And, as he jogged homeward over the hard, frozen snow––his saddlebags on either side choking full of good things to eat––he tried, again and again, but without success, to discover at which point in his conversation with Brenchfield he had given himself away and thereby disclosed to him that his cipher confession was a myth.
And Graham Brenchfield, as he took the back lanes home,––after having regained his scattered senses and put his upset toilet into half-respectable shape––cursed himself for his folly and wished that what he had tried to draw Ralston on were really true; that the document he so much dreaded and desired to possess were really ashes long since strewn to the winds.
But he could not be certain on the point, for Phil had not sufficiently betrayed himself; so he cursed again and made up his mind that there was only one course now 281 open to make surety doubly sure;––and Phil Ralston or any others who tried to come in his path must accept the consequences of their folly and rashness.
Phil reached the ranch in good time and, considering all he had gone through, in fairly good spirits. He stabled the horse, and after brushing three or four of Ah Sing’s black cats from the door-step he went inside, greeting Jim in his usual hearty way.
The table was set in the kitchen and the pots were steaming on the stove top, all ready for the evening meal.
Jim was in the adjoining room, apparently absorbed over some of his alleged literary work. He raised his head as Phil greeted him, but his face remained solemn. He kept at the table while Phil washed and dried his face and hands. Phil went in to him at last and sat down on the bed watching Jim intently.
“Come on, old cock!” he cried, “wake up. These dime ‘bloods’ are getting your goat. Cut loose from them––it’s Christmas Eve, and, glory be! we are not in the workhouse.
“Hullo!––what have you been doing with my old gum boots? Gee,––I haven’t seen them for a dog’s age.”
That gave Jim his opening. He rose and went over to the bed, holding out his hand to his partner.
“Phil, old boy, if you get angry with me I’m going to be dog-goned sorry. I’ve got something on my chest and I’ve got to get it off.