“I’m more than willing, Ephraim. I want you to go. I believe that good will come of the journey, though I am terribly disappointed by not finding any papers or letters to help you in the search for the men with whom Mr. Trent transacted his business. Antonio must have taken away all the records or put them in some place I cannot guess.”
“Then we’ll find Antonio first.”
“Of course. How simple of me not to think of that. Do you happen to know where he went?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t. But you can always track a–well some critters by their scent. Wherever that scoundrel goes he’ll leave a trail. I’ve a keen nose for the hunt.”
“Don’t judge him too harshly, Ephraim. Perhaps he considered that he was doing all for the best; and if Sobrante is his, he’s welcome to it.”
“Whew!” was the ranchman’s astonished comment.
“Don’t you understand, dear Ephraim? Losing a home is nothing to losing honor,” said Jessica, earnestly. “We don’t care half so much about Sobrante as that other thing.”
“You shall keep both. Your home and our master’s honor,” cried the old man, fiercely.
“Yes, that we will!” echoed Jessica, clasping his hand again.
So doing she dropped the canvas bag on the floor, and, picking it up, Mrs. Trent would have restored it to its owner, as she so considered the sharpshooter. But he would have none of it.