“That’s what he said. And he looked like he meant it too.”
“What is it? What have you found out?” Kate implored.
The young man told about the letters and Mrs. Wylie.
“We’ve got to get a move on us,” he concluded. “For if Lute Blackwell did this thing to your father it’s mighty serious for him.”
Kate was white to the lips, but in no danger of breaking down. “Yes, if this man is in it he would not stop at less than murder. But I don’t believe it. I know Father is alive. Cass Fendrick is the man we want. I’m sure of it.”
Curly had before seen women hard as nails, gaunt strong mountaineers as tough as hickory withes. But he had never before seen that quality dwelling in a slim girlish figure of long soft curves, never seen it in a face of dewy freshness that could melt to the tenderest pity. She was like flint, and yet she could give herself with a passionate tenderness to those she loved. He had seen animals guard their young with that same alert eager abandon. His conviction was that she would gladly die for her father if it were necessary. As he looked at her with hard unchanging eyes, his blood quickened to a fierce joy in her it had known for no other woman.
“First thing is to search the Jack of Hearts and see what’s there. Are you with me, Uncle Alec?”
“I sure am, Curly;” and he reached for his hat.
Bob too was on his feet. “I’m going. You needn’t any of you say I ain’t, for I am.”
Curly nodded. “If you’ll do as you’re told, Bob.”