I am poorer than I was four years ago, but I've been on the trail, I know the mountains now.

There's no other place for me, but I get lonesome sometimes when I think of you.

I'm no good at writing letters--can't write as well as I could when I was twenty, so don't mind my short letter, but if I could see you! Write at once and I'll borrow or steal enough money to pay my way to you--I don't expect to ever see you out here in the West." While still pondering over his letter he heard the rustle of a woman's dress and turned to face the princess, in magnificent attire, her gloved hand extended toward him, her face radiant with pleasure.
"Why, my dear boy, where have you been ?" Mose shook hands, his letter to Mary (still unsealed) in his left hand.
"Been down on the range," he mumbled in profound embarrassment.
She assumed a girlish part.

"But you _promised_ to come and see me." He turned away to seal his letter and she studied him with admiring eyes.

He was so interesting in his boyish confusion--graceful in spite of his irrelevant movements, for he was as supple, as properly poised, and as sinewy as a panther.
"You're a great boy," she said to him when he came back.