a DEAN RUTHVEN, living in England, had a son, George. This would have been a very ordinary state of affairs in the ordinary course of events; but that George Ruthven was the son of a dean, or of any other great church dignitary, was most certainly a rather unbelievable fact. His life was about as uncanonized an affair as one of the way of Piccadilly civilization, and maintained by parental remittances. Of course, George was consigned to some one-he and his ten thousand pounds that was to start him in cattle ranching; but that didna (TM)t matter-nothing matters in the West, for things must work out their own salvation there. Besides, what mattered it how the money was spent? It would go anyway: remittance men werena (TM)t expected to make money-they were there to spend it; sent by a Providence which answered the prayers of the men in waiting, the Old-timers. a