of
twenty-five miles away, to procure certain supplies, and now as he
reappeared, he was bearing on his head a prodigious load.

"Now we shan't be long!" ejaculated Skelsey, "and good biz too, for the
grog was running most confoundedly low. Jonah is therefore for once a
welcome sight."

The load on being investigated was found to consist of a case of whisky
and sundry unconsidered trifles in the grocery line. When this had been
overhauled the boy, fumbling in the pockets of his greasy cord jacket,
fished out a greasier bundle all rolled up in newspaper.

"The mail, by George!" cried Skelsey. "English mail too. Here you are,
Spence. It's all for you, confound it," he added disappointedly.
"Well, that jolly blue envelope bears a striking family likeness to our
old friend the dun. Never mind, old chap, you're out of that brute's
reach anyway."

Justin was probably of the same opinion, for he looked dubiously at the
suspicious enclosure, and put it aside, beginning upon his other two
mail letters. Yet, when half through these something moved him to tear
open the other. A glance at its contents--then he started and grew
pale. What was this? His hands trembled, and a mist seemed to come
between his eyes and the paper, as he held it in front of him, striving
to master the contents. Was it real? Heavens! no! Some fool must have
been putting up a practical joke on him. It was impossible. It could
not be.

"No bad news I hope, old chap?"

His partner's voice, anxious, sympathetic, sounded quite far away.

"No--no. Oh no--not bad news," he answered unsteadily. "I'll tell you
bye-and-bye. Here, Sixpence! Hurry up and get in my horse.
_Tshetsha_--d'you hear! _Tshetsha_!"

Skelsey watched him furtively and wondered. However, he made no further
remark.

"Well, so long, Jack," said Spence, as he led forth his horse. His
partner had further observed that his hands shook during the process of
saddling up--and that he seemed in a desperate hurry to be off. "I'll
be back to-night, but after dark, I expect."

"No, you won't," thought Skelsey to himself. "Spence _is_ making a
bally fool of himself in that quarter. There'll be a gorgeous bust-up
one of these days." Then aloud:

"So long, Spence. Remember me to the beautiful Mrs B."

"No more of this life," thought Spence to himself as he rode along. A
very different one now threw wide its alluring portals before him. He
would leave all his share in