“All right; I’ll risk it.” He rose and called Mr. Pinchook into the hut, but that gentleman came in rather flurried; he had just witnessed a fight between Taffy and the baronet down in the camp below, and was much shocked and agitated.
“Miss Chetwynde is ready to start when you are,” said Varley in his quiet way.
“I’m delighted to hear it!” said Mr. Pinchook, mopping his forehead. “And I—er—really think the sooner we start the better. This—er—rough place is not a fit place for Miss Chetwynde.”
Esmeralda looked at him indignantly, and opened her lips; but Varley cut in before she could utter an indignant protest.
“You could go this evening,” he said. “Miss Howard—I beg pardon, I mean Miss Chetwynde—is a capital horsewoman, and can ride to Good Luck, where you’ll catch the coach. I will, with your permission, accompany you thus far.”
Mr. Pinchook assented eagerly. He longed to get back to London.
“Very good,” said Varley. “While you’re taking refreshment I’ll step down to the camp and break the news to the boys. It will want some breaking,” he added, dryly, as he sauntered out.
The fight was still in progress when Varley got down to the camp. But it stopped suddenly when the news of Esmeralda’s approaching departure spread among the crowd. It was received at first with a stony silence of amazement, then a yell of indignation and execration directed at Mr. Pinchook’s unoffending head rose in the air.
“What! take our Ralda!” shouted Taffy. “Why, blame his old skin, let’s chuck him in the river, boys!”