"Get out of the way, Jennie," he repeated. "Come on, Tom."
A figure appeared in the ranch-house door, Roy Lambert, flushed and trembling with the fever that Mrs. Spooner had been fearing for him. He carried his belt in his hand, and was fumbling at the holster to get his pistol.
"I won't go back alive," he said.
"Rope him, Tom," prompted Grannis in a low tone. "I don't want to shoot the crazy kid."
"Uncle Harvey--Uncle Harvey," came the Babe's thin, sweet pipe, "I'm glad you're here, 'cause I've got a telegram for somebody out at your ranch. Jonah was to take it on but now he won't have to."
The child's eyes saw nothing amiss. The three men were warily watching each other, Roy tugging desperately at the holster to get his weapon which had caught, and Tom half sullenly loosening and coiling his rope.
"It's for Mr. Roy Lambert," sang out the little girl, triumphant in her ability to read even bad handwriting.
CHAPTER III
A Package and a Leather-Brown Phaeton
The men stood rigid at little Harvey's announcement. Mrs. Spooner took the envelope from the child's hands, opened it and read aloud: