He took out the picture and found himself smiling into the eyes that smiled up into his. He knew intuitively that it was Slim's sister, yet the resemblance was the faintest, and there was not a trace of his meanness in her look.
He had been right in his conjecture, Slim was "the runt of something good." There was no mistaking the refinement and good breeding in the girl's sweet face.
Slim had known better, yet nearly always he had talked in the language of the uneducated Westerner, in the jargon of yeggmen, and the vernacular of the professional tramps with whom he had hoboed over the West--a "gay cat," as he was pleased to call himself, when boasting of the "toughness" of his life. He had affected uncleanliness, uncouthness; but in spite of his efforts the glimmer of the "something good" of which he was the runt had shown through.
Slim had had specific knowledge of a world which Bruce knew only by hearsay; and when it had suited his purpose, as when Bruce had first met him in Meadows, he had talked correctly, even brilliantly, and he had had an undeniable charm of manner for men and women alike. But, once well started down the river, he had thrown off all restraint, ignoring completely the silent code which exists between partners in the hills.
Such fellows were well named "black sheep," Bruce thought, as he looked at the picture.
A letter had been wrapped around the photograph, with an address and a date line twelve years old. The letter read: DEAR BROTHER: We have just heard that you were working in a mine down there and so I thought I would write and tell you that I hope you are well and make a lot of money. I hope you do and come home because we are awful poor and mother says if I don't marry well she don't know what we will do because there are mortgages on everything and we don't keep horses any more and only one servant which is pretty hard for mother. The girl is sassy sometimes but mother can't let her go because she can't pay her yet. Please, Freddie, come home and help us. Everything dreadful has happened to us since father died. Mother will forgive you for being bad and so do I although it was not nice to see our names and pictures in the papers all the time. Write to me, Freddie, as soon as you get this. Your loving sister, HELEN.
P. S.--I am thirteen to-day and this is my picture. I wish I could go West too, but don't mention this when you write.