"Both," he grinned.
"Well," she said, "I did keep both. But, as I told you before, I had
the Sanderson letter somewhere. I have been looking for it, but have
not been able to find it."
Sanderson grinned faintly and wondered what she would say if she knew
what care he had taken to burn the Sanderson letter.
"The letter you wrote as yourself--the Bransford letter--I have. It
was among a lot of others in the drawer of the dresser in your room. I
was looking them over while you were gone, and I took it."
Sanderson had a hard time to keep the eagerness out of his voice, but
he did so:
"You got it handy?"
She looked straight at him. "That is the oddest thing," she said
seriously. "I took it from there to keep it safe, and I have mislaid
it again, for I can't find it anywhere."
There was no guile in her eyes--Sanderson was certain of that. And he
hoped the letter would stay mislaid. He grinned.
"Well, I was only curious," he said. "Don't bother to look for it."
He felt better when he went out of the house and walked toward the
corral fence.
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