"Why, you see, I reckon I'd have to get that check cashed somewhere,
Ann, and as it will have your name on it, why, you see, in a country
where everybody knows everybody else's business--"
"I understand," Ann broke in--"they would know I had a hand in it."
"Yes, they would know that, of course, if I made use of that particular
check."
Ann Boyd rested her massive jaw on her hand in such a way as to hide her
face from his view. She was still and silent for a minute, then she
rose, and, going to the fire, she bent to the flame of a pine-knot and
destroyed the slip of paper.
"I don't _usually_ keep that much money about the house," she said,
looking down on him, "but I happen to have some hidden away. Go out and
get your horse ready and I'll bring it to you at the fence."
He obeyed, rising stiffly from his chair and reaching for his worn
slouch hat.
He was standing holding his bony horse by the rein when she came out a
few minutes later and gave him a roll of bills wrapped in a piece of
cloth.
"Here it is," she said. "You came after it under a sense of duty, and I
am sending it the same way. I may be made out of odd material, but I
don't care one single thing about the girl. If you had come and told me
she was dead, I don't think I'd have felt one bit different. It might
have made me a little curious to know which of us was going next--you,
me, or her--that's all. Good-bye, Joe Boyd."
"Good-bye, Ann," he grunted, as he mounted his horse. "I'll see that
this matter goes through right."