side. 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're here, 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. While you slept I took occasion to run through your pockets, and I see that you aren't very well supplied with cash. 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:
Your hoss is known. So Im leavin you one in place of the pinto. He goes good and he dont need
