“I reckon you're hungry after your ride, Riley,” said Rogers. “So am I. Getting Tom off sort of put me out of the notion of eating even if I'd had the time.”
The two men ate in silence, but when the rigours of their hearty appetites were satisfied, the colonel produced the papers Tom Raymond had left with him. He told their history, and then the two fell to examining them with much eagerness.
“Well,” said Rogers at last. “I can't see that there's anything here that concerns me. I reckon they ought to be passed along to Mrs. Landray, though I can't see that they are of any value. Still I ought to send 'em to her.”
“No doubt about that,” said Reddy.
“You know her, Riley?”
“Well, yes, I've met her, and she knows who I am well enough.”
“How'd you like to send 'em to her, Riley? You could tell her the way they first came into my hands just as I've told you; how Tom Raymond got hold of them, and how he'd always said they were lost. I'd like you to make it plain to her it wasn't me held 'em back, I wouldn't want her to think that.”
“No, of course not.”
“Mind writing her?” inquired Rogers. He was rather sensitive about his own penmanship—and Margaret was in Cheyenne.
“No, not exactly, but if it's all the same to you I'd rather send 'em to her lawyer. He could sort of explain things to her. I'd feel freer to write him. I was going to write him anyhow, he's an old friend of mine.”