A good fire burned on the hearth in the library at Sandymere, although the mild air of an early spring morning floated in through the open window. Challoner sat in a big leather chair, watching the flames and thinking of his nephew, when a servant entered and handed him a card.
Challoner glanced at it.
“Clarke? I don’t know any one of that name—”
He stopped abruptly as he saw the word Sweetwater in small type at the bottom of the card. He knew that that was the name of the prairie town from which Blake had started on his quest into the wilderness.
Sweetwater“All right, Perkins,” he said, rather eagerly; and a few minutes afterward Clarke entered the room, with an irritating air of assurance.
“Colonel Challoner, I presume?”
Challoner bowed.
“You have brought me some news of my nephew
