“Sandy and I, we do think that,” Gard admitted. “He, Mr. Westcott, ain’t a friend of mine,” he added, “and if he did find them I’m sure to hear from him before long.”
Helen pondered his words. She knew, in various ways, that Westcott was not friendly to this man. She began now to understand why, and she realized that the attorney could be a venomous foe.
“Any one of the others would have handed the papers over to Sandy, would they not?” she asked, and before Gard could reply turned to answer Jacinta, who was calling anxiously from the house.
“Jacinta thinks it’s getting too cool out here,” she explained, laughingly. “It troubles her if she thinks I am running risks. Shall we go into the house?”
The afternoon was waning. Gard hesitated.
“I must be getting back,” he said, following her, “but I’d like to explain that diagram to you. I want you to have it in case ... if anything should happen, I—want it to be yours. You get your father to have some work done on it, and file the claim right for you. My filing—isn’t legal.”
The words came hard, and the color mounted to his forehead. The girl’s hands were trembling. Outside the sound of men’s voices came vaguely on the afternoon stillness.
“Is it as late as that?” Helen asked, surprised. “Are the men getting back?”
Glancing out of the window they saw Wing Chang coming from the kitchen to the house. Near the kitchen door a man on horseback was waiting.
“Mistlee Glad!” Chang’s yellow visage wore a startled look as he appeared in the doorway of the big living room.