“A charming type of hunter!” observed Lady Withers.
Mr. Carteret made no reply. He was trying to think it out, but was making no headway. While thus engaged his eyes wandered down the stable passage, and he saw one of his own grooms approaching. Almost anything was pleasanter than contemplating the creature in the box-stall, so he watched the man approach. “I beg pardon, sir,” said the man, “but the butler sent me to find you, sir, with a telegram that came just after you had left.”
Mr. Carteret tore open the envelop and read the message, which was a long one. As he finished a slight sigh escaped him. “This may interest the Major,” he observed, “and possibly explain various things.” He handed the despatch to Lady Withers, who opened her lorgnette and began to read it to the Major.
Police have Jim Siddons, one of our horse foremen. Has been drunk for week. Confesses he sold your horses at auction, but don’t know where. Believes he shipped you two outlaws. “Smallpox,” brand, “arrow V,” and “Hospital,” brand, “bar O.” Hospital dangerous horse. Killed three men. Look out. Very sorry.
Reilly.
“Who is Reilly?” asked Lady Withers.
“Reilly,” said Mr. Carteret, “is the horse superintendent of Buffalo Bill’s show. You see Buffalo Bill is the neighbor to whom I cabled.”
“Then—” began Lady Withers, but the Major interrupted her.
“Does this mean,” he demanded, “that I have bought a stolen horse?”
“It means,” said Mr. Carteret, “that if you will accept an American horse from Mr. Barclay and myself, we shall be very much flattered.”
“Really,—” said the Major. He began to enter upon one of his discourses, but stopped as he saw that neither Mr. Carteret nor Barclay was listening. Instead, they were trying to make out the brand on the creature in the box-stall.