‘I beg you a thousand pardons,’ said Wilfred, shaking his hand cordially. ‘I did not know you at first sight; the beard alters your appearance, you must admit. I hope you are coming to stay with us. My father will be delighted to see you. He often speaks of you.’
‘I thank him, and you too. If my father had been like him, I should have been a different man. But I had better tell you my business before we go farther. They say you are going to shift the cattle; is that true?’
‘We start almost at once. But we haven’t settled the route.’
‘That’s just as well. I’ve found a grand country-side away to the south, and came to show you the way—that is, if you believe my story.’
‘Look here,’ cried Wilfred excitedly, ‘come with me to Benmohr to-night, and we’ll talk it over with Argyll and Hamilton. We must hold a council over it. It’s near sundown, and I intended to stay there.’
Hubert Warleigh drew back. ‘I don’t know either of them to speak to. The fact is, I have lived so much more in the men’s huts than the masters’ until the last few months, that I don’t fancy going anywhere unless I’m asked.’
‘Come as my friend,’ said Wilfred impetuously. ‘It is time you took your proper position. Besides, you are the bearer of good tidings—of news which may be the saving of us all.’
He allowed himself to be persuaded. So the two young men rode up to the garden gate, at which portal they were met by Argyll. Ardmillan and Neil Barrington were playing quoits on the brown lawn. Fred Churbett (of course) was reading in the verandah.
‘Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Hubert Warleigh,’ said Wilfred. ‘He has just come in from a journey, and I have prevailed on him to accompany me.’
‘Most happy to see you, Mr. Warleigh,’ said Argyll, with cordial gravity. (He knew all about ‘Gyp’ Warleigh, and had probably said contemptuous things, but accepted Wilfred’s lead, and followed suit.) ‘The man will take your horses. Effingham, you know your way to the barracks.’