It was a night at the end of the first week after the completion of the new house. Having finished his supper, my factotum had gone across to the township, and I was paying my evening visit to Sheilah. About ten o'clock I started for home. It had been hot and thundery all the afternoon and evening, and now a mass of heavy cloud had almost covered the heavens. The wind whistled dismally through the she-oak trees in the scrub and moaned along the valley. A premonition of coming ill was upon me, and when I reached the new house, where I had already installed myself, I went into the kitchen feeling ready to jump away from my own shadow. The fire just showed a red glow, and to my amazement gave me the outline of a man sitting beside it.
'You're up late, Dick,' I cried, thinking it was my man returned from his evening's outing. But he did not answer.
I lit a candle and held it aloft. Then I almost dropped it in horror and astonishment.
The man sitting beside the fire was Whispering Pete!
'Good heavens, how did you get here?' I cried, as I set the candle down upon the table.
'Rode,' he answered laconically, getting on to his feet. 'My horse is in your stockyard now. I've ridden three hundred miles this week, and must be over the border before Tuesday.'
'But why have you come here of all other places?' I asked, resolved to let him see that I was not at all pleased to have him on my premises.
'Because I had to see you, Jim, for myself.' Here he stopped and went over to the door and looked out. 'Nobody about is there?' he asked suspiciously.
'Not a soul,' I answered. 'Go on, out with it, what do you want to see me for?'
He came closer and sank his voice almost to a whisper, as he said,—