He liked to stroke Sammy's sleek coat and listen to the
cat's affectionate purring. He liked to tell how his dog Bruce had saved
his life. For it seems Palmer had once started off for Forest City by
night, was stricken with a paralytic shock, and, falling unconscious in
the woods, was finally rescued by neighbors who had heard the dog's
insistent barking.
When the snow was deep in the canon, and the supply of provisions was
getting low, the old man ordered more from Hintzen. He recalled the
severity of New England winters, and talked of the friends of his youth.
He began to plan a trip East in the coming summer, directed John Woolsey
to inquire as to the expense of such a trip, and proposed to employ him
as a traveling companion. And feeling the need of some money, he bade
Mrs. Sherwood write a letter for him to Francis, signing it with his
mark.
For some unaccountable reason Francis made no answer, and the old man
seemed much disturbed. Other letters were dispatched. Still no answer.
After long waiting a letter in a feminine hand, postmarked "San
Francisco," and addressed to "Rob't Palmer, Moore's Flat," found its way
through the snow-drifts to Sherwood's ranch.
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