"You a farm hand?" inquired Leyburn amusedly.
"Was. I worked for Hendrie till his dirty Scotch manager fired me. Now I'm chasin' chores around the hotel, back there. Well, guess I got to find this guy 'fore I make my blankets this night. I'll get on—seein' you haven't seen him around."
But Leyburn promptly detained him.
"I'm your man," he said quietly. "What is it?"
"You're Leyburn?" The man's eyes twinkled in the darkness as he fumbled in his dirty waistcoat pocket. "I'm real glad," he exclaimed. "Guess I'll get a peek at Hendrie's bonfire after all. Here—it come over the 'phone for you an hour back. It's from Calford. The boss wrote it down so I wouldn't forget. You got to chase back to Calford right away. Something important. Boss said they wouldn't say wot, seein' it wasn't you speakin', but you wasn't to lose a minit—'cep you wanted one hell of a bust-up of trouble. Here it is." He drew out a piece of paper tightly folded.
Leyburn took the paper.
"That what this paper says?" he asked.
"Wal, not just them words, but you got to get back right away. Guess I'll get on an' see that fire now."
The choreman picked up his reins and rammed his heels into his horse's flanks.
"So long," he called out, as his horse dashed forward in the direction Leyburn had come.