“Heaven knows.”
“Where is his will?”
“Give it up.”
“That message must have told where to find his wealth and the will he has left.”
“Perhaps so. But something tells me that was not all. I am certain the message held something more—a secret of great importance.”
“Mescal is a desperate scoundrel. He will not be driven away easily.”
“I hope not.”
Felicia came and climbed on Frank’s knee once more.
“You have had trouble,” she said, in her tender, sympathetic way. “Your papa is dead. Was the Good Stranger your papa?”
“I think so, little one,” said Frank.