"Never mind, Yess; this will tell you where he is," said Margaret, rising and holding out the letter. "Como brought it just now. Make haste and read it. I must go and tell mother."
Yesslett read the letter with many little muttered expressions of astonishment and sympathy. What he said when he ended it and handed the crumpled paper to Margaret was very characteristic of him.
"Look here, Margaret. Macleod may be away a day or two, and even then may not bring the police with him. I can't bear to think of Alec eating his heart out and believing that Geordie is dead, whilst all the time he is alive and getting better every hour. I shall go and let him know that we are working for him, and that Geordie is alive."
"But, Yesslett, it will be running such a risk."
"Not if I go alone," said the boy, shrewdly. "In the first place, they can't know that Alec has sent the letter to us, and they will think that one—er—man would never trust himself with them alone. I shall be all right, never fear."
He spoke boldly, though modestly, and the light that glowed in his steady eyes said more than his words. He had not, however, quite got rid of a trick of his old nervous manner, that of rubbing the palm of his hand on the back of his breeches. This he still did when greatly moved or excited.
"We ought to speak to mother about it."
"No, don't say anything to her. She has enough on her mind without another responsibility. I shall go on my own hook."
"It is good of you to do all this for us. You are going into danger for our sakes, Chevalier. At any rate, take my advice in this. Don't go in those clean breeches and shirt. Make yourself look dirty and more like a station hand, so that if any of the bushrangers do see you they won't want to stick you up, and you can go to that place near Norton's Gap—what does Alec call it?—as though you wanted a job."
"That's not a bad idea, Margaret."