November 10, 1919.
MY DEAR SHERIFF:
Enclosed please find my personal check for five thousand dollars.
It is made out to Mrs. McBride. Never having known the lady
personally,
and because you have evidently represented her with the authorities,
I am sending it to you for proper delivery. I feel, from your
enthusiastic account of her recent experience, that it will give
you
pleasure to present it to her.
Under the circumstances I do not begrudge the money. When first
advised of Ruggam's escape, it was hot-headed impulse which
prompted
me to offer a reward so large. The old clan-blood of the Wileys
must
have made me murder-mad that Ruggam should regain his freedom
permanently
after the hellish thing he did to my brother. The newspapers heard
of it,
and then I could not retract.
That, however, is a thing of the past. I always did detest a
welcher,
and if this money is going to a woman to whom it will be manna from
heaven—to use your words—I am satisfied. Convey to her my
personal
congratulations, gratitude and best wishes.
Cordially yours,
C. V. D. WILEY.
"Good old Chris!" muttered the sheriff. "He's rich because he's white." He thrust both check and letter back into the long envelope and headed for the office of our local daily paper at a smart pace.
The earning of five thousand dollars reward-money by Cora McBride made an epochal news-item, and in that night's paper we headlined it accordingly—not omitting proper mention of the sheriff and giving him appropriate credit.
Having so started the announcement permeating through the community, the old man employed the office phone and called the local livery-stable. He ordered a rig in which he might drive at once to the McBride house in the northern part of town.