struck dumb. Yer see, my sister hed heart disease. I started with my pack mule fir 'Fresco, but whin I 'rived thar the young un and the widder war gone. I hearn she hed gone to Brazzel with her husband, a man named Rafferty, a sirkus performer, so I waited. Abeout thet time I was takin sick with small-pox, and whin I got well I could not get no news on thet young un, so I gave up thar trial. Abeout one month ago I war at Red Gulch Canyon, er staking off my 'find,' whin Jim Parkins, my ole pard, wrote me from San Yosea thet my leetle un war with this yere sirkus, and thet her name was Nannie Florenstein. So I got on thar trail, found this yere Rafferty hed her as his'n—or raether his darter—got $200 a week fir her an' gave her nuthing, so I lit on him yere to-day, drapped on him foul, and ther war wolf meat in the air. But he crawled, an' now I'm going ter send him ter prison. I think he can do more good breakin' stuns than performing on cannons—eh?"
The crowd—it was a crowd by the time he had finished—gave the old man three rousing cheers and he escaped from them, hastening to Nannie's room to find her wonderfully improved and able to sit up.
* * * * *
The circus left Shadowville without "Miss Nannie Florenstein," and to-day she has returned from a village church a blooming bride, "Frank Grace, the celebrated bareback rider," being her happy husband.
Old Ned occupies a seat in their carriage.