“He’s after that letter, I tell ye. He offered me sixty dollars for it. He’s the most persistent critter I ever see. I told him I couldn’t sell at no price.”
“Wait, Mr. Dempsey,” said Dorothy. “I wrote father about that letter the day you found it. I expect to hear from him soon.”
“But I wouldn’t sell—if ’tis mine to sell, belike,” said John Dempsey, earnestly.
“It may be worth a lot of money.”
“Sure, an’ I don’t need a lot of money,” declared the old soldier. “I’m contint right as I be—as long as your aunt will let me stay.”
“And you may rest assured that she will let you stay,” said Dorothy, cheerfully. “Why, Mr. Dempsey, she says you are a lot of help around the ranch-house.”
“’Tis kind of her to say so,” said he, gratefully. “But I feel mighty beholden to ye all.”
It was because of this brief conversation that Dorothy went down toward the bunk-house to meet Lance Petterby coming up to supper. Had Tavia done this, Dorothy would have been scandalized, but Dorothy considered that she had a good and sufficient reason for what she did.
What old John Dempsey had said reminded Dorothy Dale of the conversation she had overheard between Philo Marsh and Hank Ledger, the foreman of the ranch. She had discussed this with nobody—not even with her chums. It was a secret between the Mexican girl, Flores, and herself.
Dorothy did not understand what if all meant. Aunt Winnie had not refused to lease the water-right to the Desert people, and the girl could not see why Philo Marsh was so anxious to close up the matter and get Mrs. White’s signature to the papers he had prepared.