One day, when Tommy was washing the dishes--Bill taking a turn at the blacksmithing--he came across two letters tucked behind a jar of fermenting peaches which should have gone into the discard days ago. Tommy pulled out the envelopes, goggled down at them and saw that one was addressed to Parowan, Nevada, and that the address had been covered by a red stamped notice, "NO SUCH POSTOFFICE." Below that was another address--where the Hunters got their mail. The other envelope bore a later date, and was addressed in care of D. L. Hunter. Neither envelope had been opened,--an over-sight which caused Tommy some anxiety. He thought it was darned careless of Don Hunter to put them up in the cupboard and say nothing about them. So, "Here's a coupla letters Mr. Hunter musta brought yuh an' fergot to give yuh," he said, the moment Bill stepped inside for a drink. Bill took the letters, glanced at them, lifted the lid of the stove and thrust them deep into the fire. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX BILL ACQUIRES A COOK "We're on the right track," said Bill, and gathered up an armful of dulled steel to sharpen the next morning, preferring his own little forge by the camp for that purpose, and passing by the bigger shop at the mill. "We are that," Tommy agreed, just as he had agreed every day for the past month. "She's talkin' to us, Bill. She's t'rowed out 'er thread uh gold, an' says, 'Will yuh folly the t'read, now, byes?' A mont' ago she said that--she did." "We're on the trail," Bill repeated mechanically. "It may be a damn long one, but it's got to end." "It has," said Tommy, bouncing a rock off Wise One's rump. "Ivery trail has got an ind to it, Bill--it has, that." Bill walked several paces. "I wonder," he said then. "Did yuh leave a fire, Bill, in the stove?" Tommy broke a moody silence. "She's smokin' yit." "It's Don," Bill said indifferently. "I wish they'd quit worrying over me. Hell, you'd think I never spent months in the desert before! I hate to be treated like a sick kid," he added querulously. "Wit' a fire starrted a'ready, supper'll be quicker got," Tommy observed plaintively, and made for the camp. "I'll warrm up the beans an' bile the coffee in the time it takes t' tell it," he said. Bill went on with his steel and dumped it beside the blacksmith shop. The heads of two horses showed over the front gate,--Don's horses. Bill felt a contraction of the throat. He wished they would leave him alone; their unspoken loyalty hurt; their sympathy made him writhe. And then, Don might bring letters. Bill felt as if he could not bear to see another letter. So he walked into the camp--from which Tommy had fled--and confronted Doris. Bill pushed the door shut behind him and leaned against it, not knowing that he did so. He did not speak.