He or his friends ought to be made to pay for it or work it out! In vain
it was declared that a few dollars were all that was found in the man's
pocket, and that no memoranda gave any indication of his name, friends,
or history beyond the suggestion that he came from a distance. This was
clearly a part of the conspiracy! Even Josephine's practical good
sense was obliged to take note of this singular absence of all record
regarding him, and the apparent obliteration of everything that might be
responsible for his ultimate fate.
Homeless, friendless, helpless, and even nameless, the unfortunate man
of twenty-five was thus left to the tender mercies of the mistress of
Burnt Ridge Ranch, as if he had been a new-born foundling laid at her
door. But this mere claim of weakness was not all; it was supplemented
by a singular personal appeal to Josephine's nature. From the time that
he turned his head towards her voice on that fateful night, his eyes had
always followed her around the room with a wondering, yearning, canine
half-intelligence.
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