Part 22 (1/2)
”I know that, Daddy,” replied the young man. ”I didn't come for the mail, exactly. My friend and I are bound for the railroad station.”
”Goin' ter San Francisco?”
”Yes; we want to stop here to-night.”
”Ye air welcome ter do thet,” and Daddy Wampole gave Noel a friendly nod.
The young man was introduced and all three entered the ranch, one room of which did duty as a general store, barroom, and post office. Before anything else could be spoken of, Allen questioned Wampole concerning the letters which had been in the box for several weeks back, and the people who had called for them.
”I don't remember much about the letters, but I recerlect thet Cap'n Grady took most all ez came in,” was the suggestive reply from the so-styled postmaster.
”So he took most of the letters, did he?” said Allen, slowly. ”How many of them, on a rough guess?”
”Seven or eight.”
”And you can't remember if any of them were addressed to me?”
”No, I don't recerlect thet, Allen, but hold on--do ye suspect the cap'n o' tamperin' with yer mail?”
”I don't believe he is above such an action,” replied the young man, bluntly.
”Wall, neither do I, privately speakin'. I was goin' ter say,” went on the ranch owner slowly, ”when the cap'n got the letters he walked over there to the old place and tore 'em open. Maybe----”
There was no need for the man to go on. Allen had already left the apartment and was hurrying across the road to what had in former days been the only house in the section.
It was a rude affair, now half fallen into decay. Outside, under the overhanging logs of the roof, was situated a bench sometimes used by travelers as a resting place. Here many a yarn had been told, and many a ”hoss deal” talked over and closed.
Straight to the bench went Allen, and in the fading light looked eagerly on all sides for bits of paper of any kind. He found a great number and gathered them all into his empty dinner pouch. When he was sure there were no more sc.r.a.ps in the vicinity he returned to the house.
”Well, what have you?” asked Noel Urner, with interest.
”I have nearly fifty sc.r.a.ps of letters,” said Allen. ”I must look them over at once.”
A lamp was lit, and, spreading out the sc.r.a.ps on a large, flat board, Allen set to work to sort out the various pieces. It was tedious work and Noel Urner a.s.sisted him.
Suddenly the young ranchman uttered a low cry.
”Look! Here is part of a letter that was addressed to me,” he said.
And he held up a sc.r.a.p which bore the words: ”--you and Chet can meet me and Paul----”
”Is it in your uncle's handwriting?” questioned the young man from the east.
”Yes.”
”Then it would seem as if some one had stolen your letter, certainly.”
”That's just what was done!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Allen. ”I wonder----” he stopped short.
”What do you wonder?”