Silas held his pipe in his hand, and ran his eye along the wood-pile as if he were looking for a light.
As he did so, he gave a sudden start, his eyes opened to their widest extent, his under jaw dropped down, and the hand in which he held the pipe fell to his side.
The object that riveted his gaze was a letter. It had been thrust into a crack in the end of a stick of wood, and looked as though it might have been placed there on purpose to attract his attention.
"Now, don't that beat you?" exclaimed Silas, who was greatly astonished. "Who in the world has been using my wood-pile for a post-office, I'd like to know?"
If the truth must be told, Silas was frightened as well as surprised. Like all ignorant men, he was superstitious, and whenever he saw or heard anything for which he could not account on the instant, he was sure to be overcome with terror.
His first thought was to take to his heels, make the best of his way to the cabin, and send his boys back after the wagon; but if he did that, they would be sure to see the letter—they couldn't help it, if they kept their eyes open—and might they not read it and make themselves masters of some information that he alone ought to possess?
"It's mighty comical how that thing come there, and who writ it," said Silas, "and somehow I can't get my consent to tech it."
And he didn't touch it, either, until he had viewed it from all sides. First, he bent down, with his hands upon his knees, and twisted his body into all sorts of shapes in the vain effort to see the other side of the letter. Then he straightened up and made a wide circle around it; and finally, he climbed upon the wood-pile and looked at it from another direction. At last, he must have satisfied himself that it was a letter and nothing else, for he reached out his hand and took possession of it.
"It's mighty comical," repeated Silas, looking first at the letter, and then turning suspicious glances upon the surrounding woods, "and I can't for the life of me think who put it there. Now, who'll I get to read it for me? I can spell out printing with the best of them, but I can't say that I know much about them turkey-tracks they call writing."
As Silas was walking around the wood-pile toward his wagon, he turned the letter over in his hands, and then he saw that there was something inscribed upon the envelope. The characters were printed, too, and the man had little difficulty in deciphering the following: