"That doesn't answer my question," she said with some impatience. "Where did you get it?"
"We found it," replied Dave gruffly, still scowling.
"And you boys bring a letter to me that was intended for someone else, and expect me to read it!" She folded it up and handed it back to the boy. "Go and give that to whom it belongs, and remember it's very wrong to read another person's letter. Tell me where you got it. I insist upon knowing."
"Oh, we just found it up on the hill last night," replied the soft-voiced twin evasively.
"Why don't you tell her the whole shootin' match!" roared the blunt Dave. "You're a dandy! We found it up in the spring coulee last night near where Mr. Livingston's sheep're camped. He was up there before dark, cuttin' 'em out. This here letter dropped out of his pocket when he threw his coat on a rock up there, an' so Dan an' me an' Shorty Smith came along an' picked it up."
"Mr. Livingston's," said Hope, suddenly feeling oddly alarmed. "Not his—you must be mistaken! Why, it began—it was too—informal—even for a sister, and he has no sister, he told me so!"
"It's for him all right, for here's the envelope." Dan took it from his pocket and handed it to her. It left no room for doubt. It was directed to him, and bore an English postmark. He had no sister. Then it must be from his sweetheart—and he told her he had no sweetheart. A sudden pain consumed her.
"I reckon it's from his wife," said the soft-voiced twin.
"He has no wife," said Hope quietly.
"Oh, yes, he has! That's what they say," declared the boy.