CHAPTER XIII: TIGHTENING ROPESFor quite a number of years John Freeman had been cashier of the Medicine Tree Bank. Painted Valley had seen his hair turn from brown to gray during the years he had served them, and they knew him for an honest man. He lived simply and alone, never having been married. From one end of the valley to the other, he was known as “Uncle John,” as much a fixture of the bank as the faded gold-leaf letters on the window.
Just now John Freeman sat at his old desk, facing Jim Kelton, one of his oldest friends. It had been difficult for Jim Kelton to come to Medicine Tree, but he knew the cause was urgent.
“I know what you want, Jim,” said Freeman. He seemed to have aged greatly in a few months, and the blue-veined hands, which toyed with a pencil, were not steady.
“Y
