She pulled out the belt, left the gun lying there by the trunk, and hurried out with the chaps dangling over her arm.
She was pale when she stood before the two who sat there waiting with their hats in their hands and their faces full of repressed eagerness.
Her fingers trembled while she pulled at the stiff, leather flap of the pocket, to free it from the button.
"Maybe it ain't there yet," Art hazarded nervously, while they watched her.

"But that's where he put it, all right.

I saw him." Jean's fingers went groping into the pocket, stayed there for a second or two, and came out holding a folded envelope.
"That's it!" Art leaned toward her eagerly.

"That's the one, all right." Jean sat down suddenly because her knees seemed to bend under her weight.

Three years--and that letter within her reach all the time! "Let's see, Jean." Lite reached out and took it from her nerveless fingers.