After numerous visits to a number of remote and unfrequented places in the Rocky Mountains, from Wyoming to Alberta, the writer was deeply impressed with the awesome mystery of the wilderness and the weird legends he heard around the camp fires, while the bigness of the things he saw was photographed on his brain so distinctly and permanently as to act as a compelling force causing him, aye, almost forcing him to write about it.
am not going to use it. I will work my way west and leave the gold for you. It is the least and probably the last that I can do for you.
If, when you read this you have any desires to know who you really are, I will leave you the following information:
Your mother, a wonderful woman, was Barbara Parker of Litchfield, Connecticut, daughter of Judge Arnold Parker of Litchfield, now deceased. I am Donald Mullen, the eldest of three brothers; Fay Mullen is the next of age and Patrick Mullen, the gunsmith of Maiden Lane, New York, is the youngest. We were born in Byron Bridge, Ireland, and we three came to this country after our parents died. You come of an honest, worthwhile people on my side, and of the best American blood on your mother's, Donald, and I ask only that you live an honest, honorable life and have faith in your country and your God, and He will be with you to the end.
Lovingly, YOUR FATHER.
I read the letter aloud but I confess that my voice broke t