It has been months now and still no word ... the only proof that we have that you are still alive is a tattered parcel that arrived today from New Guinie, covered with strange writing and what appears to be a native bracelt ... meant for me, I presume?
DO you still care to know what is happening here? Cattle prices continue to fall ... and the winters seem never ending. Why dont you write? Are you never comming back and affraid to tell me?
Alfred continues to do well. His buisness has expanded to include financial concerns in Chicago and Washington ... as I don't pretend to understand. He wants us to send Isabella to bording school in Chicago, but she adamantaly refuses to leave the ranch.
Mikey ... I have no where to send this letter ... and no reason to believe you wish to recieve it... I write it only for myself. And so, I will hide it away along with all things left unsaid and undone between us.

