“Well, what do you think of that?” exclaimed the astonished Norman.
The two boys were looking at the scrawl which was plainly “E. O. Chandler.”
“There you are!” exclaimed Roy. “Here’s where our friend made his headquarters. No wonder he knew that the Indians were starving.”
There was a light tapping on the floor and the paralyzed and speechless Indian pointed toward the corner of the room where there were signs of a bunk. In the gloom the boys went to this place. But they noticed nothing in particular until the prostrate Indian again lifted his stick upward. And then, shoved in a crevice between the logs, they saw a soiled and crumpled envelope. Taking it to the window, they read plainly enough the address—“E. O. Chandler, Fort McMurray.” There was no postmark but in the upper left hand corner was this printing—“Hill Howell, Contractor, Centralia, Kansas.”
“It’s one of the envelopes that Colonel Howell has down in camp,” exclaimed Roy.
“Yes,” answered Norman slowly, “and I’ll bet you it’s a message that either Ewen or Miller wrote to Chandler after he left us.”
“Do you think we ought to read it?” asked Roy, his fingers grasping the greasy envelope as if itching to extract the enclosure.
“I reckon it’s none of our business,” answered Norman, as if with some regret, “but I’ll bet it concerns Colonel Howell and I believe we ought to take it to him.”
Roy turned toward the Indian and made signs of putting the letter in his pocket. If this meant anything to the helpless man, he gave no sign other than the same peculiar grin. Roy put the envelope in his pocket and, making signs of farewell, the two boys left the cabin.