Within twenty-four hours after Peggy got back to her old home, it
was known all over the mountains that she meant business, and would
make a claim on William Grant's estate. Rumour, of course, supplied
all the needful details. It was said, and even sworn to, that
Peggy had her marriage lines put by in a big iron box, ready to
be produced at the proper time. Other authorities knew for a fact
that she had no proofs, but that the family at Kuryong were going
to give her any sum from a thousand pounds to a million, to cancel
her claim and save exposure.
As a matter of fact, none of those who talked knew anything
whatever. Peggy confided in no one but Red Mick, and that worthy
had had enough legal experience of a rough and ready sort to know
that things must be kept quiet till the proper time. But by way of
getting ready for action Red Mick and his sister one fine morning
rode up to Gavan Blake's office to consult him as to what they
should do.
Blake was not at all surprised to see them. He, of course, had heard
all the rumours that were afloat, and knew that if Peggy brought
forward any claim he would be asked to act for her professionally.
He had not quite decided whether he would act or not. In his hard
commonsense mind he saw next to no possibility of Peggy having a
bona fide case. He did not suppose for a moment that William Grant
would have run his neck into a bigamy noose; and it would put the
young lawyer in a very awkward position with Mary Grant if, after
saving her life and posing as her friend, he carried on a blackmailing
suit against her. At the same time, he felt that it could do no
harm to either side to investigate Peggy's case; there might be
awkward things that he could help to suppress. So with expectancy
and not a little amusement he saw his clients ride up and tie their
horses to the fence outside his office, and watched Peggy straighten
her ruffled plumage before entering.
They came in at the door with a seriousness worthy of the occasion.
Peggy heaved a subdued sigh and settled in a chair. Red Mick opened
the conversation.
"Mornin' to you, Gavan," he said.
By virtue of his relationship Mick was privileged to call his
brilliant nephew by his Christian name. To the rest of the clans
Gavan was Mr. Blake.
"Good-morning, Mick. Good-morning, Peggy. Have you had any rain?"
In the bush no one would think of introducing discussion without
a remark about the weather.
"Jist a few drops," said Red Mick gloomily. "Do us no good at
all. Things is looking terrible bad, so they are. But we want to
see ye--" and here he dropped his voice, rose, and cautiously closed
the door--"Peggy here, Mrs. Grant, d'ye see,"--Mick got the name
out without an effort--"she wants to see ye about making a claim
on the estate. 'Tis time she done somethin'. All these years left
to shift for herself--"