Dorothy and Tavia were warmly welcomed—and scolded just as warmly by Ned and Nat, too! When Mrs. White had kissed and hugged them, she, too, turned upon them and threatened to take away their ponies if they ever rode more than two miles from the ranch-house again without a guide.
Dorothy knew she had no right to complain about this restriction. It had been a reckless thing to do—that trip to the mountain-top. And she could not get over the fact that her own oversight had caused her and Tavia to remain out in the open all night.
There had been no serious results, however, and in a day or two the escapade was forgotten. The girls had agreed not to tell of their awful fright caused by the bits of mica shining in the rock. If Ned and Nat had gotten hold of that tale the girls never would have heard the last of it.
It was about this time that Dorothy heard from Major Dale regarding the Lincoln letter that John Dempsey had found among Colonel Hardin’s discarded papers. Dorothy had told her father the whole story—of Philo Marsh’s desire to purchase the letter, and all. She had likewise expressed herself as being more than ever antagonistic to the Dugonne lawyer.
“Don’t fret your pretty head, Little Captain, about matters that do not concern you,” Major Dale wrote. “I have confidence in Winifred’s good sense, and she will be a match for a man like Marsh. As for the old soldier and his famous letter—tell him not to put any great trust in the validity of the letter, and if he can sell it for a good round sum, to do so.”
Major Dale went on to tell his daughter of a test by which she could assure herself and Dempsey as to the actual value of the letter. This amazed Dorothy, and she ran off to tell the old soldier and to follow her father’s suggestion.
The letter to the Massachusetts widow proved to be valid. It really was a very interesting document. After Dorothy and John Dempsey had talked it over, the old man changed his mind about selling it.
“If that snake in the grass raises his offer to me much higher, I’ll jest natcherly be obleeged to sell,” he said, grimly. “Let it be on his own head.”
Philo Marsh was at the ranch-house almost every day. Aunt Winnie wondered why some of the other interested parties had not called to get her views upon the water-rights question; but not a person from the farming land to the south or from Desert City, came to the Hardin ranch.
“It must be,” she told the boys and Dorothy, “that these Desert people have left the whole matter—as he says—in Mr. Marsh’s hands. I would have felt better about it had I talked with others—to make sure that this agreement Philo Marsh offers suits all hands. I believe I shall sign the preliminary papers the next time Mr. Marsh calls.”