“And what was it you lost?” inquired Mr. Milford politely. He had cautioned his old friend on the way down at intervals of every few miles, not to build his hopes up too much on finding that this woman was the owner of the pouch.
“You may have to follow a hundred different clues before you get hold of the right one,” he warned him. “We’re taking this trip on the mere chance that we’ll find the owner, just because two children associated the pouch in their memory with the odor of liniment. It is more than likely they’re mistaken and that this is all a wild-goose chase.”
But Uncle Darcy _had_ built his hopes on it, had set his heart on finding this was the right clue, and his beaming face said, “I told you so,” when she answered:
“It was a little tobacco pouch, and I’m dreadfully put out over losing it, because aside from the valuables and keep-sakes in it there was a letter that’s been following me all over the country. It didn’t reach me till just before I got to Provincetown. It’s from some heathen country with such an outlandish name I couldn’t remember it while I was reading it, scarcely, and now I’ll never think of it again while the world wags, and there’s no way for me to answer it unless I do.”
“Oh, don’t say that!” exclaimed Uncle Darcy. “You _must_ think of it. And I _must_ know. How did this come into your hands?”
He held out the little watch-fob charm, the compass set in a nut and she seized it eagerly.
“Well, you did find my pouch, didn’t you?” she exclaimed. “I made sure that was what you were aiming to tell me. That’s a good-luck charm. It was given to me as much as eight years ago, by a young fellow who was taken sick on our ranch down in Texas. He’d been working around the docks in Galveston, but came on inland because somebody roped him in to believe he could make a fortune in cattle in a few months. He was riding fences for Henry, and he came down with a fever and Henry and me nursed him through.”
Always talkative, she poured out her information now in a stream, drawn on by the compelling eagerness of the old man’s gaze.
“He was a nice boy and the most grateful soul you ever saw. But he didn’t take to the cattle business, and he soon pushed on. He was all broke up when it came to saying good-bye. You could see that, although he’s one of your quiet kind, hiding his real feelings like an Indian. He gave me this good-luck charm when he left, because he didn’t have anything else to give, to show he appreciated our nursing him and doing for him, and he said that he’d _make_ it bring us good luck or die a-trying and we’d hear from him some of these days.”
“And you did?”