There was another letter--a more recent one, undoubtedly, for
the paper was in much better condition.
Sanderson looked at both envelopes, and finally selected the most
soiled one. He hesitated an instant, and then withdrew the contents
and read:
MR. WILLIAM BRANSFORD,
Tucson, Arizona.
DEAR BROTHER WILL: The last time I heard from you, you were in Tucson.
That was ten years ago, and it seems an awful long time. I suppose it
is too much to hope that you are still there, but it is that hope which
is making me write this letter.
Will, father is dead. He died yesterday, right after I got here. He
asked for you. Do you know what that means? It means he wanted you to
come back, Will. Poor father, he didn't really mean to be obstinate,
you know.
I shall not write any more, for I am not sure that you will ever read
it. But if you do read it, you'll come back, won't you--or write?
Please.
Your loving sister,
MARY BRANSFORD.
The Double A Ranch.
Union County, New Mexico.
Sanderson finished reading the letter.
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