The Black Wolf Pack | Page 4

his father.
"Then my name is--or was Mullen," I exclaimed.
"According to that," said dad softly, "but when you became our son we
kept your first name and discarded the family name of course."
"But--but what has become of my father, Donald Mullen?" I asked.
"My boy, we have tried both for your sake and for our own to find out.
We have followed up and searched every possible clue and--but wait,
here are other papers of interest and after you have read them I will tell
you all we have done to locate your real father and afterwards we will
talk the whole situation over." As dad was speaking he passed over the
battered tin box. On the lid was inscribed the simple lines--
The contents of this box belong to the boy. If you are honest you will
see that it comes into his hands at the proper time. If you are dishonest,
then God help the boy and God help you!
D. MULLEN.
It was some time before I could make up my mind to force the lid.

When I did the first thing that my eyes fell upon was this buckskin bag
of unmistakable Indian design, beautifully decorated with bead work
and highly colored porcupine quills cunningly worked into a good luck
design. As I picked up the bag I saw that it was sealed with wax and to
it was attached a card on which was penned:
To my son:--
Here is all the wealth I possess. It isn't much. The bag with its contents
was sent to me by my brother, Fay, who is out in the Rockies. He gave
it to me to pay my expenses out there to join him. I am leaving it for
you. It may help you over some rocky places if it ever gets into your
hands, and I trust the good Lord that it does.
Lovingly, YOUR FATHER.
The bag gave forth the unmistakable clink of gold coins as I dropped it
on the table.
That message from my father, whom I had never seen, made my heart
heavy and again that lump gathered in my throat, for I could feel the
heartaches that the writing of that note must have caused him. I had not
the courage to break the seal of the bag and examine its contents. I
pushed it aside and took from the box another time-yellowed envelope
addressed to
MY SON DONALD
Inside I found the following:
Dear Boy:--
I cannot determine whether I am giving you a mean deal or whether
this is all for your good. Your mother, Barbara Parker Mullen, is dead,
God bless her! She has been dead now six months. It seems to me like
eternity. I have tried to take care of you as she would have cared for
you but I am afraid I have lost heart, and my courage, and I am afraid
my faith has slipped from me. I fear that I am a broken-spirited failure.

The passing of your mother has taken everything from me. I am no
longer fit or able to care for you and I must pass you on to someone
else and trust your welfare to God. For neither your mother nor I have
any relatives left who are able to take care of you.
What will become of you I cannot guess. I can only hope for the best.
But by the time you are old enough to read and understand this
message you will, I hope, have forgiven me or praised me for my effort
to find you a home.
What will become of me I do not know. I have one brother left in the
world, Fay Mullen, and he is out in Piute Pass in the Rockies grubbing
for gold. I am going out to join him for I know the only way I can
forget my grief and get hold of myself once more is to bury myself in
the wilderness.
Fay has sent me a bag of double eagles to pay my expenses west. That
is all the money I have in the world. I 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,