at was the way Old
Man Wright done when he read the letter. It was like he was shot and
trying to stand and couldn't, only a little while.

"She's--she's gone!" says he, like he was talking, to someone else.
"She's run away--from me! She's gone, Curly!" He says it over again, and
this time so loud you could of heard it for a block. "Our girl's left
here--left her father after all! Curly, tell me, what was this? Could
she--did she---- How could she?"

I taken the piece of paper from his hand when he didn't see me. It said:

Father [I never knew her to call him that before] Father, I'm going
away. I'm a thief. I've broken your heart and Curly's and Tom's.
I'm the wickedest girl in the world; and I'll never ask your
forgiveness, for I don't deserve it. You must not look for me any
more. I'm going away. Good-by!

Well, that was all. The letter had been all over wet--and a man can't
cry.

"Curly," says her pa to me--"why, Curly, it can't be! She's
hiding--she's just joking; she wouldn't do this with her old pa. She's
scared me awful. Come on, let's find her, and tell her she mustn't do
this way no more. There's some things a man can't stand."

"Colonel," says I, "we got to stand it. She's gone and it ain't no
joke."

"How do you know?" He turned on me savage now. "Damn you! What do you
know? There's nothing wrong about my girl--you don't dare to tell me
that there is! She couldn't do no wrong; it wasn't in her."

"No," says I; "she wouldn't do anything but what she thought was right,
I reckon. But, you see, you and me, we never knew her at all. I didn't
till last night about half past twelve or one o'clock."

"What do you mean? What did she say?"

"She told me she'd got to be a woman."

He stood and looked at me; and now I seen I had to come through, for the
girl couldn't be saved no more.

"Oh, hell, Colonel," says I, "I might of known all along the thing would
have to come out--it was due to break some day. I ought to of told you,
of course."

"What do you mean?" says he; and he caught me once more in his
hands--he's strong too.

"Turn me loose, Colonel!" says I. "There can't no man put hands on me--I
won't have it. I worked for you all my life pretty near, and I done
right, near as I knew. Turn loose of me!"

He let go easy like, but kept his eyes on me.

"I want to be fair," says he, and he half whispered--"I want to be fair;
but, the man that's done this'll have to settle wi