His somewhat gloomy reflections were suddenly disturbed by the sounds of an approaching rider, who presently drew up outside the open door.
“Oh, Sargint!” came the gruff bark of Gallagher; “yu’re back, eh? Bin down for me mail, so I brung yores along.”
“Good man! much obliged. Come on in, Barney!” Ellis called out.
And the rancher, swinging down from the saddle, dropped his lines and slouched in with a packet of letters in his hand.
“Nothin’ doin’, an’ nobody around for yu’ while yu’ was away,” he remarked, dropping into a chair and lighting his pipe. “Gosh, but it’s a warm night for this time o’ year!”
The Sergeant reached out for, and began leisurely to open up his mail. Most of it bore the regimental stamp of L Division. Returned crime reports, with caustic, blue-pencilled marginal comments in the O.C.’s caligraphy, requesting certain omitted particulars therein. Circulars respecting stolen stock, descriptions of persons “wanted” for various crimes, drastic orders emanating, primarily, from Headquarters at Regina, regarding new innovations to be observed in certain phases of detachment duty, etc., the monthly “General Orders,” and so on. But presently a somewhat large envelope, addressed in a clerk’s hand and bearing an English stamp and the London postmark, attracted his attention. Whoever could be writing him from the Old Country? he wondered. The only letters he ever received from there were mostly from Major Carlton, and this wasn’t his handwriting.
With a vague feeling of uneasiness, he turned it over in his hand irresolutely for a moment, then opened it. It contained a closed envelope and a letter which bore the heading of a London legal firm. Mechanically he smoothed this latter communication out and began to read the epoch-making document that was destined later to create for him a new world and to transform his desert into a paradise.
Dear Sir,—We are charged with the melancholy duty of breaking to you the news of the death of your old friend, Major Gilbert Carlton, on the 20th ult. Our late respected client, although possessing all the outward appearances of being a hale, robust old soldier, had for many years suffered from what physicians term an “aortic aneurism,” the origin of which was probably the result of the privations and exposure endured by him in the various campaigns that he had gone through. The final bursting of this “aneurism” was the cause of his sudden death.
Suffering from such an ailment, it is therefore not surprising that he apparently realized of late that his end might come upon him unexpectedly at any moment of his advanced age. This presentiment he recently confided to us, during one of his last business visits. The enclosed letter he left in our care, charging us—in case of his decease—to forward it immediately to you.
For many years he frequently spoke of you to us with great regard and feeling; referring to you always, as “The boy, Ellis,” or “His boy,” in tones which moved us not a little, evincing as he did, such a kindly love and esteem for you. He was seventy-five years of age, and, as you are of course aware, a bachelor all his life, possessing only distant relatives. Although not by any means a recluse, and enjoying life to its full in his old-fashioned, cheery way at his estate—Biddlecombe Hall, in Devonshire, surrounded by many of his old soldier friends—he was not an extravagant man and the revenues of the said estate have been steadily accumulating for many years. This magnificent property, with all revenues thereof had been left to him under the will of his cousin, the late Lord Baring, his nearest relative.
We enclose a copy of the testament, by which you will see that (with the exception of the estate, which, re a stipulated clause in Lord Baring’s will, has reverted at the death of the last incumbent to the Morley Institute, to be used as a sanatorium for tuberculosis patients, and a few bequests to old servants) he has bequeathed to you the great bulk of his money. We hold at your disposal, a sum (discounting probate dues) approximately nearly ninety thousand pounds.
We beg to congratulate you on the acquisition of this considerable fortune. Thinking that you might desire to relinquish your present occupation at once, and not knowing how you are financially situated, we enclose a credit for five hundred pounds, for which please sign the accompanying receipt. Kindly communicate with us at your earliest convenience.
We are, dear sir, yours truly,
Eaton and Smith.
Dazedly Ellis glanced through the attached copy of the will and reread the letter through. Gallagher, who had been intently watching his face throughout, vaguely aware from the Sergeant’s unconcealed agitation that some tidings of an unusual character had been received, inquired casually:
“Why, what’s up, Sargint? Hope yu’ ain’t bin a-gettin’ bad news?”