"By whom?" questioned Jack. "No one that counts, I'll swear. Your orderly won't break his heart if you take a night out. He'll probably do the same himself. And no one else will know. We'll let you leave as early as you like in the morning, but not before. Come, that's settled, isn't it? Go and get Rupert a shake-down, little 'un, and give him a decent feed with plenty of corn in it! No, let her, man; let her! She likes doing it, eh, Dot girl?"
"Yes, I like it," Dot said, and hurriedly disappeared before Hill could intervene.
Jack turned to his wife. "Now, missis! Go and make ready upstairs! It's only a little room, Fletcher, but it's snug. That's the way," as his wife followed Dot's example. "Now—quick, man! I want a word with you."
"Obviously," said the magistrate, dryly. "You needn't say it, thanks all the same. I'll leave that drink till—afterwards."
He straightened his tall figure with an instinctive bracing of the shoulders, and turned to the door.
Jack watched him go with a smile that was not untinged with anxiety, and lifted his glass as the door closed.
"You've got the cards, old feller," he said. "May you play 'em well!"
Fletcher Hill stepped forth into the moonlit night and stood still. It had been a swift maneuvre on Jack's part, and it might have disconcerted a younger man and driven him into ill-considered action. But it was not this man's nature to act upon impulse. His caution was well known. It had been his safeguard in many a difficulty. It stood him in good stead now.
So for a space he remained, looking out over the widespread grasslands, his grim face oddly softened and made human. He was no longer an official, but a man, with feelings rendered all the keener for the habitual restraint with which he masked them.
He moved forward at length through the magic moonlight, guided by the sound of trampling hoofs in the building where Jack's horse was stabled. He reached the doorway, treading softly, and looked in.