‘I don’t hear much American—but that didn’t sound so cheerful—“belonged,” you said?’
Elbert had to stop to recall his last words. He had said the mare he rode ‘belonged’ to Bart’s father.
‘Yes, that’s what I meant,’ he called back. ‘I came down from him—at the last—’
For a full minute, only the drum of hoofs; then from Bart, as steadily as before:
‘Some night for news—Monte Vallejo and this about Dad—same night.’
‘But I’ve got a lot to say to you from him!’ Elbert answered above the roar. ‘In case anything happens to separate us—I want you to know he has left you some money—quite a lot of money.’
‘Struck gold at the last?’
‘Yes, the mine’s rich, too—a gold tooth, he calls it,’ Elbert went on, absurdly. ‘Only filed the top off her so far. If I don’t get a chance to tell you all about it—you go to Mort Cotton, the cattleman at San Forenso—’
‘Say, amigo mio, aren’t you expecting to live?’
‘Yes, but I’ve been carrying this message all summer. Been down here looking for you—long time. Remember—Mort Cotton at San Forenso—he’ll fix you up, and I want to tell you, your father never forgot—but kept thinkin’ about you—ever since Red Ante—’