"Would it do if I wrote those reasons and left them in a sealed
envelope? Then in case anything happened you could open it and
satisfy that robust curiosity of yours." He recognized that he
had trapped himself, and he was making the best bargain left him.
"You may write them, if you like. But I'm going to open the
letter, anyway. The reasons belong to me now. You promised."
"I'll make a new deal with you, then," he smiled. "I'll take
awful good care of myself to-night if you'll promise not to open
the envelope for two weeks unless--well, unless that something
happens that we ain't expecting."
"Call it a week, and it's a bargain."
"Better say when we're back across the line again. That may be
inside of three days, if everything goes well," he threw in as a
bait.
"Done. I'm to open the letter when we cross the line into Texas."
Bucky shook the little hand that was offered him and wished
mightily that he had the right to celebrate with more fervent
demonstrations.
That afternoon the ranger wrote with a good deal of labor the
letter he had promised. It appeared to be a difficult thing for
him to deliver himself even on paper of those good and sufficient
reasons.
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