Hope Hathaway Part 21

"Poor old man!" she exclaimed. Then turned to Long Bill and his companion. "I'm awfully sorry I had to hurt him, but he actually made me nervous! I had an idea he was crazy, but I never believed he was perfectly mad. He ought to be watched constantly and all dangerous weapons kept away from him. Didn't you know he was dangerous?"

Shorty Smith suddenly rose to meet the situation.

"I knowed he was crazy," he said, "but I didn't know he was as plumb locoed as that."

"Well, he's out of business for awhile," remarked the girl. "You boys better bandage up his arm and carry him into the house. I'll send over old Mother White Blanket when I get back. I guess you can get in the calves by yourselves all right, for really I feel very shaken and I think I'll go right home. You'll go with me, won't you, Mr. Livingston.

But the poor old crazy man! You boys will take good care of him, won't you--and let me know if I can be of any a.s.sistance."

"Well, what do yo' think?" asked Shorty Smith, as Hope and her companion disappeared from the basin.

"What'd I think?" exclaimed Long Bill. "I think we've been pretty badly _done_!"

"Oh, I don't know," drawled Shorty Smith, "I reckon she ain't goin' to say nothin' about _me_!"

CHAPTER XVIII

"I'll tell you what I'd do 'bout it, if I was you," said Shorty Smith to the twins, several days later, as he handed back a folded sheet of paper. "I'd git your teacher to read that there letter. There's something in it she ought to know 'bout. Better not tell her first where you got it. Let on you don't know where it come from. There's somethin'

there she'll like to hear 'bout, that you kids ain't old enough to understand."

"Oh, is that so!" interposed Dan.

"I ain't a-goin' to tell you nothin' about it, but like enough she will, an'll thank you fer givin' it to her," said Shorty.

"If that writin' wasn't so funny I'd make it out myself," replied the soft-voiced twin, "fer I think you're jobbin' us, Shorty."

"No, I ain't," he replied. "An' I'll back up my friendship fer you by givin' you this!" He took from his pocket a silver dollar and handed it to the boy, who pocketed it, and, followed by his brother, walked away without another word.

Shorty Smith also walked away, in the opposite direction, without a word, but he chuckled to himself, and his mood was exceedingly jubilant.

"She done us all right, an' may play the devil yet, but I'll git in a little work, er my name ain't Shorty Smith!" Such was the substance of his thoughts during the next few days.

That afternoon Hope stood in the doorway of the school-house, watching her little brood of pupils straggling down the hill.

Louisa, who came daily to be with her beloved friend, had started home with the two eldest Harris girls, for Hope, in her capacity of teacher, occasionally found work to detain her for a short time after the others had gone. This teaching school was not exactly play, after all.

The twins lingered behind, seemingly engaged in a quiet discussion.

Finally they came back to the door.

"Here's somethin' for you to read," said the soft-voiced boy, handing her a folded paper, while Dave leaned against the building with an ugly scowl on his face.

"To read," asked Hope, turning it over in her hand. "Who wrote it, and where did you get it?" She stepped out of the doorway onto the green gra.s.s beside them.

"Read it," said the breed boy. "It's somethin' you ought to know."

"Something I ought to know? But who wrote it?" insisted the girl.

"A woman, I reckon," replied the boy. "You just read it, an' then you'll know all about it."

Hope laughed, and slowly opened the much soiled, creased missive. "Why didn't you tell me at once that it was for me?" she asked.

The writing was in a bold, feminine back-hand, and held her attention for a moment. The thought occurred to her that Clarice might have written from the ranch, but there was something unfamiliar about it.

She looked first at the signature. "Your repentant Helene," it was signed. Helene,--who was Helene, she wondered; then turned the paper over. "My darling Boy," it started. In her surprise she said the words aloud.

"Why, that's not for me! Where did you boys get this letter? Now tell me!" She was very much provoked with them.

The soft-voiced twin smiled.

"I thought you'd like to know what was in it," he remarked, in evident earnestness.

"That doesn't answer my question," she said with some impatience.

"_Where_ did you get it?"

"We found it," replied Dave gruffly, still scowling.

"And you boys bring a letter to _me_ that was intended for someone else, and _expect_ me to _read_ it!" She folded it up and handed it back to the boy. "Go and give that to whom it belongs, and remember it's very wrong to read another person's letter. Tell me where you got it. I insist upon knowing."

"Oh, we just found it up on the hill last night," replied the soft-voiced twin evasively.

"Why don't you tell her the whole shootin' match!" roared the blunt Dave. "You're a dandy! We found it up in the spring coulee last night near where Mr. Livingston's sheep're camped. He was up there before dark, cuttin' 'em out. This here letter dropped out of his pocket when he threw his coat on a rock up there, an' so Dan an' me an' Shorty Smith came along an' picked it up."

"Mr. Livingston's," said Hope, suddenly feeling oddly alarmed. "Not _his_--you must be mistaken! Why, it began--it was too--_informal_--even for a sister, and he has no sister, he told me so!"

"It's for him all right, for here's the envelope." Dan took it from his pocket and handed it to her. It left no room for doubt. It was directed to him, and bore an English postmark. He had no sister. Then it must be from his sweetheart--and he told her he had no sweetheart. A sudden pain consumed her.

"I reckon it's from his wife," said the soft-voiced twin.

"He has no wife," said Hope quietly.

"Oh, yes, he has! That's what they say," declared the boy.

"They lie," she replied softly. "I _know_ he has no wife."

"I'll bet you he left her in England," said the boy. "That's what the men say."

"Your repentant Helene," repeated the girl over and over to herself.

Suddenly suspicion, jealousy, rage, entered her heart, setting her brain on fire. She turned to the boy like a fury. "Give me that letter!"

Frightened beyond speech by the storm in her black eyes, he handed it to her and watched her as with a set face and strangely brilliant eyes she began to read. Every word branded itself upon her heart indelibly.

MY DARLING BOY: Can it be that you actually refuse to allow me to come there? Admitting I have wronged you in the past, can you not in your greatness of heart find forgiveness for a weak woman--a pleading woman----