le. The
station-hands were all excitement; the prospect of a big law-case was
a real godsend to them. To drop the matter would be equivalent to a
confession of defeat, but, after what had passed, Hugh had no option.
So he told Mr. Grant that, on thinking it over, he did not consider it
advisable to go on with the case against Red Mick; Miss Grant would have
to go into the box to give evidence, which would be very unpleasant for
her.

Poor Hugh! He was too honourable to give any false reason, and too shy
to tell the whole truth. If he had said that there was no hope of a
conviction, it would have been all right. But consideration for the
feelings of anyone, even his own daughter, was to Billy the Bully quite
incomprehensible, and he wrote back, on a letter-card, "Go on with the
prosecution."

This put Hugh in a frightful dilemma. He had no trouble whatever in
making up his mind to disobey the order, as he was bound to stand by his
promise to Miss Grant. But what answer should he send to her father? He
was in a reckless mood, but he knew well enough that Grant would order
him off the place, neck and crop, if he dared to disobey; and he owed
it to his mother and sister to avoid such a thing. The more he looked at
the position of affairs, the less he liked it. He wrote a dozen letters,
and tore them up again.

He thought of making Red Mick a sporting offer of, say, a couple of
hundred pounds, to disappear altogether--Mick could have arranged
that easily enough. Then he thought of going down to see Mr. Grant
to explain; but the more he thought of that the less he liked it. He
worried and worried over it, and when he went to bed lay awake thinking
about it. He fell into dozes, and dreamt that Mr. Grant had turned him
off the place, and had made Red Mick manager, and that Miss Grant was
going to marry Red Mick; then he woke with a start, and heard through
the darkness the rapid hoof-beats of a horse ridden at speed up the road
from Kiley's, and the barking of dogs that announced the arrival of a
stranger.

He went out and found in the yard one of the telegraph operators from
Kiley's, on a smoking horse. "Very important telegram, Mr. Gordon," he
said. "I borrowed the horse, and brought it over as fast as I could."

Hugh opened the envelope hurriedly. The operator struck a match and held
it up while he read. The message was from the secretary of Grant's club,
and ran as follows:

"William Grant died suddenly this morning