“He might have put a match in at the moment?”
“Rain or no rain? Yes, he might. But
he was interrupted by more than the rain. I got
into the shed myself just at the moment—I
and Jacko. It was last night, when the rain was
pouring. I heard the man, and dark as was the
night, I saw his figure as he fled away.”
“You didn’t know him?” said Miss
Daly.
“But that boy, who has the eyes of a cat, he
knew him.”
“Jacko?”
“Jacko knew him by his gait. I should have
hardly wanted any one to tell me who it was.
I could have named the man at once, but for the fear
of doing an injustice.”
“And who was it?”
“Our friend Medlicot’s prime favorite
and new factotum, Mr. William Nokes. Mr. William
Stokes is the gentleman who intends to burn us all
out of house and home, and Mr. Medlicot is the gentleman
whose pleasure it is to keep Mr. Nokes in the neighborhood.”
The two women stood awe-struck for a moment, but a
sense of justice prevailed upon the wife to speak.
“That may be all true,” she said.
“Perhaps it is as you say about that man.
But you would not therefore think that Mr. Medlicot
knows any thing about it?”
“It would be impossible,” said Kate.
“I have not accused him,” said Harry;
“but he knows that the man was dismissed, and
yet keeps him about the place. Of course he is
responsible.”
Harry Heathcote’s appeal.
For the first mile between the wool-shed and the house
Heathcote and the two ladies rode without saying a
word. There was something so terrible in the
reality of the danger which encompassed them that
they hardly felt inclined to discuss it. Harry’s
dislike to Medlicot was quite a thing apart.
That some one had intended to burn down the wool-shed,
and had made preparation for doing so, was as apparent
to the women as to him. And the man who had been
balked by a shower of rain in his first attempt might
soon find an opportunity for a second. Harry
was well aware that even Jacko’s assertion could
not be taken as evidence against the man whom he suspected.
In all probability no further attempt would be made
upon the wool-shed; but a fire on some distant part
of the run would be much more injurious to him than
the mere burning of a building. The fire that
might ruin him would be one which should get ahead
before it was seen, and scour across the ground, consuming
the grass down to the very roots over thousands of
acres, and destroying fencing over many miles.
Such fires pass on, leaving the standing trees unscathed,
avoiding even the scrub, which is too moist with the
sap of life for consumption, but licking up with fearful
rapidity every thing that the sun has dried.
He could watch the wool-shed and house, but with no
possible care could he so watch the whole run as to
justify him in feeling security. There need be
no preparation of leaves. A match thrown loosely
on the ground would do it. And in regard to a
match so thrown, it would be impossible to prove a
guilty intention.
