“All except Westcott.” Gard spoke very quietly, but Sandy shouted.
“Gosh! That’s so,” He cried, “I fergot him fer a minute. I swan! Would it be mighty bad if he was the one to find it?”
“A little worse, in some ways, than anybody else living.”
“Lord! Lord! But I don’t see how he could, Gard: He rode off to Sylvania. It’s happened the way I said. They was a mighty lot o’ hoofs rampaging round there, an’ your goods, whatever ’t was, got tromped in; but you can bet Sandy Larch’ll keep his peepers open fer’t if it’s on top the ’arth.”
“Anyway,”—Gard roused himself—“there’s all the more reason why I should do what I’ve got to do while I can.”
He was undressing as he spoke, and presently produced the belt.
“I want you to put this away somewhere, Sandy,” he said. “If I send you word to do some things for me it may come in handy. And Sandy, if anything happens to me you go and see Mrs. Hallard, and do what you can to help her. She’ll need help.”
Not a flicker moved the serenity of the foreman’s steady eyes. His was not the friendship that questions.
“I’ll do anything you send word to do, Gard,” said he, “but I don’t believe I’ll need all that money. You got plenty to use?”
“Sure—” with a sigh. “Money ain’t the thing I need most, Sandy.”