And Cornelius Patrick Quilty shook hands with him again.
"To think iv me takin' ye fur a drummer, now!" he exclaimed in self-reproach. "Sure, I've often heard of yez. I live over beyant, in the shack wid the picket fince on wan side iv ut. The other sides blowed down in a dust storm a year gone, and I will erect them some day when I have time. But ye can't miss me place, more be token half the front iv the house was painted wanst. They say the paint was stole, but no matter. Bein' both officials iv the comp'ny, Mr. Farrel, we will have much to talk over. No doubt ye have been referred to me for details iv the disturbin' rumours. Well, it's this wa-ay: I am in the service iv the comp'ny, and I dhraw me pay wid regularity, praise be, so that I w'u'd not for a moment think of questionin' the wisdom iv the policy iv me superiors——"
"That's right—don't!" snapped Farwell. "Now, get me those telegrams, if there are any, and tell me what I want to know."
A hurt look crept into Mr. Quilty's eyes of faded blue.
"I regret that I have no messages for ye, sor," said he. "The comp'ny's land agent, Mr. Sleeman, will take ye wherever ye want to go in his autymobile. Ye will see his sign as ye go uptown. But, speakin' as man to man, Mr. Farwell, and havin' the interests of thim that pays me to heart, I w'u'd venture on a little advice."
"Well, what is it?" asked Farwell.
"It's this," said Quilty. "The men hereabouts—the ranchers—is sore. Don't make them sorer. Duty is duty, and must be done, iv coorse. But do ut as aisy as ye can." He broke off, eying two riders who were approaching the station.
"Who are those people?" asked Farwell.
"The man is Misther Casey Dunne, and the young leddy is Miss Sheila McCrae," Quilty informed him.
"I've heard of Dunne," said Farwell, who had done so from York. "Who's the McCrae girl? Is she one of the same bunch?"