He handed the envelope to his partner.  The latter took it, wonderingly, and looked at the inscription.

“Nobody’s handwritin’ that I know,” he said.

“You knew it once well enough.”

“I did?  And it was mailed out in Carson City, Nevada.  Why, that’s where the Crawford Smith boy lives, ain’t it?  What on earth?”

He opened the envelope and from it took several sheets closely covered with finely written lines.  He began to read and, as he read, his expression changed from curiosity to wonder, to amazement, to anger, to a mixture of the last three.  The final sheet fell from his fingers to the floor.  He looked up with a very white face.

“My God!” he said solemnly.

A half-hour later they were still talking.  Shadrach had not entirely recovered from the surprise, but now he could think and speak more coherently, although the wonder of it all was overpowering.

“It seems as if the hand of the Lord was in it,” he declared.

“It is,” agreed Zoeth, with absolute conviction.  “See how it worked out accordin’ to His promise.  The wicked flourished for a time, but God sent the punishment in due season, didn’t He?  Can’t you see the poor feller’s agonizin’ in every line of that letter?”

“Poor feller!  Good Lord above, Zoeth Hamilton, you ain’t pityin’ him, are you?  You ain’t sorry for him—­you?”

Zoeth nodded.  “I wan’t at first,” he said.  “At first the whole thing, comin’ on me out of a clear sky as you might say, knocked me flat.  The doctor, when he came, said he thought I must have had a sudden shock.  I did; that was it, that letter.  But later on, when I was gettin’ better and could think again, and when I was alone and had the chance and could read the letter again, I began to—­to—­well, not forgive him for what he done—­I don’t suppose I can ever do that”

“I should say not!  Damn him!”

“Hush, Shadrach; he’s dead.”

“So he is.  I forgot.  Then he’s damned, I guess, without any orders from me.”

“He was damned here on earth, Shadrach.  All his life—­the last part of it, anyhow—­must have been a torment.  He must have idolized that boy of his.  He says so in the letter, but it’s plain on every line of the writin’ without his sayin’ it.  And can’t you just imagine him as the boy grew up and they loved each other more and more, tremblin’ and scared every minute for fear that somehow or other his son’ll learn that the father he loves and respects is a—­a thief—­and—­and worse?  Seems to me I can imagine it.  And then all at once the boy comes to him and says he wants to marry—­Oh, my soul!  Shadrach, think of it!—­he wants to marry your girl and mine—­Marcellus’s stepdaughter.  Why, it must have driven him nigh crazy.  And then they quarrel, and the boy, the only bein’ on earth he’s livin’ for, goes off and leaves him.  And he knows he’s comin’ here—­to us—­and that some time or other he’s sartin to learn everything.  No wonder he wrote that letter.  No wonder—­”