“We’ll square up the damage the children did as far as possible,” he said with a laugh. “But we can’t get the letter back until the wind is ready to turn the dunes topsy-turvy again. That may be in years and it may be never. Let me have your address and if ever it is found it shall be sent directly back to you, and the children can inherit the money if I’m not here to claim it.”
The man made a wry face at mention of his address. “We sort of belong to what they call the floating population now. Home with us means any old place where Mother happens to set her rocking chair. We’ve turned the ranch over to my daughter and her husband while we see something of the world, and as long as things go as smoothly as they do, we’re in no great shakes of a hurry to get back.”
“But the ranch address will always find us, Henry,” she insisted. “Write it down for the gentlemen. Ain’t this been a strange happening?” she commented, as she received Mr. Milford’s card in return with the Towncrier’s name penciled on the back. She looked searchingly at Richard.
“I remember you, now,” she said. “There was such a pretty little girl with you--climbed up on the wagon to touch Tim’s tail through the bars. She had long curls and a smile that made me want to hug her. She bought a bottle of liniment, I remember, and I’ve thought of her a dozen times since then, thought how a little face like that brightens up all the world around it.”
“That was Georgina Huntingdon,” volunteered Richard.
“Well, now, that’s a pretty name. Write it down on the other side of this piece of paper, sonny, and yours, too. Then when I go about the country I’ll know what to call you when I think about you. This is just like a story. If there was somebody who knew how to write it up ’twould make a good piece for the papers, wouldn’t it?”
They were ready to start back now, since there was no more information to be had, but on one pretext or another Uncle Darcy delayed. He was so pitifully eager for more news of Danny. The smallest crumb about the way he looked, what he did and said was seized upon hungrily, although it was news eight years old. And he begged to hear once more just what it was Danny had said about the Englishman, and the work they were doing together. He could have sat there the rest of the day listening to her repeat the same things over and over if he had had his wish. Then she asked a question.
“Who is Belle? I mind when he was out of his head so long with the fever he kept saying, ’_Belle_ mustn’t suffer. No matter what happens _Belle_ must be spared.’ I remembered because that’s my name, and hearing it called out in the dead of night the way a man crazy with fever would call it, naturally makes you recollect it.”
“That was just a friend of his,” answered Uncle Darcy, “the girl who was going to marry his chum.”
“Oh,” was the answer in a tone which seemed to convey a shade of disappontment. “I thought maybe--”