“I wonder if that halfbreed could not have been at the bottom of this after all. It was only a few days ago that he came to the camp, and we have gotten the letters at intervals during the past three weeks. He could easily have sent them through some friend. My only hope is that he is not in this section again, but that arson business was what I would have expected of a man of his stamp,” concluded Mr. Everett.
“Wonder if the tramps could have had anything to do with it? You know the old saying about birds of a feather flocking together, and it would be like them to hitch up,” queried Dick.
“Yes, that’s possible but not exactly probable,” said Garry.
“Have you the letters?” asked Phil.
“Yes, they’re upstairs. Wait a minute and I’ll run up and get them,” said Ruth; and away she went to do the errand.
She was back in a few moments and handed them to Phil. The boys crowded around to see them. They were all printed in a coarse lettering, mostly on scraps of old wrapping paper; one was on a hand-bill, and two or three on a cheap grade of stationery such as may be bought at any notion store.
The letters were all of the same tenor, warning the man and girl to leave town at once else misfortune would visit them.
“There isn’t much of a clue of any sort in the letters themselves, but let’s see the envelopes; perhaps they will be more enlightening,” remarked Garry.
The envelopes were all of the same variety, cheap and flimsy as was the paper. The postmarks were varied. Most of them were evidently mailed in Hobart, but one had come across the border, as its Canadian stamp bore testimony, and three came from the little town of Coldenham, several miles up along the border.
“Not much help in these after all,” said Garry in a disappointed tone. “We might go to these various offices and see if the postmasters have any remembrance of who mailed them, but that is too faint a clue to waste time following up.”