“Look at this!” cried Gowan––“Enough to make anybody cuss!”
He thrust out the slip of paper close before his employer’s eyes. Knowles took it and read it through with deliberate care.
“Well?” he said. “It’s a receipt from the postmaster to Ashton for those letters I sent over by him. What of it?”
“Your letters?” asked Gowan, taken aback. “Did you write that one what is most particularly mentioned, the one to that big engineer Blake?”
“No. What would I be doing, writing to him or any engineer? They’re just the people I don’t want to have any doings with.”
“Then if you didn’t write him, who did?” questioned Gowan, his mouth again tightening.
“Why, I reckon you’ll have to do your own guessing, Kid––unless it might be Ashton did it.” 99
“That’s one leg roped,” said Gowan. “Can you guess why he’d be writing to that engineer?”
“Lord, no. He may have the luck to know him. Mr. Blake is a mighty big man, judging from all accounts; but money stands for a lot in the cities and back East, and Ashton’s father is one of the richest men in Chicago. I looked it up in the magazine that told about his helping to back the Zariba Dam project.”
“That’s another leg noosed––on the second throw,” said Gowan. “Another try or two, and we’ll have the skunk ready for hog-tying.”