Keith went to the office counter and began to write. It was not a long letter, but it told all there was to say:
“Sid: I have wired to your wife to come to you, and I have signed your name. By the time this reaches you she will be on her way here. It will be wiser, of course, for you to assume the sending of the message, and to give her the welcome she will expect. It will be wiser, too—if I may offer suggestions—to travel about with her for a while; to go away from this place, where she certainly would hear of your unfaithfulness should she remain. Then go back with her to your friends, and live out the balance of your life, in the old home, as you ought. I know you will feel I am not a fit one to preach, for I myself am going away tonight, taking Gloria Howard with me. I know, too, how you will look at what I am doing; but I have neither excuses nor explanations to offer.
Bayard Keith.”
That was all.
When he had sealed and directed it, he went to the livery stable and waked up Pete Dudley.
“See here, Pete,” he said, “I want you to do something for me.”
“Sure, Mr. Keith!” said Pete, rubbing his eyes.
“Here’s a letter for Mr. Williston out at our camp in Porcupine Gulch. I want you to take it to him, and take the buckboard, too.”
“All right, I’ll go in the morning.”
“No, no! Listen! Not till day after tomorrow. Wait, let me think—— You’d better wait a day longer——go the next day. Do you understand?”