There was no need for the man to go on. Allen had already left the apartment and was hurrying across the road to what had in former days been the only house in the section.
It was a rude affair, now half fallen into decay. Outside, under the overhanging logs of the roof, was situated a bench sometimes used by travelers as a resting place. Here many a yarn had been told, and many a "hoss deal" talked over and closed.
Straight to the bench went Allen, and in the fading light looked eagerly on all sides for bits of paper of any kind. He found a great number and gathered them all into his empty dinner pouch. When he was sure there were no more scraps in the vicinity he returned to the house.
"Well, what have you?" asked Noel Urner, with interest.
"I have nearly fifty scraps of letters," said Allen. "I must look them over at once."
A lamp was lit, and, spreading out the scraps on a large, flat board, Allen set to work to sort out the various pieces. It was tedious work and Noel Urner assisted him.
Suddenly the young ranchman uttered a low cry.
