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"Then find him alone," he countered, sullenly. But a moment later he was plucking at Benito's elbow. "What's it all abaout, this 'ere news? Cawn't ye tell a fellow? Give me an inklin'; trust me and I'll trust you; that's business." Benito hesitated. "It's about the ranch," he returned at a venture. "Ow, the rawnch. Well, you needn't 'ave been so bloody sly about it.
Well, he has been paying taxes ever since, and is tired of the 'bally rawnch'; besides, he is busy keeping his property in England reasonably well spent. I am arranging through a London office to offer him ten dollars an acre, and I'll bet he jumps at it. I've arranged for the necessary credits, but there will be some expenses for cables, etc., and you can put your hundred into that.
"Aw, stow it, Alec!" said the former fighter. "'E's no spy. 'E's one o' our lads from the bay. Hi can tell by 'is haccent." Benito rose. His hand crept toward the derringer, but McTurpin was before him. "Don't try that, blast you!" he commanded. "Now, my friend, let's have a look at you.... By the Eternal! It's young Windham!" "The cove you don hout o' his rawnch?" asked the Bruiser, curiously.
Alec isn't worried much abaout the rawnch. 'E's bigger fish to fry. But you can see 'im if you wants. 'E's at the Broken Bottle Tavern up in Sydney Town." They had a drink together; then Benito parted from his informant, ruminating over what the little man, so palpably a "Sydney Duck," had told him. Benito surveyed his reflection in a glass.
"Funny how much one takes the little beggars for grawnted until it's one's own that kicks up the row? You've not seen her she's a nice little beggar. You might get some sleep, I should think. I'm going to hang around until some sort of a family jamboree is over, at one o'clock your mother insists that we have dinner and then I'll go out to the rawnch. But I'll be in in the morning!"
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