The moment the sheriff was gone, Fred wanted the mystery of the
letters explained, and I told him all there was to tell, including as
good a description of the pony as I could give him. We tried to hit on
some plan to get word to those outside, but it wasn't to be done. At
least it was a point gained that some one of our party besides myself
knew where the letters were.
The sheriff returned presently with a loaf of canned bread and a tin
of beans. If I had been alone, I should have kicked at the food and
got permission for my darkies to send me up something from 97; but I
thought I'd see how Lord Ralles would like genuine Western fare, so I
said nothing. That, I have to state, is more--or rather less--than
the Britisher did, after he had sampled the stuff; and really I don't
blame him, much as I enjoyed his rage and disgust.
It didn't take long to finish our supper, and then Fred, who hadn't
slept much the night before, stretched out on the floor and went to
sleep. Lord Ralles and I sat on boxes--the only furniture the room
contained--about as far apart as we could get, he in the sulks, and
I whistling cheerfully. I should have liked to be with Madge, but
he wasn't; so there was some compensation, and I knew that time was
playing the cards in our favor: so long as they hadn't found the
letters we had only to sit still to win.
About an hour after supper, the sheriff came back and told me Camp and
Baldwin wanted to see me. I saw no reason to object, so in they came,
accompanied by the judge.
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