"If he proves innocent, my poor friend, I'll make Ferris, on his knees, eat those cruel words!" But when he left his new client, so strangely brought into his half confidence, the Detroit lawyer hastened to Adams' Express office.
For two hours he sat alone in a private room and studied over the contents of the mute message of the dead.
There were things in the package which astounded him; there were written words which melted him to tears.

The little hoard of twenty-eight thousand dollars in certified cheques was there, with an order for Randall Clayton's active stocks.

A duly executed will, in favor of my school-fellow and friend, Jack Witherspoon, lawyer, of Detroit, was accompanied with a letter which gave the history of the abortive attempt to decoy him to Cheyenne.
The last manly lines brought tears to Jack Witherspoon's eyes.

"As they cannot lure me to Cheyenne, they may strike at me, even here, and so, before your return.

I've left you the little I have.