Anyway, dad needs me bad, an' I reckon I'm here for keeps." Jean threw some cedar branches on the fire, in the light of which he opened his father's letter, hoping by repeated reading to grasp more of its strange portent.

It had been two months in reaching him, coming by traveler, by stage and train, and then by boat, and finally by stage again.

Written in lead pencil on a leaf torn from an old ledger, it would have been hard to read even if the writing had been more legible.
"Dad's writin' was always bad, but I never saw it so shaky," said Jean, thinking aloud.
GRASS VALLY, ARIZONA.
Son Jean,--Come home.

Here is your home and here your needed.
When we left Oregon we all reckoned you would not be long behind.
But its years now.

I am growing old, son, and you was always my steadiest boy.