Willie's hands, trembling, fell into his lap. "It's always that-a-way," he whimpered vaguely, coming now to himself.
"Willie," said Tom Osby, gently, "I ain't right sure I've got it all down straight, but I think I have. You read her over, and touch her up here and there where she needs it. Curly, look here. I don't believe Dan Anderson would hesertate one minute to sign this if he saw it."
"They sign it with their hearts," said Willie, vaguely. "They always do."
"He signs it with his heart," said Tom Osby, "and it goes!" He folded the paper and handed it to Curly.
"Saddle up that Pinto horse, Curly, if you can," said he, "and make the run to Sky Top as fast as God'll let you. This letter's all right, and it goes!"
So presently there rode down the long sunlit street of Heart's Desire, mounted upon the mad horse Pinto, this courier to the queen, bearing a message from a mad brain and two simple hearts,—a courier bound upon a strange and kindly errand.
The blue mountains, beyond whose rim lived the sovereign, looked gently down, and the stern walls of the cañon seemed to widen and make room for the messenger as he swept on, carrying the greetings of an absent knight to his distant queen.
"It's like he said," mused Curly to himself, feeling in his pocket for tobacco as he rode. "It's that-a-way, and I reckon it always has been. I've felt like that myself sometimes. Ola, Pinto! Vamos!"