He displayed before the astonished eyes of Nelly Lebrun a paper covered with an exact duplicate of her own swift, dainty script. And she read:
Nick is terribly angry and is making trouble. I have to get away.
It isn't safe for me to stay here. Will you help me?
Will you meet me at the shack by Donnell's ford
tomorrow morning at ten o'clock?
"But I didn't write it," cried Nelly Lebrun, bewildered.
"Nelly," Joe Rix chuckled, flushing with pleasure, "you didn't. It was me. I kind of had an idea that you wanted to get rid of this Donnegan, and I was going to do it for you and then surprise you with the good news."
"Joe, you forged it?"
"Don't bother sayin' pretty things about me and my pen," said Rix modestly. "This is nothin'! But if you want to help me, Nelly—"
His voice faded partly out of her consciousness as she fought against a tigerish desire to spring at the throat of the little fat man. But gradually it dawned on her that he was asking her to write out that note herself. Why? Because it was possible that Donnegan might have seen her handwriting and in that case, though the imitation had been good enough to deceive Nelly herself, it probably would not for a moment fool the keen eyes of Donnegan. But if she herself wrote out the note, Donnegan was already as good as dead.
"That is," concluded Joe Rix, "if he really loves you, Nell."
"The fool!" cried Nelly. "He worships the ground I walk on, Joe. And I hate him for it."
Even Joe Rix shivered, for he saw the hate in her eyes and could not dream that he himself was the cause and the object of it. There was a red haze of horror and confusion in front of her eyes, and yet she was able to smile while she copied the note for Joe Rix.