Ted Strong in Montana Part 33

"Wasn't it the most dramatic thing you ever saw? I can see it yet.

Farnsworth dodging those deputies and their bullets, and before any one knew what his plan was, leaping upon the pony and jumping through the gla.s.s. By Jove, it was fine. I never was so excited in my life."

"It certainly was very dramatic. Almost like a thing one would see in the theater."

"Yes, but a lot more exciting, because it was the real thing. By the way, Ted, there was something about that young fellow that I cannot explain to myself. I was quite strangely affected when he took me by the hand. And every time I looked at him it gave me a feeling as if he was somehow mixed up in my life, or would be in the future."

"That is strange. I wonder who he is. His name is not d.i.c.kson, nor is it Farnsworth. Of course, there is a mystery behind him somewhere, and he has a name which he is concealing. Suppose we take a look through his effects. He had a saddlebag in which there may be something by which we can identify him."

"Very well. I don't believe it would be unfair to him to do so. You know, we might be able to help him if we know his real name and address."

They went into the room which had been a.s.signed to Farnsworth, but which he had had no opportunity to occupy.

In one corner they found his saddle, a very ornamental and expensive piece of horse furniture, trimmed with silver and made of the most expensive leather.

Beside it lay a bag which could be fastened to the cantle of the saddle.

It fastened with a snap lock, which was easily opened, and then Ted, at a nod from the major, began to turn out its contents.

First came a pair of silver-mounted hairbrushes and several toilet articles, showing that even in the desert young Farnsworth did not neglect his personal appearance. There were some clean s.h.i.+rts and handkerchiefs, and in the bottom of the bag another leather case.

"If he has anything by which he may be identified, it is in here," said Ted. "But this is locked. Shall I force it?"

"I believe you'd better," answered the major.

"I don't care much about doing it," said Ted, "but as it is to help him I suppose I might as well."

The major nodded, and with the blade of his knife Ted soon had the bag open.

The first thing he came to was a photograph of a beautiful woman, at which he looked intently for a few moments.

It seemed to him that he had seen her, or some one very like her, somewhere before.

Then he pa.s.sed it over to the major, and reached his hand into the bag once more.

Suddenly he was interrupted by a startled cry, in which there was a tone of pain and surprise, from the major.

Looking up, he saw that the major was as white as a sheet, and that his hand trembled violently.

"What is it?" Ted asked, striding to the major's side.

But Major Caruthers was too shaken by emotion to reply at once.

He continued to stare at the picture with devouring eyes, his face alternately flus.h.i.+ng and paling. He was gasping as if he would speak, but the words would not come.

"Do you know her?" asked Ted gently.

The major nodded his head for reply.

"What else do you find?" he managed to ask finally.

Ted emptied the contents of the bag upon the bed.

Among them was a package of old letters carefully tied.

"Look at those letters," commanded the major hoa.r.s.ely.

Ted untied the string, and took one letter from the pack and opened it.

It had been opened and folded so many times that it was with difficulty that Ted could open it now without having it fall to pieces.

"You read it before I do," said the major, who was suffering from a great, nervous strain, and showed it in his face and trembling hand.

Ted spread it on the bed and bent over it.

In the upper left-hand corner was a faded crest of a tower, over which was a coronet.

"My dear, wandering boy," the letter began, "I do not know where you are, or if you are well and alive, or are in trouble, for I have not heard from you for many months. I am sending this at random into that great America in the hope that it may reach you some day to tell you that your mother is constantly thinking of you. Your brother Jack is still in India with his regiment, but will soon retire and come home.

Your sister Helen and her husband are I know not where. Mowbray turned out very badly, as your father believed he would, and he had to run from his creditors, and the enemies he had made through his dishonest practices. I don't know where they are, but it is my belief that they have gone to America. I wonder if you will ever run across them? If you do, tell Helen to leave the beast and come home, and both her father and I will forgive, and she can take her place here as if she had never met him. And this leads me to tell you that your father has greatly changed since you left us, and has even said that he was sorry for his harshness, and wished you had stayed with us. We are very lonely with all of our children away from us. Come back to your mother, and all will be different."

There were many expressions of mother love in the letter, which was signed and dated from The Towers, Huntingdon, several years before.

After reading the letter Ted pa.s.sed it to the major without comment, and walked to the window, that he might not be a witness to his emotion.

He was now very sure that by the strangest of circ.u.mstances Major Caruthers had come across a bit of personal history, and that it was giving him a heart-tearing experience.

In a moment he heard the sound of a sob behind him, followed by others, which, however, subsided gradually, and he heard his name called.

Ted came to where the major sat on the side of the bed, holding the photograph in his hand.

"It is the picture of my sister," he said quietly, for he was now the master of his emotions.

"Then Farnsworth is your brother," said Ted.

"Yes, my brother, poor chap," answered the major, gulping down a sob.

"It is strange, very strange," muttered Ted, almost to himself. "I felt sure you were related, there was such a strong resemblance between you."

"I didn't notice it. Why didn't you speak of it?"

"Farnsworth knew that you were his brother, and I have no doubt he would have made himself known to you had he not been compelled to flee before the deputy marshals. I know that he was deeply affected at meeting you, and saw that he hesitated to make himself known."

"I didn't know him. I had not seen Fred since he was a little boy, when I went into the service. Then he went away to school, and I to India. I am much older than he, so we did not meet. When I returned to England from India he had disappeared on account of a foolish row with our father. Our only sister, Helen, had married a scamp against the wishes of the family, and had left England also. Shortly after that both our parents died, and I came to America with the intention of finding both my sister and brother, and this is how it has turned out."

Tears were coursing down the major's pale cheeks.

"Don't you see how it is?" he asked, holding out the photograph to Ted.

Suddenly it dawned upon Ted, and he took the photograph and gazed at it eagerly.

It was Helen Mowbray, the sister of the major and of Farnsworth, or Fred Caruthers, to give him his real name--the woman who had been strangled to death in her house at Rodeo.