“It’s the girl you went back to see,”
he said.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, go ahead and try to win through.
I wish you luck. But if you fail, remember what
I’ve said. Now, or ten years from now, what
I’ve said goes for you. Now roll over and
sleep. Good-by, Lanning, or, rather, au revoir!”
The excitement kept Andrew awake for a little time,
but then the hum of the wind, the roll of voices below
him, and the weariness of the long ride rushed on
him like a wave and washed him out into an ebb of sleep.
When he wakened the aches were gone from his limbs,
and his mind was a happy blank. Only when he
started up from his blankets and rapped his head against
the slanting rafters just above him, he was brought
to a painful realization of where he was. He
turned, scowling, and the first thing he saw was a
piece of brown wrapping paper held down by a shoe and
covered with a clumsy scrawl.
These blankets are yours and the slicker
along with
them and heres wishin you luck while youre
beatin it
back to civlizashun. your friend, Jeff
Rankin.
Andy glanced swiftly about the room and saw that the
other bunks had been removed. He swept up the
blankets and went down the stairs to the first floor.
The house reeked of emptiness; broken bottles, a twisted
tin plate in which some one had set his heel, were
the last signs of the outlaws of Henry Allister’s
gang. A bundle stood on the table with another
piece of the wrapping paper near it. The name
of Andrew Lanning was on the outside. He unfolded
the sheet and read in a precise, rather feminine writing:
Dear Lanning: We are, in a manner,
sneaking off. I’ve already said good-by,
and I don’t want to tempt you again.
Now you’re by yourself and you’ve got your
own way to fight. The boys agree with me.
We all want to see you make good. We’ll
all be sorry if you come back to us. But once
you’ve found out that it’s no go trying
to beat back to good society, we’ll be mighty
happy to have you with us. In the meantime,
we want to do our bit to help Andrew Lanning make
up for his bad luck.
For my part, I’ve put a chamois
sack on top of the leather coat with the fur lining.
You’ll find a little money in that purse.
Don’t be foolish. Take the money I leave
you, and, when you’re back on your feet, I know
that you’ll repay it at your own leisure.
And here’s best luck to you and
the girl.
Henry Allister.
Andrew lifted the chamois sack carelessly, and out
of its mouth tumbled a stream of gold. One by
one he picked up the pieces and replaced them; he
hesitated, and then put the sack in his pocket.
How could he refuse a gift so delicately made?
A broken kitchen knife had been thrust through a bit
of the paper on the box. He read this next:
