"Oh, Skipper, what's the use? You—you make me wish that greaser had finished me, down at the well. Please——"
"Wait!"
He heard her feet in the hall, flying down the stairs, and he turned his face to the wall again, his young mouth quivering.
She found Carter lying on the wide couch, one arm trailing limply over the side of it, the emptied canteen dangling from his hand, and he was breathing with difficulty. His face was darkly mottled and congested but Honor did not notice it. "Carter," she said, "I want you to come with me and tell Jimsy how you lied to him. I want you to tell him what my message really meant."
"I—can't come—now," he gasped. "I can't—" he tried to raise himself but he fell back on the pillows.
"Then give me your wallet," she said, implacably, bending over him.
"No, no! It isn't there—wait! By and by I'll——" but his eyes betrayed him.
Roughly, with fierce haste, she thrust her hand into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet of limp leather with the initials in slimly wrought gold letters.
"Please, Honor! Please,—let me—I'll give you—I'll find it—" he clutched at her dress but she stepped back from the couch and he lost his balance and fell heavily to the floor.
When she pulled out the bit of closely folded paper with a sharp sound of triumph there came with it a thick letter which dropped on the red tiles. He snatched at it but Honor's downward swoop was swifter. She stood staring at it, her eyes opening wider and wider, turning the plump letter in her hands.