Chapter Thirty Two.
A False Scent.
Two days, three days glided by, and the convict was not found. Then a week passed, and another, and he was still at large; but a letter was brought up from the post, a couple of the mounted police being the bearers. This letter, from the doctor, told that Sir John O’Hara was dangerously ill, and that his life was despaired of; it was impossible to leave him till a change took place; and the letter ended affectionately, with hopes that Nic was managing the station well, and that all was going on peacefully.
The mounted police were going on to Mr Dillon’s, and on their return in three days they were to take back Mrs Braydon’s answer.
The men had just ridden off after a rest and a hearty meal, when, as Nic turned to re-enter the house and hear the letter read over again, he saw old Sam’s head over the garden fence, and the handle of his spade held up as a signal.
“Want me, Sam?”
“Ay, sir; come in here. I don’t want Brooky to see me talking to you as if I was telling tales. We has to live together, and we’re bad enough friends without that.”
Nic went round by the gate, and the old man sunk his voice.