Asher paused and looked at Virginia. His own happiness made his voice tremble as he went on.
“He has a brother Tank. I suppose his real name is Thaddeus, or Tantalus, or something like it; I never knew, and I never liked him well enough to ask. Tank was a black-eyed little runt whom none of the boys liked, a grasping cuss, younger than Jim, and as selfish as Jim is kind.
“Just before I came West to scout the Indians off the map, Jim came back to school one time so unlike himself that I made him tell me what was the matter. It was Tank, he said, who was making trouble for him up in the Leigh neighborhood, and he was so grieved and unhappy, I wouldn’t ask any more about it. I left for the West soon after that. When I went back to Cloverdale, Tank Shirley had married Alice Leigh and her mother’s farm, and Jim had left the country. I ran on to him by accident up at Carey’s Crossing when I came West again, but I’ve never heard him say a word about the matter, and, of course, I don’t mention it, although I believe it would do Jim good 50 if he could bring himself to tell me about it. He’s never been quite the same since. He has a little tendency to lung trouble, which the plains air is taking out of him, but he’s had a bad attack of pneumonia, and it’s an old enemy of his, as it always is to a man of his physique. He’s a good worker, but lacks judgment to make his work count. Doesn’t really seem to have much to work for. But he’s a friend to the last ditch. Just hear the rain!”
“It seems to be knocking against the door again,” Virginia said, “and how the wind does howl! Poor Jim!”
“Listen to that! Sounds like something loose against the window. There’s something out there.” Asher started up with the words.
Something white had seemed to splash up against the window and drop back again. It splashed up a second time, and fell again. Asher hurried to the door, and as he opened it, Pilot, the big white-throated dog from the Shirley claim, came bounding in, so wet and shaggy he seemed to bring all the storm in with him.
“Why, Pilot, what’s the news?” Asher asked. “Jim’s sent him, Virgie. He’s done this trick often.”
Pilot slipped to the warm stove and shook a whole shower out of his long, wet hair, while Asher carefully untied a little leather bag fastened to the collar under the dog’s throat.
“You brave fellow. You’ve come all the way in the rain to bring me this.”
He held up a little metal box from which he took a bit of paper. Bending close to the lamp, he read the message it contained.