Chapter Twenty Four.

Chapter Twenty Four.The Meeting of Old Friends in Curious Circumstances.When the soldiers were safely away Hunky Ben returned to the cave and brought Leather down.Charlie Brooke’s love for his old school-fellow and playmate seemed to become a new passion, now that the wreck of life and limb presented by Shank had awakened within him the sensation of profound pity. And Shank’s admiration for and devotion to Charlie increased tenfold now that the terrible barrier of self had been so greatly eliminated from his own nature, and a new spirit put within him.By slow degrees, and bit by bit, each came to know and understand the other under the influence of new lights and feelings. But their thoughts about themselves, and their joy at meeting in such peculiar circumstances, had to be repressed to some extent in the presence of their common friend Ralph Ritson—aliasBuck Tom—for Charlie knew him only as an old school-fellow, though to Leather he had been a friend and chum ever since they had landed in the New World.The scout, during the first interval of leisure on the previous day, had extracted the ball without much difficulty from Buck’s chest, through which it had passed, and was found lying close under the skin at his back. The relief thus afforded, and rest obtained under the influence of some medicine administered by Captain Wilmot, had brightened the poor fellow up to some extent; and Leather, seeing him look so much better on his return, began to entertain some hopes of his recovery.Buck himself had no such hope; but, being a man of strong will, he refused to let it be seen in his demeanour that he thought his case to be hopeless. Yet he did not act from bravado, or the slightest tincture of that spirit which resolves to “die game.” The approach of death had indeed torn away the veil and permitted him to see himself in his true colours, but he did not at that time see Jesus to be the Saviour of even “the chief of sinners.” Therefore his hopelessness took the form of silent submission to the inevitable.Of course Charlie Brooke spoke to him more than once of the love of God in Christ, and of the dying thief who had looked to Jesus on the cross and was saved, but Buck only shook his head. One afternoon in particular Charlie tried hard to remove the poor man’s perplexities.“It’s all very well, Brooke,” said Buck Tom, “and very kind of you to interest yourself in me, but the love of God and the salvation of Christ are not for me. You don’t know what a sinner I have been, a rebel all my life—all my life, mark you. I would count it mean to come whining for pardon now that the game is up. Ideservehell—or whatever sort o’ punishment is due—an’ I’m willing to take it.”“Ralph Ritson,” said Brooke impressively, “you are a far greater sinner than you think or admit.”“Perhaps I am,” returned the outlaw sadly, and with a slight expression of surprise. “Perhaps I am,” he repeated. “Indeed I admit that you are right, but—but your saying so is a somewhat strange way to comfort a dying man. Is it not?”“I amnottrying to comfort you. I am trying, by God’s grace, to convince you. You tell me that you have been a rebel all your days?”“Yes; I admit it.”“There are still, it may be, a few days yet to run, and you are determined, it seems, to spend these in rebellion too—up to the very end!”“Nay, I do not say that. Have I not said that Isubmitto whatever punishment is due? Surely that is not rebellion. I can do nothingnowto make up for a mis-spent life, so I am willing to accept the consequences. Is not that submission to God—at least as far as lies in my power?”“No; it isnotsubmission. Bear with me when I say it is rebellion, still deeper rebellion than ever. God says to you, ‘You have destroyed yourself but inmeis your help.’ He says, ‘Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be white as snow.’ He says, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved,’ and assures you that ‘whoever will’ may come to Him, and that no one who comes shall be cast out—yet in the face of all that you tell me that the love of God and the salvation of Christ are not for you! Ralph, my friend, you think that if you had a chance of living your life over again you would do better and so deserve salvation. That is exactly what God tells us we cannot do, and then He tells us that He Himself, in Jesus Christ, has provided salvation from sinforus, offers it as a free unmerited gift; and immediately we dive to the deepest depth of sin by deliberately refusing this deliverance from sin unless we can somehow manage to deserve it.”“I cannot see it,” said the wounded man thoughtfully.“Only God Himself, by His Holy Spirit, can enable you to see it,” said his companion; and then, in a low earnest voice, with eyes closed and his hand on his friend’s arm, he prayed that the outlaw might be “born again.”Charlie Brooke was not one of those who make long prayers, either “for a pretence” or otherwise. Buck Tom smiled slightly when his friend stopped at the end of this one sentence.“Your prayer is not long-winded, anyhow!” he said.“True, Ralph, but it is comprehensive. It requires a good deal of expounding and explaining to make man understand what we say or think. The Almighty needs none of that. Indeed He does not need even the asking but Hebidsus ask, and that is enough for me. I have seen enough of life to understand the value of unquestioning obedience whether one comprehends the reason of an order or not.”“Ay,” returned Buck quickly, “when he who gives the order has a right to command.”“That is so much a matter of course,” rejoined Charlie, “that I would not think of referring to it while conversing with an intelligent man. By the way—which name would you like to be called, by Ralph or Buck?”“It matters little to me,” returned the outlaw languidly, “and it won’t matter to anybody long. I should prefer ‘Ralph,’ for it is not associated with so much evil as the other, but you know our circumstances are peculiar just now, so, all things considered, I had better remain Buck Tom to the end of the chapter. I’ll answer to whichever name comes first when the roll is called in the next world.”The conversation was interrupted at this point by the entrance of Hunky Ben bearing a deer on his lusty shoulders. He was followed by Dick Darvall.“There,” said the former, throwing the carcass on the floor, “I told ye I wouldn’t be long o’ bringin’ in somethin’ for the pot.”“Ay, an’ the way he shot it too,” said the seaman, laying aside his rifle, “would have made even a monkey stare with astonishment. Has Leather come back, by the way? I see’d him goin’ full sail through the woods when I went out this mornin’.”“He has not yet returned,” said Charlie. “When I relieved him and sat down to watch by our friend here, he said he felt so much better and stronger that he would take his gun and see if he couldn’t find something for the pot. I advised him not to trust his feelings too much, and not to go far, but—ah, here he comes to answer for himself.”As he spoke a step was heard outside, and next moment Shank entered, carrying a brace of rabbits which he flung down, and then threw himself on a couch in a state of considerable exhaustion.“There,” said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “They’ve cost me more trouble than they’re worth, for I’m quite done up. I had no idea I had become so weak in the legs. Ralph, my dear fellow,” he added, forgetting himself for the moment as he rose and went to his friend’s side, “I have more sympathy with you, now that I have found out the extent of my own weakness. Do you feel better!”“Yes, old boy—much—much better.”“That’s all right. I’m convinced that—hallo! why, who shot the deer!”“Hunky Ben has beat you,” said Charlie.“Beat Leather!” exclaimed Darvall, “why, he beats all creation. I never see’d anything like it since I went to sea.”“Since you came ashore, you should say. But come, Dick,” said Charlie, “let’s hear about this wonderful shooting. I’m sure it will amuse Buck—unless he’s too wearied to listen.”“Let him talk,” said the invalid. “I like to hear him.”Thus exhorted and encouraged the seaman recounted his day’s experience.“Well, you must know, messmates,” said he, “that I set sail alone this mornin’, havin’ in my pocket the small compass I always carry about me—also my bearin’s before startin’, so as I shouldn’t go lost in the woods—though that wouldn’t be likely in such an narrow inlet as this Traitor’s Trap, to say nothin’ o’ the landmarks alow and aloft of all sorts. I carried a Winchester with me, because, not bein’ what you may call a crack shot, I thought it would give me a better chance to have a lot o’ resarve shots in the locker, d’ye see? I carried also a six-shooter, as it might come handy, you know, if I fell in wi’ a Redskin or a bear, an’ got to close quarters. Also my cutlass, for I’ve bin used to that aboard ship when I was in the navy.“Well, away I went—makin’ sail down the valley to begin with, an’ then a long tack into the mountains right in the wind’s eye, that bein’ the way to get on the blind side o’ game. I hadn’t gone far when up starts a bird o’ some sort—”“What like was it?” asked the scout.“No more notion than the man in the moon,” returned the sailor. “What wi’ the flutter an’ scurry an’ leaves, branches an’ feathers—an’ the start—I see’d nothin’ clear, an’ I was so anxious to git somethin’ for the pot, that six shots went arter it out o’ the Winchester, before I was quite sure I’d begun to fire—for you must know I’ve larned to fire uncommon fast since I come to these parts. Hows’ever, I hit nothin’—”“Not quite so bad as that, Dick,” interrupted the scout gravely.“Well, that’s true, but you better tell that part of it yourself, Hunky, as you know more about it than me.”“It wasn’t of much consequence,” said the scout betraying the slightest possible twinkle in his grey eyes, “but Dick has a knack o’ lettin’ drive without much regard to what’s in front of him. I happened to be more in front of him than that bird when he began to fire, an’ the first shot hit my right leggin’, but by good luck only grazed the bark. Of course I dropped behind a rock when the storm began and lay quiet there, and when a lull came I halloo’d.”“Yes, he did halloo,” said Dick, resuming the narrative, “an’ that halloo was more like the yell of a bull of Bashan than the cry of a mortal man. It made my heart jump into my throat an’ stick there, for I thought I must have killed a whole Redskin tribe at one shot—”“Six shots, Dick. Tell the exact truth an’ don’t contradic’ yourself,” said Hunky.“No, it wasn’t,” retorted the seaman stoutly. “It was arter thefirstshot that you gave the yell. Hows’ever, I allow that the echoes kep’ it goin’ till the six shots was off—an’ I can tell you, messmates, that the hallooin’ an’ flutterin’ an’ scurryin’ an echoin’ an’ thought of Redskins in my brain all mixed up wi’ the blatterin’ shots, caused such a rumpus that I experienced considerable relief when the smoke cleared away an’ I see’d Hunky Ben in front o’ me laughin’ fit to bu’st his sides.”“Well, to make a long yarn short, I joined Hunky and allowed him to lead, seein’ that he understands the navigation hereaway better than me.“‘Come along,’ says he, ‘an’ I’ll let you have a chance at a deer.’“‘All right,’ says I, an’ away we went up one hill an’ down another—for all the world as if we was walkin’ over a heavy Atlantic swell—till we come to a sort o’ pass among the rocks.“‘I’m goin’ to leave you here to watch,’ says he, ‘an’ I’ll go round by the futt o’ the gully an’ drive the deer up. They’ll pass quite close, so you’ve only to—’“Hunky stopped short as he was speakin’ and flopped down as if he’d bin shot-haulin’ me along wi’ him.“‘Keep quiet,’ says he, in a low voice. ‘We’re in luck, an’ don’t need to drive. There’s a deer comin’ up at this very minute—a young one. You’ll take it. I won’t fire unless you miss.’“You may be sure I kep’ quiet, messmates, arter that. I took just one peep, an’ there, sure enough, I saw a brown beast comin’ up the pass. So we kep’ close as mice. There was a lot o’ small bushes not ten yards in front of us, which ended in a cut—a sort o’ crack—in the hill-side, a hundred yards or more from the place where we was crouchin’.“‘Now,’ whispers Hunky to—”“I never whisper!” remarked the scout.“Well, well; he said, in a low v’ice to me, says he, ‘d’ye see that openin’ in the bushes?’ ‘I do,’ says I. ‘Well then,’ says he, ‘it’s about ten yards off; be ready to commence firin’ when it comes to that openin’.’ ‘I will,’ says I. An’, sure enough, when the brown critter came for’id at a walk an’ stopped sudden wi’ a look o’ surprise as if it hadn’t expected to see me, bang went my Winchester four times, like winkin’, an’ up went the deer four times in the air, but niver a bit the worse was he. Snap I went a fifth time; but there was no shot, an’ I gave a yell, for I knew the cartridges was done. By that time the critter had reached the crack in the hill I told ye of, an’ up in the air he went to clear it, like an Indy-rubber ball. I felt a’most like to fling my rifle at it in my rage, when bang! went a shot at my ear that all but deaf’ned me, an’ I wish I may niver fire another shot or furl another t’gallant-s’l if that deer didn’t crumple up in the air an’ drop down stone dead—as dead as it now lays there on the floor.”By the time Dick Darvall had ended his narrative—which was much more extensive than our report of it—steaks of the deer were sputtering in a frying-pan, and other preparations were being made for a hearty meal, to which all the healthy men did ample justice. Shank Leather did what he could, and even Buck Tom made a feeble attempt to join.That night a strict watch was kept outside the cave—each taking it by turns, for it was just possible, though not probable, that the outlaws might return to their old haunt. No one appeared, however, and for the succeeding eight weeks the party remained there undisturbed, Shank Leather slowly but surely regaining strength; his friend, Buck Tom, as slowly and surely losing it; while Charlie, Dick, and Hunky Ben ranged the neighbouring forest in order to procure food. Leather usually remained in the cave to cook for and nurse his friend. It was pleasant work to Shank, for love and pity were at the foundation of the service. Buck Tom perceived this and fully appreciated it. Perchance he obtained some valuable light on spiritual subjects from Shank’s changed tone and manner, which the logic of his friend Brooke had failed to convey. Who can tell?

When the soldiers were safely away Hunky Ben returned to the cave and brought Leather down.

Charlie Brooke’s love for his old school-fellow and playmate seemed to become a new passion, now that the wreck of life and limb presented by Shank had awakened within him the sensation of profound pity. And Shank’s admiration for and devotion to Charlie increased tenfold now that the terrible barrier of self had been so greatly eliminated from his own nature, and a new spirit put within him.

By slow degrees, and bit by bit, each came to know and understand the other under the influence of new lights and feelings. But their thoughts about themselves, and their joy at meeting in such peculiar circumstances, had to be repressed to some extent in the presence of their common friend Ralph Ritson—aliasBuck Tom—for Charlie knew him only as an old school-fellow, though to Leather he had been a friend and chum ever since they had landed in the New World.

The scout, during the first interval of leisure on the previous day, had extracted the ball without much difficulty from Buck’s chest, through which it had passed, and was found lying close under the skin at his back. The relief thus afforded, and rest obtained under the influence of some medicine administered by Captain Wilmot, had brightened the poor fellow up to some extent; and Leather, seeing him look so much better on his return, began to entertain some hopes of his recovery.

Buck himself had no such hope; but, being a man of strong will, he refused to let it be seen in his demeanour that he thought his case to be hopeless. Yet he did not act from bravado, or the slightest tincture of that spirit which resolves to “die game.” The approach of death had indeed torn away the veil and permitted him to see himself in his true colours, but he did not at that time see Jesus to be the Saviour of even “the chief of sinners.” Therefore his hopelessness took the form of silent submission to the inevitable.

Of course Charlie Brooke spoke to him more than once of the love of God in Christ, and of the dying thief who had looked to Jesus on the cross and was saved, but Buck only shook his head. One afternoon in particular Charlie tried hard to remove the poor man’s perplexities.

“It’s all very well, Brooke,” said Buck Tom, “and very kind of you to interest yourself in me, but the love of God and the salvation of Christ are not for me. You don’t know what a sinner I have been, a rebel all my life—all my life, mark you. I would count it mean to come whining for pardon now that the game is up. Ideservehell—or whatever sort o’ punishment is due—an’ I’m willing to take it.”

“Ralph Ritson,” said Brooke impressively, “you are a far greater sinner than you think or admit.”

“Perhaps I am,” returned the outlaw sadly, and with a slight expression of surprise. “Perhaps I am,” he repeated. “Indeed I admit that you are right, but—but your saying so is a somewhat strange way to comfort a dying man. Is it not?”

“I amnottrying to comfort you. I am trying, by God’s grace, to convince you. You tell me that you have been a rebel all your days?”

“Yes; I admit it.”

“There are still, it may be, a few days yet to run, and you are determined, it seems, to spend these in rebellion too—up to the very end!”

“Nay, I do not say that. Have I not said that Isubmitto whatever punishment is due? Surely that is not rebellion. I can do nothingnowto make up for a mis-spent life, so I am willing to accept the consequences. Is not that submission to God—at least as far as lies in my power?”

“No; it isnotsubmission. Bear with me when I say it is rebellion, still deeper rebellion than ever. God says to you, ‘You have destroyed yourself but inmeis your help.’ He says, ‘Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be white as snow.’ He says, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved,’ and assures you that ‘whoever will’ may come to Him, and that no one who comes shall be cast out—yet in the face of all that you tell me that the love of God and the salvation of Christ are not for you! Ralph, my friend, you think that if you had a chance of living your life over again you would do better and so deserve salvation. That is exactly what God tells us we cannot do, and then He tells us that He Himself, in Jesus Christ, has provided salvation from sinforus, offers it as a free unmerited gift; and immediately we dive to the deepest depth of sin by deliberately refusing this deliverance from sin unless we can somehow manage to deserve it.”

“I cannot see it,” said the wounded man thoughtfully.

“Only God Himself, by His Holy Spirit, can enable you to see it,” said his companion; and then, in a low earnest voice, with eyes closed and his hand on his friend’s arm, he prayed that the outlaw might be “born again.”

Charlie Brooke was not one of those who make long prayers, either “for a pretence” or otherwise. Buck Tom smiled slightly when his friend stopped at the end of this one sentence.

“Your prayer is not long-winded, anyhow!” he said.

“True, Ralph, but it is comprehensive. It requires a good deal of expounding and explaining to make man understand what we say or think. The Almighty needs none of that. Indeed He does not need even the asking but Hebidsus ask, and that is enough for me. I have seen enough of life to understand the value of unquestioning obedience whether one comprehends the reason of an order or not.”

“Ay,” returned Buck quickly, “when he who gives the order has a right to command.”

“That is so much a matter of course,” rejoined Charlie, “that I would not think of referring to it while conversing with an intelligent man. By the way—which name would you like to be called, by Ralph or Buck?”

“It matters little to me,” returned the outlaw languidly, “and it won’t matter to anybody long. I should prefer ‘Ralph,’ for it is not associated with so much evil as the other, but you know our circumstances are peculiar just now, so, all things considered, I had better remain Buck Tom to the end of the chapter. I’ll answer to whichever name comes first when the roll is called in the next world.”

The conversation was interrupted at this point by the entrance of Hunky Ben bearing a deer on his lusty shoulders. He was followed by Dick Darvall.

“There,” said the former, throwing the carcass on the floor, “I told ye I wouldn’t be long o’ bringin’ in somethin’ for the pot.”

“Ay, an’ the way he shot it too,” said the seaman, laying aside his rifle, “would have made even a monkey stare with astonishment. Has Leather come back, by the way? I see’d him goin’ full sail through the woods when I went out this mornin’.”

“He has not yet returned,” said Charlie. “When I relieved him and sat down to watch by our friend here, he said he felt so much better and stronger that he would take his gun and see if he couldn’t find something for the pot. I advised him not to trust his feelings too much, and not to go far, but—ah, here he comes to answer for himself.”

As he spoke a step was heard outside, and next moment Shank entered, carrying a brace of rabbits which he flung down, and then threw himself on a couch in a state of considerable exhaustion.

“There,” said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “They’ve cost me more trouble than they’re worth, for I’m quite done up. I had no idea I had become so weak in the legs. Ralph, my dear fellow,” he added, forgetting himself for the moment as he rose and went to his friend’s side, “I have more sympathy with you, now that I have found out the extent of my own weakness. Do you feel better!”

“Yes, old boy—much—much better.”

“That’s all right. I’m convinced that—hallo! why, who shot the deer!”

“Hunky Ben has beat you,” said Charlie.

“Beat Leather!” exclaimed Darvall, “why, he beats all creation. I never see’d anything like it since I went to sea.”

“Since you came ashore, you should say. But come, Dick,” said Charlie, “let’s hear about this wonderful shooting. I’m sure it will amuse Buck—unless he’s too wearied to listen.”

“Let him talk,” said the invalid. “I like to hear him.”

Thus exhorted and encouraged the seaman recounted his day’s experience.

“Well, you must know, messmates,” said he, “that I set sail alone this mornin’, havin’ in my pocket the small compass I always carry about me—also my bearin’s before startin’, so as I shouldn’t go lost in the woods—though that wouldn’t be likely in such an narrow inlet as this Traitor’s Trap, to say nothin’ o’ the landmarks alow and aloft of all sorts. I carried a Winchester with me, because, not bein’ what you may call a crack shot, I thought it would give me a better chance to have a lot o’ resarve shots in the locker, d’ye see? I carried also a six-shooter, as it might come handy, you know, if I fell in wi’ a Redskin or a bear, an’ got to close quarters. Also my cutlass, for I’ve bin used to that aboard ship when I was in the navy.

“Well, away I went—makin’ sail down the valley to begin with, an’ then a long tack into the mountains right in the wind’s eye, that bein’ the way to get on the blind side o’ game. I hadn’t gone far when up starts a bird o’ some sort—”

“What like was it?” asked the scout.

“No more notion than the man in the moon,” returned the sailor. “What wi’ the flutter an’ scurry an’ leaves, branches an’ feathers—an’ the start—I see’d nothin’ clear, an’ I was so anxious to git somethin’ for the pot, that six shots went arter it out o’ the Winchester, before I was quite sure I’d begun to fire—for you must know I’ve larned to fire uncommon fast since I come to these parts. Hows’ever, I hit nothin’—”

“Not quite so bad as that, Dick,” interrupted the scout gravely.

“Well, that’s true, but you better tell that part of it yourself, Hunky, as you know more about it than me.”

“It wasn’t of much consequence,” said the scout betraying the slightest possible twinkle in his grey eyes, “but Dick has a knack o’ lettin’ drive without much regard to what’s in front of him. I happened to be more in front of him than that bird when he began to fire, an’ the first shot hit my right leggin’, but by good luck only grazed the bark. Of course I dropped behind a rock when the storm began and lay quiet there, and when a lull came I halloo’d.”

“Yes, he did halloo,” said Dick, resuming the narrative, “an’ that halloo was more like the yell of a bull of Bashan than the cry of a mortal man. It made my heart jump into my throat an’ stick there, for I thought I must have killed a whole Redskin tribe at one shot—”

“Six shots, Dick. Tell the exact truth an’ don’t contradic’ yourself,” said Hunky.

“No, it wasn’t,” retorted the seaman stoutly. “It was arter thefirstshot that you gave the yell. Hows’ever, I allow that the echoes kep’ it goin’ till the six shots was off—an’ I can tell you, messmates, that the hallooin’ an’ flutterin’ an’ scurryin’ an echoin’ an’ thought of Redskins in my brain all mixed up wi’ the blatterin’ shots, caused such a rumpus that I experienced considerable relief when the smoke cleared away an’ I see’d Hunky Ben in front o’ me laughin’ fit to bu’st his sides.”

“Well, to make a long yarn short, I joined Hunky and allowed him to lead, seein’ that he understands the navigation hereaway better than me.

“‘Come along,’ says he, ‘an’ I’ll let you have a chance at a deer.’

“‘All right,’ says I, an’ away we went up one hill an’ down another—for all the world as if we was walkin’ over a heavy Atlantic swell—till we come to a sort o’ pass among the rocks.

“‘I’m goin’ to leave you here to watch,’ says he, ‘an’ I’ll go round by the futt o’ the gully an’ drive the deer up. They’ll pass quite close, so you’ve only to—’

“Hunky stopped short as he was speakin’ and flopped down as if he’d bin shot-haulin’ me along wi’ him.

“‘Keep quiet,’ says he, in a low voice. ‘We’re in luck, an’ don’t need to drive. There’s a deer comin’ up at this very minute—a young one. You’ll take it. I won’t fire unless you miss.’

“You may be sure I kep’ quiet, messmates, arter that. I took just one peep, an’ there, sure enough, I saw a brown beast comin’ up the pass. So we kep’ close as mice. There was a lot o’ small bushes not ten yards in front of us, which ended in a cut—a sort o’ crack—in the hill-side, a hundred yards or more from the place where we was crouchin’.

“‘Now,’ whispers Hunky to—”

“I never whisper!” remarked the scout.

“Well, well; he said, in a low v’ice to me, says he, ‘d’ye see that openin’ in the bushes?’ ‘I do,’ says I. ‘Well then,’ says he, ‘it’s about ten yards off; be ready to commence firin’ when it comes to that openin’.’ ‘I will,’ says I. An’, sure enough, when the brown critter came for’id at a walk an’ stopped sudden wi’ a look o’ surprise as if it hadn’t expected to see me, bang went my Winchester four times, like winkin’, an’ up went the deer four times in the air, but niver a bit the worse was he. Snap I went a fifth time; but there was no shot, an’ I gave a yell, for I knew the cartridges was done. By that time the critter had reached the crack in the hill I told ye of, an’ up in the air he went to clear it, like an Indy-rubber ball. I felt a’most like to fling my rifle at it in my rage, when bang! went a shot at my ear that all but deaf’ned me, an’ I wish I may niver fire another shot or furl another t’gallant-s’l if that deer didn’t crumple up in the air an’ drop down stone dead—as dead as it now lays there on the floor.”

By the time Dick Darvall had ended his narrative—which was much more extensive than our report of it—steaks of the deer were sputtering in a frying-pan, and other preparations were being made for a hearty meal, to which all the healthy men did ample justice. Shank Leather did what he could, and even Buck Tom made a feeble attempt to join.

That night a strict watch was kept outside the cave—each taking it by turns, for it was just possible, though not probable, that the outlaws might return to their old haunt. No one appeared, however, and for the succeeding eight weeks the party remained there undisturbed, Shank Leather slowly but surely regaining strength; his friend, Buck Tom, as slowly and surely losing it; while Charlie, Dick, and Hunky Ben ranged the neighbouring forest in order to procure food. Leather usually remained in the cave to cook for and nurse his friend. It was pleasant work to Shank, for love and pity were at the foundation of the service. Buck Tom perceived this and fully appreciated it. Perchance he obtained some valuable light on spiritual subjects from Shank’s changed tone and manner, which the logic of his friend Brooke had failed to convey. Who can tell?

Chapter Twenty Five.Shows how the Seaman was sent on a Delicate Mission and how he Fared.“Shank,” said Charlie one day as they were sitting in the sunshine near the outlaws’ cave, waiting for Dick and the scout to return to their mid-day meal, “it seems to me that we may be detained a good while here, for we cannot leave Ralph, and it is evident that the poor fellow won’t be able to travel for many a day—”“If ever,” interposed Shank sorrowfully.“Well, then, I think we must send down to Bull’s Ranch, to see if there are any letters for us. I feel sure that there must be some, and the question arises—who are we to send?”“Youmust not go, Charlie, whoever goes. You are the only link in this mighty wilderness, that connects Ralph and me with home—and hope. Weak and helpless as we are, we cannot afford to let you out of our sight.”“Well, but if I don’t go I can’t see my way to asking the scout to go, for he alone thoroughly understands the ways of the country and of the Indians—if any should chance to come this way. Besides, considering the pledge he is under to be accountable for Buck Tom, I doubt if he would consent to go.”“The question is answered, then,” said Shank, “for the only other man is Dick Darvall.”“True; and it strikes me that Dick will be very glad to go,” returned Charlie with a smile of peculiar meaning.“D’ye think he’s getting tired of us, Charlie?”“By no means. But you know he has a roving disposition, and I think he has a sort of fondness for Jackson—the boss of the ranch.”It was found when the question was put to him, that Dick was quite ready to set out on the mission required of him. He also admitted his fondness for Roaring Bull!“But what if you should lose your way?” asked the scout.“Find it again,” was Dick’s prompt reply.“And what if you should be attacked by Indians?”“Fight ’em, of course.”“But if they should be too many to fight?”“Why, clap on all sail an’ give ’em a starn chase, which is always a long one. For this purpose, however, I would have to command a good craft so I’d expect you to lend me yours, Hunky Ben.”“What! my Polly?”“Even so. Black Polly.”The scout received this proposal gravely, and shook his head at first, for he was naturally fond of his beautiful mare, and, besides, doubted the sailor’s horsemanship, though he had perfect faith in his courage and discretion. Finally, however, he gave in; and accordingly, one fine morning at daybreak, Dick Darvall, mounted on Black Polly, and armed with his favourite Winchester, revolvers, and cutlass, “set sail” down Traitor’s Trap to visit his lady-love!Of course he knew that his business was to obtain letters and gather news. But honest Dick Darvall could not conceal from himself that his main object was—Mary Jackson!Somehow it has come to be supposed or assumed that a jack-tar cannot ride. Possibly this may be true of the class as a whole to which Jack belongs, but it is not necessarily true of all, and it certainly is not true of some. Dick Darvall was an expert horseman—though a sailor. He had learned to ride when a boy, before going to sea, and his after-habit of riding the “white horses” of the Norseman, did not cause him to forget the art of managing the “buckers” of the American plains. To use his own words, he felt as much at home on the hurricane deck of a Spanish pony, as on the fo’c’sl of a man-of-war, so that the scout’s doubt of his capacity as a rider was not well founded.Tremendous was the bound of exultation which our seaman felt, then, when he found himself on the magnificent black mare, with the fresh morning air fanning his temples, and the bright morning sun glinting through a cut in the eastern range.Soon he reached the lower end of the valley, which, being steep, he had descended with tightened rein. On reaching the open prairie he gave the mare her head and went off with a wild whoop like an arrow from a bow.Black Polly required neither spur nor whip. She possessed that charmingly sensitive spirit which seems to receive an electric shock from its rider’s lightest chirp. She was what you may call an anxiously willing steed, yet possessed such a tender mouth that she could be pulled up as easily as she could be made to go. A mere child could have ridden her, and Dick found in a few minutes that a slight check was necessary to prevent her scouring over the plains at racing speed. He restrained her, therefore, to a grand canter, with many a stride and bound interspersed, when such a thing as a rut or a little bush came in her way.With arched neck, glistening eyes, voluminous mane, and flowing tail she flew onward, hour after hour, with many a playful shake of the head, and an occasional snort, as though to say, “This is mere child’s play;dolet me put on a spurt!”It may not be fair to credit such a noble creature with talking, or even thinking, slang, but Dick Darvall clearly understood her to say something of the sort, for after a while he reduced speed to a kind of india-rubber walk and patted her neck, saying—“No, no, lass, you mustn’t use up your strength at the beginning. We’ve got a longish trip before us, Polly, an’ it won’t do to clap on all sail at the beginnin’ of the voyage.”At David’s store Dick stopped for a short time to obtain a little refreshment for himself and Polly. There he found a group of cow-boys discussing the affairs of their neighbours, and enlarging noisily on things in general under the brain-clearing and reason-inspiring influence of strong drink! To these he recounted briefly the incidents of the recent raid of the troops into Traitor’s Trap, and learned that Jake the Flint had “drifted south into Mexico where he was plying the trade of cattle and horse stealer, with the usual accompaniments of that profession—fighting, murdering, drinking, etcetera.” Some of the deeds of this notorious outlaw, as narrated by the cow-boy Crux, who happened to be there, made the blood of Dick run cold—and Dick’s blood was not easily made to run otherwise than naturally by any one—except, of course, by Mary Jackson, who could at all events make it run hot, also fast or slow, very much according to her own sweet will!But the seaman had no time to lose. He had still a long way to go, and the day was advancing. Remounting Black Polly he was soon out again on the prairie, sweeping over the grassy waves and down into the hollows with a feeling of hilarious jollity, that was born of high health, good-nature, pleasant circumstances, and a free-and-easy mind.Nothing worthy of particular notice occurred after this to mar the pleasure of our sailor’s “voyage” over the prairie until he reached a belt of woodland, through which for half a mile he had to travel. Here he drew rein and began to traverse the bit of forest at a quiet amble, partly to rest Polly, and partly that he might more thoroughly enjoy the woodland scenery through the umbrageous canopy of which the sun was sending his slanting rays and covering the sward with a confused chequer-work of green and gold.And here Dick Darvall became communicative; entered into conversation, so to speak, with himself. After a few minutes, however, this did not prove a sufficient outlet to his exuberant spirits.“Come, Dick,” he exclaimed, “give us a song. Your voice ain’t, perhaps, much to speak of as to quality, but there’s no end of quantity. Strike up, now; what shall it be?”Without replying to the question he struck up “Rule Britannia” in tones that did not justify his disparaging remark as to quality. He reached the other end of the wood and the end of the song at the same time. “Britons,” shouted he with unalterable determination—“Never, never, ne–ever, shall be—Redskins!”This unnatural termination was not an intentional variation. It was the result of a scene that suddenly burst upon his view.Far away on the prairie two riders were seen racing at what he would have styled a slant away from him. They were going at a pace that suggested fleeing for life.“Redskins—arter somethin’,” murmured Dick, pulling up, and shading his eyes from the sun with his right hand, as he gazed earnestly at the two riders.“No–n–no. They’re whites,” he continued, “one o’ them a man; t’other a woman. I can make that out, anyhow.”As he spoke, the racing riders topped a far-off knoll; halted, and turned round as if to gaze back towards the north—the direction from which they had come. Then, wheeling round as if in greater haste than ever, they continued their headlong gallop and disappeared on the other side of the knoll.Dick naturally turned towards the north to see, if possible, what the two riders were flying from. He was not kept long in doubt, for just then a band of horsemen was seen topping the farthest ridge in that direction, and bearing down on the belt of woodland, along the edge of which they galloped towards him.There was no mistaking who they were. The war-whoop, sounding faint and shrill in the distance, and the wild gesticulations of the riders, told the story at once to our seaman—two pale-faces, pursued by a band of bloodthirsty savages!Unskilled though he was in backwoods warfare, Dick was not unfamiliar with war’s alarms, nor was he wanting in common sense. To side with the weaker party was a natural tendency in our seaman. That the pursuers were red, and the pursued white, strengthened the tendency, and the fact that one of the latter was a woman settled the question. Instantly Dick shook the reins, drove his unarmed heels against the sides of Polly, and away they went after the fugitives like a black thunderbolt, if there be such artillery in nature!A wild yell told him that he was seen.“Howl away, ye land lubbers!” growled Dick. “You’ll have to fill your sails wi’ a stiffer breeze than howlin’ before ye overhaul this here craft.”Just then he reached the crest of a prairie billow, whence he could see the fugitives still far ahead of him. Suddenly a suspicion entered the seaman’s mind, which made his heart almost choke him. What if this should be Mary Jackson and her father? Their relative size countenanced the idea, for the woman seemed small and the man unusually large.In desperate haste Dick now urged on his gallant steed to her best pace, and well did she justify the praises that had been often bestowed on her by Hunky Ben. In a very brief space of time she was close behind the fugitives, and Dick was now convinced that his suspicions as to who they were was right. He rode after them with divided feelings—tremblingly anxious lest Mary should fall into the hands of their ruthless foes—exultantly glad that he had come there in time to fight, or die if need be, in her defence.Suddenly the male fugitive, who had only glanced over his shoulder from time to time, pulled up, wheeled round, and quickly raised his rifle.“Hallo! get on, man; don’t stop!” Dick yelled, in a voice worthy of Bull himself. Taking off his hat he waved it violently above his head. As he spoke he saw the woman’s arm flash upwards; a puff of smoke followed, and a bullet whistled close over his head.Next moment the fugitives had turned and resumed their headlong flight. A few more minutes sufficed to bring Dick and the black mare alongside, for the latter was still vigorous in wind and limb, while the poor jaded animals which Mary and her father rode were almost worn out by a prolonged flight.“Dick Darvall,” exclaimed Jackson, as the former rode up, “I never was gladder to see any man than I am to see you this hour, though but for my Mary I’d surely have sent you to kingdom come. Her ears are better than mine, you see. She recognised the voice an’ knocked up my rifle just as I pulled the trigger. But I’m afeared it’s too late, lad.”The way in which the man said this, and the look of his pale haggard face, sent a thrill to the heart of Dick.“What d’ye mean?” he said, looking anxiously at Mary, who with a set rigid expression on her pale face was looking straight before her, and urging her tired pony with switch and rein.“I mean, lad, that we’ve but a poor chance to reach the ranch wi’ such knocked-up brutes as these. Of course we can turn at bay an’ kill as many o’ the red-devils as possible before it’s all over wi’ us, but what good would that do to Mary? If we could only check the varmins, there might be some hope, but—”“Jackson!” exclaimed the seaman, in a firm tone, “I’ll do my best to check them. God bless you, Mary—good-bye. Heave ahead, now, full swing!”As he spoke, Dick pulled up, while the others continued their headlong flight straight for the ranch, which was by the only a few miles distant.Wheeling round, Dick cantered back to the knoll over which they had just passed and halted on the top of it. From this position he could see the band, of about fifty Indians, careering towards him and yelling with satisfaction, for they could also see him—a solitary horseman—clear cut against the bright sky.Dick got ready his repeating rifle. We have already mentioned the fact that he had learned to load and fire this formidable weapon with great rapidity, though he had signally failed in his attempts to aim with it. Being well aware of his weakness, he made up his mind in his present desperate extremity not to aim at all! He had always felt that the difficulty of getting the back and front sights of the rifle to correspond with the object aimed at was a slow, and, in his case, an impossible process. He therefore resolved to simply point his weapon and fire!“Surely,” he muttered to himself even in that trying moment, “surely I can’t altogether miss a whole bunch o’ fifty men an’ horses!”He waited until he thought the savages were within long range, and then, elevating his piece a little, fired.The result justified his hopes. A horse fell dead upon the plain, and its owner, although evidently unwounded, was for the timehors de combat.True to his plan, Dick kept up such a quick continuous fire, and made so much noise and smoke, that it seemed as if a whole company of riflemen were at work instead of one man, and several horses on the plain testified to the success of the pointing as compared with the aiming principle!Of course the fire was partly returned, and for a time the stout seaman was under a pretty heavy rain of bullets, but as the savages fired while galloping their aim was necessarily bad.This fusillade had naturally the effect of checking the advance of the Indians—especially when they drew near to the reckless man, who, when the snap of his rifle told that his last cartridge was off, wheeled about and fled as fast as Black Polly could lay hoofs to the plain.And now he found the value of the trustworthy qualities of his steed, for, instead of guiding her out of the way of obstacles, he gave her her head, held tight with his legs, and merely kept an eye on the ground in front to be ready for any swerve, bound, or leap, that might be impending. Thus his hands were set free to re-charge the magazine of his rifle, which he did with deliberate rapidity.The truth is, that recklessness has a distinct tendency to produce coolness. And there is no one who can afford to be so deliberate, and of whom other men are so much afraid, as the man who has obviously made up his mind to die fighting.While Dick was loading-up, Black Polly was encouraged by voice and heel to do her best, and her best was something to see and remember! When the charging was finished, Dick drew rein and trotted to the next knoll he encountered, from which point he observed with some satisfaction that the fugitives were still pressing on, and that the distance between them and their foe had slightly increased.But the seaman had not much time to look or think, for the band of Redskins was drawing near. When they came within range he again opened fire. But this time the savages divided, evidently with the intention of getting on both sides of him, and so distracting his attention. He perceived their object at once, and reserved his fire until they turned and with frantic yells made a simultaneous dash on him right and left. Again he waited till his enemies were close enough, and then opened fire right and left alternately, while the Indians found that they had outwitted themselves and scarcely dared to fire lest the opposite bands should hit each other.Having expended the second supply of ammunition, Dick wheeled round and took to flight as before. Of course the mare soon carried him out of range, and again he had the satisfaction of observing that the fugitives had increased their distance from the foe.“One more check o’ this kind,” thought Dick, “and they’ll be safe—I think.”While thus thinking he was diligently re-charging, and soon cantered to the top of a third knoll, where he resolved to make his final stand. The ranch was by that time dimly visible on the horizon, and the weary fugitives were seen struggling towards it. But Dick found, on halting and looking back, that the Indians had changed their tactics. Instead of directing their attention to himself, as on the previous occasions, they had spread out to the right and left and had scattered, besides keeping well out of range.“What are the sinners up to now?” muttered the seaman in some perplexity.He soon perceived that they meant to go past him altogether, if possible, and head towards the fugitives in separate groups.“Ay, but it’snotpossible!” exclaimed Dick, answering his own thoughts as he turned swiftly, and stretched out after his friends. Seeing this, the savages tried to close in on him from both sides, but their already winded ponies had no chance against the grand Mexican mare, which having been considerately handled during the day’s journey was comparatively fresh and in full vigour.Shooting ahead he now resolved to join his friends and a feeling of triumph began to rise within his breast as he saw them pushing steadily onward. The ranch, however, was still at a considerable distance, while the Indians were rapidly gaining ground.At that moment to Dick’s horror, the pony which Mary Jackson rode stumbled and fell, sending its rider over its head. But the fair Mary, besides being a splendid horsewoman, was singularly agile and quick in perception. For some time she had anticipated the catastrophe, and, at the first indication of a stumble, leaped from the saddle and actually alighted on her feet some yards ahead. Of course she fell with some violence, but the leap broke her fall and probably saved her neck. She sprang up instantly, and grasping the reins, tried to raise her pony. It was too late. The faithful creature was dead.Jackson, pulling up, wheeled round and was back at her side instantly. Almost at the same moment Dick Darvall came up, threw the mare almost on her haunches, leaped from the saddle, and ran to Mary. As he did so, the crash of a pistol shot at his ear almost deafened him, and a glance showed him that Jackson had shot his horse, which fell dead close to his daughter’s pony.“Kill your horse, Dick,” he growled sharply, as he exerted his great strength to the utmost, and dragged the haunches of his own steed close to the head of the other. “It’s our only chance.”Dick drew his revolver, and aimed at the heart of Black Polly, but for the soul of him he could not pull the trigger.“No—I won’t!” he cried, grasping the lasso which always hung at the saddle-bow. “Hobble the fore-legs!”There was such determination in the sailor’s command, that Jackson felt bound to obey. At the same moment Dick bound the horse’s hind-legs. He fully understood what Jackson intended, and the latter was as quick to perceive the seaman’s drift. Seizing the reins, while his friend caught hold of the lasso, Dick cried, “Out o’ the way, Mary!” and with a mighty effort the two men threw the mare on her side.“First-rate!” cried Jackson, while his companion held down the animal’s head. “It couldn’t have dropped better. Jump inside, Mary, an’ lie down flat behind your pony. Let Mary have the reins, Dick. She knows how to hold its head down without showin’ herself.”Even while he was speaking, Jackson and Dick leaped into the triangle of horses thus formed, and, crouching low, disappeared from the sight of the savages, who now came on yelling with triumph, for they evidently thought themselves sure of their victims by that time.“Are ye a good shot, Dick?” asked Jackson, as he gazed sternly at the approaching foe.“No—abominably bad.”“Fire low then. You may catch the horses if ye miss the Redskins. Anyhow you’ll hit the ground if you aim low, an’ it’s wonderful what execution a bullet may do arter hittin’ mother Earth.”“I never aim,” replied the sailor. “Only a waste o’ time. I just point straight an’ fire away.”“Do it, then,” growled roaring Bull, with something that sounded like a short laugh.At the same moment he himself took quick aim at the foe and fired; the leading horse and man immediately rolled upon the plain.As both men were armed with repeating rifles the fusillade was rapid, and most of the savages, who seldom fight well in the open, were repulsed. But several of them, headed apparently by their chief, rode on fearlessly until within pistol-shot.Then the two defenders of this peculiar fortress sprang up with revolvers in each hand.“Lie close, Mary,” cried Jackson as he fired, and the chief’s horse rolled over, almost reaching their position with the impetus of the charge. The chief himself lay beside his horse, for another shot had ended his career. As two other horses had fallen, the rest of the band wheeled aside and galloped away, followed by a brisk fire from the white men, who had again crouched behind their breast-work and resumed their rifles.Bullets were by that time flying over them in considerable numbers, for those Indians who had not charged with their chief had, after retiring to a safe distance, taken to firing at long range. At this work Dick’s rifle and straight pointing were of little use, so he reserved his fire for close quarters, while Jackson, who was almost a certain shot at average ranges, kept the savages from drawing nearer.“Lie closer to the pony, Miss Mary,” said Dick, as a shot passed close over the girl and whistled between him and his comrade. “Were you hurt in the fall?”“No, not in the least. Don’t you think they’ll hear the firing at the ranch, father?”“Ay, lass, if there’s anybody to hear it, but I sent the boys out this mornin’ to hunt up a bunch o’ steers that have drifted south among Wilson’s cattle, an’ I fear they’ve not come back yet. See, the reptiles are goin’ to try it again!”As he spoke, the remnant of the Redskins who pressed home the first charge, having held a palaver, induced the whole band to make another attempt, but they were met with the same vigour as before—a continuous volley at long range, which emptied several saddles, and then, when the plucky men of the tribe charged close, the white men stood up, as before, and plied them with revolvers so rapidly that they were fain to wheel aside and retire.“Ammunition’s gettin’ low,” said Dick, in an anxious tone.“Then I’ll waste no more,” growled Jackson, “but only fire when I’m safe to hit.”As he spoke a distant cheer was heard, and, looking back, they saw, with a rebound of hope, that a band of five or six cow-boys were coming from the ranch and galloping full swing to the rescue. Behind them, a few seconds later, appeared a line of men who came on at a swinging trot.“Troopers, I do believe!” exclaimed Jackson.“Thank God!” said Mary, with a deep sigh of relief as she sat up to look at them. The troopers gave a cheer of encouragement as they thundered past to the attack, but the Indians did not await the onset. At the first sight of the troops they fled, and in a few minutes pursued and pursuers alike were out of sight—hidden behind the prairie waves.“I can’t tell you how thankful I am that I didn’t shoot the mare,” said Dick, as they unfastened the feet of Black Polly and let her rise. “I’d never have been able to look Hunky Ben in the face again arter it.”“Well, I’m not sorry you spared her,” said Jackson; “as for the two that are dead, they’re no great loss—yet I’ve a kind o’ regret too, for the poor things served us well.”“Faithfully—even to death,” added Mary, in a sorrowful tone as she stooped to pat the neck of her dead pony.“Will you mount, Miss Mary, and ride home?” asked the sailor.“Thank you—no, I’d rather walk with father. We have not far to go now.”“Then we’ll all walk together,” said Jackson.Dick threw Black Polly’s bridle over his arm, and they all set off at a smart walk for the ranch of Roaring Bull, while the troops and cow-boys chased the Redskins back into the mountains whence they had come.

“Shank,” said Charlie one day as they were sitting in the sunshine near the outlaws’ cave, waiting for Dick and the scout to return to their mid-day meal, “it seems to me that we may be detained a good while here, for we cannot leave Ralph, and it is evident that the poor fellow won’t be able to travel for many a day—”

“If ever,” interposed Shank sorrowfully.

“Well, then, I think we must send down to Bull’s Ranch, to see if there are any letters for us. I feel sure that there must be some, and the question arises—who are we to send?”

“Youmust not go, Charlie, whoever goes. You are the only link in this mighty wilderness, that connects Ralph and me with home—and hope. Weak and helpless as we are, we cannot afford to let you out of our sight.”

“Well, but if I don’t go I can’t see my way to asking the scout to go, for he alone thoroughly understands the ways of the country and of the Indians—if any should chance to come this way. Besides, considering the pledge he is under to be accountable for Buck Tom, I doubt if he would consent to go.”

“The question is answered, then,” said Shank, “for the only other man is Dick Darvall.”

“True; and it strikes me that Dick will be very glad to go,” returned Charlie with a smile of peculiar meaning.

“D’ye think he’s getting tired of us, Charlie?”

“By no means. But you know he has a roving disposition, and I think he has a sort of fondness for Jackson—the boss of the ranch.”

It was found when the question was put to him, that Dick was quite ready to set out on the mission required of him. He also admitted his fondness for Roaring Bull!

“But what if you should lose your way?” asked the scout.

“Find it again,” was Dick’s prompt reply.

“And what if you should be attacked by Indians?”

“Fight ’em, of course.”

“But if they should be too many to fight?”

“Why, clap on all sail an’ give ’em a starn chase, which is always a long one. For this purpose, however, I would have to command a good craft so I’d expect you to lend me yours, Hunky Ben.”

“What! my Polly?”

“Even so. Black Polly.”

The scout received this proposal gravely, and shook his head at first, for he was naturally fond of his beautiful mare, and, besides, doubted the sailor’s horsemanship, though he had perfect faith in his courage and discretion. Finally, however, he gave in; and accordingly, one fine morning at daybreak, Dick Darvall, mounted on Black Polly, and armed with his favourite Winchester, revolvers, and cutlass, “set sail” down Traitor’s Trap to visit his lady-love!

Of course he knew that his business was to obtain letters and gather news. But honest Dick Darvall could not conceal from himself that his main object was—Mary Jackson!

Somehow it has come to be supposed or assumed that a jack-tar cannot ride. Possibly this may be true of the class as a whole to which Jack belongs, but it is not necessarily true of all, and it certainly is not true of some. Dick Darvall was an expert horseman—though a sailor. He had learned to ride when a boy, before going to sea, and his after-habit of riding the “white horses” of the Norseman, did not cause him to forget the art of managing the “buckers” of the American plains. To use his own words, he felt as much at home on the hurricane deck of a Spanish pony, as on the fo’c’sl of a man-of-war, so that the scout’s doubt of his capacity as a rider was not well founded.

Tremendous was the bound of exultation which our seaman felt, then, when he found himself on the magnificent black mare, with the fresh morning air fanning his temples, and the bright morning sun glinting through a cut in the eastern range.

Soon he reached the lower end of the valley, which, being steep, he had descended with tightened rein. On reaching the open prairie he gave the mare her head and went off with a wild whoop like an arrow from a bow.

Black Polly required neither spur nor whip. She possessed that charmingly sensitive spirit which seems to receive an electric shock from its rider’s lightest chirp. She was what you may call an anxiously willing steed, yet possessed such a tender mouth that she could be pulled up as easily as she could be made to go. A mere child could have ridden her, and Dick found in a few minutes that a slight check was necessary to prevent her scouring over the plains at racing speed. He restrained her, therefore, to a grand canter, with many a stride and bound interspersed, when such a thing as a rut or a little bush came in her way.

With arched neck, glistening eyes, voluminous mane, and flowing tail she flew onward, hour after hour, with many a playful shake of the head, and an occasional snort, as though to say, “This is mere child’s play;dolet me put on a spurt!”

It may not be fair to credit such a noble creature with talking, or even thinking, slang, but Dick Darvall clearly understood her to say something of the sort, for after a while he reduced speed to a kind of india-rubber walk and patted her neck, saying—

“No, no, lass, you mustn’t use up your strength at the beginning. We’ve got a longish trip before us, Polly, an’ it won’t do to clap on all sail at the beginnin’ of the voyage.”

At David’s store Dick stopped for a short time to obtain a little refreshment for himself and Polly. There he found a group of cow-boys discussing the affairs of their neighbours, and enlarging noisily on things in general under the brain-clearing and reason-inspiring influence of strong drink! To these he recounted briefly the incidents of the recent raid of the troops into Traitor’s Trap, and learned that Jake the Flint had “drifted south into Mexico where he was plying the trade of cattle and horse stealer, with the usual accompaniments of that profession—fighting, murdering, drinking, etcetera.” Some of the deeds of this notorious outlaw, as narrated by the cow-boy Crux, who happened to be there, made the blood of Dick run cold—and Dick’s blood was not easily made to run otherwise than naturally by any one—except, of course, by Mary Jackson, who could at all events make it run hot, also fast or slow, very much according to her own sweet will!

But the seaman had no time to lose. He had still a long way to go, and the day was advancing. Remounting Black Polly he was soon out again on the prairie, sweeping over the grassy waves and down into the hollows with a feeling of hilarious jollity, that was born of high health, good-nature, pleasant circumstances, and a free-and-easy mind.

Nothing worthy of particular notice occurred after this to mar the pleasure of our sailor’s “voyage” over the prairie until he reached a belt of woodland, through which for half a mile he had to travel. Here he drew rein and began to traverse the bit of forest at a quiet amble, partly to rest Polly, and partly that he might more thoroughly enjoy the woodland scenery through the umbrageous canopy of which the sun was sending his slanting rays and covering the sward with a confused chequer-work of green and gold.

And here Dick Darvall became communicative; entered into conversation, so to speak, with himself. After a few minutes, however, this did not prove a sufficient outlet to his exuberant spirits.

“Come, Dick,” he exclaimed, “give us a song. Your voice ain’t, perhaps, much to speak of as to quality, but there’s no end of quantity. Strike up, now; what shall it be?”

Without replying to the question he struck up “Rule Britannia” in tones that did not justify his disparaging remark as to quality. He reached the other end of the wood and the end of the song at the same time. “Britons,” shouted he with unalterable determination—“Never, never, ne–ever, shall be—Redskins!”

This unnatural termination was not an intentional variation. It was the result of a scene that suddenly burst upon his view.

Far away on the prairie two riders were seen racing at what he would have styled a slant away from him. They were going at a pace that suggested fleeing for life.

“Redskins—arter somethin’,” murmured Dick, pulling up, and shading his eyes from the sun with his right hand, as he gazed earnestly at the two riders.

“No–n–no. They’re whites,” he continued, “one o’ them a man; t’other a woman. I can make that out, anyhow.”

As he spoke, the racing riders topped a far-off knoll; halted, and turned round as if to gaze back towards the north—the direction from which they had come. Then, wheeling round as if in greater haste than ever, they continued their headlong gallop and disappeared on the other side of the knoll.

Dick naturally turned towards the north to see, if possible, what the two riders were flying from. He was not kept long in doubt, for just then a band of horsemen was seen topping the farthest ridge in that direction, and bearing down on the belt of woodland, along the edge of which they galloped towards him.

There was no mistaking who they were. The war-whoop, sounding faint and shrill in the distance, and the wild gesticulations of the riders, told the story at once to our seaman—two pale-faces, pursued by a band of bloodthirsty savages!

Unskilled though he was in backwoods warfare, Dick was not unfamiliar with war’s alarms, nor was he wanting in common sense. To side with the weaker party was a natural tendency in our seaman. That the pursuers were red, and the pursued white, strengthened the tendency, and the fact that one of the latter was a woman settled the question. Instantly Dick shook the reins, drove his unarmed heels against the sides of Polly, and away they went after the fugitives like a black thunderbolt, if there be such artillery in nature!

A wild yell told him that he was seen.

“Howl away, ye land lubbers!” growled Dick. “You’ll have to fill your sails wi’ a stiffer breeze than howlin’ before ye overhaul this here craft.”

Just then he reached the crest of a prairie billow, whence he could see the fugitives still far ahead of him. Suddenly a suspicion entered the seaman’s mind, which made his heart almost choke him. What if this should be Mary Jackson and her father? Their relative size countenanced the idea, for the woman seemed small and the man unusually large.

In desperate haste Dick now urged on his gallant steed to her best pace, and well did she justify the praises that had been often bestowed on her by Hunky Ben. In a very brief space of time she was close behind the fugitives, and Dick was now convinced that his suspicions as to who they were was right. He rode after them with divided feelings—tremblingly anxious lest Mary should fall into the hands of their ruthless foes—exultantly glad that he had come there in time to fight, or die if need be, in her defence.

Suddenly the male fugitive, who had only glanced over his shoulder from time to time, pulled up, wheeled round, and quickly raised his rifle.

“Hallo! get on, man; don’t stop!” Dick yelled, in a voice worthy of Bull himself. Taking off his hat he waved it violently above his head. As he spoke he saw the woman’s arm flash upwards; a puff of smoke followed, and a bullet whistled close over his head.

Next moment the fugitives had turned and resumed their headlong flight. A few more minutes sufficed to bring Dick and the black mare alongside, for the latter was still vigorous in wind and limb, while the poor jaded animals which Mary and her father rode were almost worn out by a prolonged flight.

“Dick Darvall,” exclaimed Jackson, as the former rode up, “I never was gladder to see any man than I am to see you this hour, though but for my Mary I’d surely have sent you to kingdom come. Her ears are better than mine, you see. She recognised the voice an’ knocked up my rifle just as I pulled the trigger. But I’m afeared it’s too late, lad.”

The way in which the man said this, and the look of his pale haggard face, sent a thrill to the heart of Dick.

“What d’ye mean?” he said, looking anxiously at Mary, who with a set rigid expression on her pale face was looking straight before her, and urging her tired pony with switch and rein.

“I mean, lad, that we’ve but a poor chance to reach the ranch wi’ such knocked-up brutes as these. Of course we can turn at bay an’ kill as many o’ the red-devils as possible before it’s all over wi’ us, but what good would that do to Mary? If we could only check the varmins, there might be some hope, but—”

“Jackson!” exclaimed the seaman, in a firm tone, “I’ll do my best to check them. God bless you, Mary—good-bye. Heave ahead, now, full swing!”

As he spoke, Dick pulled up, while the others continued their headlong flight straight for the ranch, which was by the only a few miles distant.

Wheeling round, Dick cantered back to the knoll over which they had just passed and halted on the top of it. From this position he could see the band, of about fifty Indians, careering towards him and yelling with satisfaction, for they could also see him—a solitary horseman—clear cut against the bright sky.

Dick got ready his repeating rifle. We have already mentioned the fact that he had learned to load and fire this formidable weapon with great rapidity, though he had signally failed in his attempts to aim with it. Being well aware of his weakness, he made up his mind in his present desperate extremity not to aim at all! He had always felt that the difficulty of getting the back and front sights of the rifle to correspond with the object aimed at was a slow, and, in his case, an impossible process. He therefore resolved to simply point his weapon and fire!

“Surely,” he muttered to himself even in that trying moment, “surely I can’t altogether miss a whole bunch o’ fifty men an’ horses!”

He waited until he thought the savages were within long range, and then, elevating his piece a little, fired.

The result justified his hopes. A horse fell dead upon the plain, and its owner, although evidently unwounded, was for the timehors de combat.

True to his plan, Dick kept up such a quick continuous fire, and made so much noise and smoke, that it seemed as if a whole company of riflemen were at work instead of one man, and several horses on the plain testified to the success of the pointing as compared with the aiming principle!

Of course the fire was partly returned, and for a time the stout seaman was under a pretty heavy rain of bullets, but as the savages fired while galloping their aim was necessarily bad.

This fusillade had naturally the effect of checking the advance of the Indians—especially when they drew near to the reckless man, who, when the snap of his rifle told that his last cartridge was off, wheeled about and fled as fast as Black Polly could lay hoofs to the plain.

And now he found the value of the trustworthy qualities of his steed, for, instead of guiding her out of the way of obstacles, he gave her her head, held tight with his legs, and merely kept an eye on the ground in front to be ready for any swerve, bound, or leap, that might be impending. Thus his hands were set free to re-charge the magazine of his rifle, which he did with deliberate rapidity.

The truth is, that recklessness has a distinct tendency to produce coolness. And there is no one who can afford to be so deliberate, and of whom other men are so much afraid, as the man who has obviously made up his mind to die fighting.

While Dick was loading-up, Black Polly was encouraged by voice and heel to do her best, and her best was something to see and remember! When the charging was finished, Dick drew rein and trotted to the next knoll he encountered, from which point he observed with some satisfaction that the fugitives were still pressing on, and that the distance between them and their foe had slightly increased.

But the seaman had not much time to look or think, for the band of Redskins was drawing near. When they came within range he again opened fire. But this time the savages divided, evidently with the intention of getting on both sides of him, and so distracting his attention. He perceived their object at once, and reserved his fire until they turned and with frantic yells made a simultaneous dash on him right and left. Again he waited till his enemies were close enough, and then opened fire right and left alternately, while the Indians found that they had outwitted themselves and scarcely dared to fire lest the opposite bands should hit each other.

Having expended the second supply of ammunition, Dick wheeled round and took to flight as before. Of course the mare soon carried him out of range, and again he had the satisfaction of observing that the fugitives had increased their distance from the foe.

“One more check o’ this kind,” thought Dick, “and they’ll be safe—I think.”

While thus thinking he was diligently re-charging, and soon cantered to the top of a third knoll, where he resolved to make his final stand. The ranch was by that time dimly visible on the horizon, and the weary fugitives were seen struggling towards it. But Dick found, on halting and looking back, that the Indians had changed their tactics. Instead of directing their attention to himself, as on the previous occasions, they had spread out to the right and left and had scattered, besides keeping well out of range.

“What are the sinners up to now?” muttered the seaman in some perplexity.

He soon perceived that they meant to go past him altogether, if possible, and head towards the fugitives in separate groups.

“Ay, but it’snotpossible!” exclaimed Dick, answering his own thoughts as he turned swiftly, and stretched out after his friends. Seeing this, the savages tried to close in on him from both sides, but their already winded ponies had no chance against the grand Mexican mare, which having been considerately handled during the day’s journey was comparatively fresh and in full vigour.

Shooting ahead he now resolved to join his friends and a feeling of triumph began to rise within his breast as he saw them pushing steadily onward. The ranch, however, was still at a considerable distance, while the Indians were rapidly gaining ground.

At that moment to Dick’s horror, the pony which Mary Jackson rode stumbled and fell, sending its rider over its head. But the fair Mary, besides being a splendid horsewoman, was singularly agile and quick in perception. For some time she had anticipated the catastrophe, and, at the first indication of a stumble, leaped from the saddle and actually alighted on her feet some yards ahead. Of course she fell with some violence, but the leap broke her fall and probably saved her neck. She sprang up instantly, and grasping the reins, tried to raise her pony. It was too late. The faithful creature was dead.

Jackson, pulling up, wheeled round and was back at her side instantly. Almost at the same moment Dick Darvall came up, threw the mare almost on her haunches, leaped from the saddle, and ran to Mary. As he did so, the crash of a pistol shot at his ear almost deafened him, and a glance showed him that Jackson had shot his horse, which fell dead close to his daughter’s pony.

“Kill your horse, Dick,” he growled sharply, as he exerted his great strength to the utmost, and dragged the haunches of his own steed close to the head of the other. “It’s our only chance.”

Dick drew his revolver, and aimed at the heart of Black Polly, but for the soul of him he could not pull the trigger.

“No—I won’t!” he cried, grasping the lasso which always hung at the saddle-bow. “Hobble the fore-legs!”

There was such determination in the sailor’s command, that Jackson felt bound to obey. At the same moment Dick bound the horse’s hind-legs. He fully understood what Jackson intended, and the latter was as quick to perceive the seaman’s drift. Seizing the reins, while his friend caught hold of the lasso, Dick cried, “Out o’ the way, Mary!” and with a mighty effort the two men threw the mare on her side.

“First-rate!” cried Jackson, while his companion held down the animal’s head. “It couldn’t have dropped better. Jump inside, Mary, an’ lie down flat behind your pony. Let Mary have the reins, Dick. She knows how to hold its head down without showin’ herself.”

Even while he was speaking, Jackson and Dick leaped into the triangle of horses thus formed, and, crouching low, disappeared from the sight of the savages, who now came on yelling with triumph, for they evidently thought themselves sure of their victims by that time.

“Are ye a good shot, Dick?” asked Jackson, as he gazed sternly at the approaching foe.

“No—abominably bad.”

“Fire low then. You may catch the horses if ye miss the Redskins. Anyhow you’ll hit the ground if you aim low, an’ it’s wonderful what execution a bullet may do arter hittin’ mother Earth.”

“I never aim,” replied the sailor. “Only a waste o’ time. I just point straight an’ fire away.”

“Do it, then,” growled roaring Bull, with something that sounded like a short laugh.

At the same moment he himself took quick aim at the foe and fired; the leading horse and man immediately rolled upon the plain.

As both men were armed with repeating rifles the fusillade was rapid, and most of the savages, who seldom fight well in the open, were repulsed. But several of them, headed apparently by their chief, rode on fearlessly until within pistol-shot.

Then the two defenders of this peculiar fortress sprang up with revolvers in each hand.

“Lie close, Mary,” cried Jackson as he fired, and the chief’s horse rolled over, almost reaching their position with the impetus of the charge. The chief himself lay beside his horse, for another shot had ended his career. As two other horses had fallen, the rest of the band wheeled aside and galloped away, followed by a brisk fire from the white men, who had again crouched behind their breast-work and resumed their rifles.

Bullets were by that time flying over them in considerable numbers, for those Indians who had not charged with their chief had, after retiring to a safe distance, taken to firing at long range. At this work Dick’s rifle and straight pointing were of little use, so he reserved his fire for close quarters, while Jackson, who was almost a certain shot at average ranges, kept the savages from drawing nearer.

“Lie closer to the pony, Miss Mary,” said Dick, as a shot passed close over the girl and whistled between him and his comrade. “Were you hurt in the fall?”

“No, not in the least. Don’t you think they’ll hear the firing at the ranch, father?”

“Ay, lass, if there’s anybody to hear it, but I sent the boys out this mornin’ to hunt up a bunch o’ steers that have drifted south among Wilson’s cattle, an’ I fear they’ve not come back yet. See, the reptiles are goin’ to try it again!”

As he spoke, the remnant of the Redskins who pressed home the first charge, having held a palaver, induced the whole band to make another attempt, but they were met with the same vigour as before—a continuous volley at long range, which emptied several saddles, and then, when the plucky men of the tribe charged close, the white men stood up, as before, and plied them with revolvers so rapidly that they were fain to wheel aside and retire.

“Ammunition’s gettin’ low,” said Dick, in an anxious tone.

“Then I’ll waste no more,” growled Jackson, “but only fire when I’m safe to hit.”

As he spoke a distant cheer was heard, and, looking back, they saw, with a rebound of hope, that a band of five or six cow-boys were coming from the ranch and galloping full swing to the rescue. Behind them, a few seconds later, appeared a line of men who came on at a swinging trot.

“Troopers, I do believe!” exclaimed Jackson.

“Thank God!” said Mary, with a deep sigh of relief as she sat up to look at them. The troopers gave a cheer of encouragement as they thundered past to the attack, but the Indians did not await the onset. At the first sight of the troops they fled, and in a few minutes pursued and pursuers alike were out of sight—hidden behind the prairie waves.

“I can’t tell you how thankful I am that I didn’t shoot the mare,” said Dick, as they unfastened the feet of Black Polly and let her rise. “I’d never have been able to look Hunky Ben in the face again arter it.”

“Well, I’m not sorry you spared her,” said Jackson; “as for the two that are dead, they’re no great loss—yet I’ve a kind o’ regret too, for the poor things served us well.”

“Faithfully—even to death,” added Mary, in a sorrowful tone as she stooped to pat the neck of her dead pony.

“Will you mount, Miss Mary, and ride home?” asked the sailor.

“Thank you—no, I’d rather walk with father. We have not far to go now.”

“Then we’ll all walk together,” said Jackson.

Dick threw Black Polly’s bridle over his arm, and they all set off at a smart walk for the ranch of Roaring Bull, while the troops and cow-boys chased the Redskins back into the mountains whence they had come.

Chapter Twenty Six.Treats of Various Interesting Matters, and Tells of News from Home.Dick Darvall now learned that, owing to the disturbed state of the country, Captain Wilmot had left a small body of men to occupy Bull’s ranch for a time; hence their presence at the critical moment when Jackson and his daughter stood so much in need of their assistance. He also found that there were two letters awaiting the party at Traitor’s Trap—one for Charles Brooke, Esquire, and one for Mr S. Leather. They bore the postmarks of the old country.“You’d better not start back wi’ them for three or four days, Dick,” said Jackson, when they were seated that evening in the hall of the ranch, enjoying a cup of coffee made by the fair hands of Mary.Dick shook his head. “I’m acting post-boy just now” said he, “an’ it would ill become me to hang off an’ on here waitin’ for a fair wind when I can beat into port with a foul one.”“But if the Redskins is up all round, as some o’ the boys have reported, it’s not merely a foul wind but a regular gale that’s blowin’, an’ it would puzzle you to beat into port in the teeth o’ that.”“I think,” remarked Mary, with an arch smile, “that Mr Darvall had better ‘lay to’ until the troops return to-night and report on the state of the weather.”To this the gallant seaman declared that he would be only too happy to cast anchor altogether where he was for the rest of his life, but that duty was duty, and that, blow high or blow low, fair weather or foul, duty had to be attended to.“That’s true, O high-principled seaman!” returned Jackson; “and what d’ye consider your duty at the present time?”“To deliver my letters, O Roarin’ Bull!” replied Dick.“Just so, but if you go slick off when Redskins are rampagin’ around, you’ll be sure to get nabbed an’ roasted alive, an’ so you’llneverdeliver your letters.”“It’s my duty to try,” said Dick. “Hows’ever,” he added, turning to Mary with a benignant smile, “I’ll take your advice, Miss Mary, an’ wait for the report o’ the soldiers.”When the troopers returned, their report was, that the Redskins, after being pretty severely handled, had managed to reach the woods, where it would have been useless to follow them so close upon night; but it was their opinion that the band, which had so nearly captured the boss of the ranch and his daughter, was merely a marauding band, from the south, of the same Indians who had previously attacked the ranch, and that, as for the Indians of the district, they believed them to be quite peaceably disposed.“Which says a good deal for them,” remarked the officer in command of the troops, “when we consider the provocation they receive from Buck Tom, Jake the Flint, and such-like ruffians.”“The moon rises at ten to-night, Dick,” said Jackson, as they went together to the stables to see that the horses were all right.“That’s so,” said the sailor, who noticed something peculiar in the man’s tone; “what may be the reason o’ your reference to that bit of astronomy?”“Why, you see,” returned the other, “post-boys in these diggin’s are used to travellin’ night an’ day. An’ the troopers’ report o’ the weather might be worse. You was sayin’ somethin’ about duty, wasn’t you?”“Right, Jackson,” returned Dick, “but Black Polly is not used to travellin’ night an’ day. If she was, I’d take her back to-night, for moonlight is good enough for a man that has twice taken soundin’s along the road, an’ who’s well up in all the buoys, beacons, an’ landmarks, but it would be cruelty to the good mare.”“Duty first, Dick, the mare second. You don’t need to trouble about her. I’ll lend ye one o’ my best horses an’ take good care o’ Black Polly till Hunky Ben claims her.”“Thank ’ee, Jackson, but I’ll not part wi’ Black Polly till I’ve delivered her to her owner. I won’t accept your invite to stop here three or four days, but neither will I start off to-night. I’ve too much regard for the good mare to do that.”“Ho! ho!” thought his host, with an inward chuckle, “it’s not so much the mare as Mary that you’ve a regard for, my young sailor!”But in spite of his name the man was much too polite to express this opinion aloud. He merely said, “Well, Dick, you know that you’re welcome to squat here as long or as short a time as you like, an’ use the best o’ my horses, if so disposed, or do the postboy business on Black Polly. Do as ye like wi’ me an’ mine, boy, for it’s only fair to say that but for your help this day my Mary an’ me would have bin done for.”They reached the stable as he was speaking, and Jackson at once turned the conversation on the horses, thus preventing a reply from Dick—in regard to which the latter was not sorry.In the stall the form of Black Polly looked grander than ever, for her head nearly touched the roof as she raised it and turned a gleaming eye on the visitors, at the same time uttering a slight whinny of expectation.“Why, I do believe she has transferred her affections to you, Dick,” said Jackson. “I never heard her do that before except to Hunky Ben, and she’s bin many a time in that stall.”“More likely that she expected Ben had come to bid her good-night,” returned the sailor.But the way in which the beautiful creature received Dick’s caresses induced Jackson to hold to his opinion. It is more probable, however, that some similarity of disposition between Dick Darvall and Hunky Ben had commended itself to the mare, which was, as much as many a human being, of an amiable, loving disposition. She thoroughly appreciated the tenderness and forbearance of her master, and, more recently, of Dick. No doubt the somewhat rough way in which she had been thrown to the ground that day may have astonished her, but it evidently had not soured her temper.That night Dick did not see much of Mary. She was far too busy attending to, and providing for, the numerous guests at the ranch to be able to give individual attention to any one in particular—even had she been so disposed.Buttercup of course lent able assistance to her mistress in these domestic duties, and, despite her own juvenility—we might perhaps say, in consequence of it—gave Mary much valuable advice.“Dat man’s in a bad way,” said she, as, with her huge lips pouting earnestly, she examined the contents of a big pot on the fire. The black maiden’s lips were so pronounced and expressive that they might almost be said to constitute her face!“What man?” asked Mary, who, with her sleeves tucked up to the elbows, was manipulating certain proportions of flour, water, and butter.“Why, Dick, oh course. He’s de only man wuth speakin’ about.”Mary blushed a little in spite of herself, and laughed hilariously as she replied—“Dear me, Butter, I didn’t think he had made such a deep impression on you.”“’S not on’y on me he’s made a ’mpress’n,” returned the maid, carelessly. “He makes de same ’mpress’n on eberybody.”“How d’you know?” asked Mary.“’Cause I see,” answered the maid.She turned her eyes on her mistress as she spoke, and immediately a transformation scene was presented. The eyes dwindled into slits as the cheeks rose, and the serious pout became a smile so magnificent that ivory teeth and scarlet gums set in ebony alone met the gaze of the beholder.“Buttercup,” exclaimed Mary, stamping her little foot firmly, “it’s boiling over!”She was right. Teeth and gums vanished. The eyes returned, so did the pout, and the pot was whipped off the fire in a twinkling, but not before a mighty hiss was heard and the head of the black maiden was involved in a cloud of steam and ashes!“I told you so!” cried Mary, quoting from an ancient Manuscript.“No, you di’n’t,” retorted her servitor, speaking from the depths of her own consciousness.We refrain from following the conversation beyond this point, as it became culinary and flat.Next day Dick Darvall, refreshed—and, owing to some quite inexplicable influences, enlivened—mounted Black Polly and started off alone for Traitor’s Trap, leaving his heart and a reputation for cool pluck behind him.Of course he was particularly watchful and circumspect on the way up, but saw nothing to call for a further display of either pluck or coolness. On arriving at the cave he found his friends there much as he had left them. Buck Tom, owing to the skilled attentions which he had received from that amateur surgeon, Hunky Ben, and a long refreshing sleep—the result of partial relief from pain—was a good deal better; and poor Leather, cheered by the hope thus raised of his friend’s recovery, was himself considerably improved in health and spirits.Fortunately for his own peace of mind, it never seemed to occur to Shank that a return to health meant for Buck Tom, death on the gallows. Perhaps his own illness had weakened Shank’s powers of thought. It may be, his naturally thoughtless disposition helped to render him oblivious of the solemn fact, and no one was cruel enough to remind him of it. But Buck himself never forgot it; yet he betrayed no symptom of despondency, neither did he indicate any degree of hope. He was a man of resolute purpose, and had the power of subduing—at least of absolutely concealing—his feelings. To those who nursed him he seemed to be in a state of gentle, colourless resignation.Charlie Brooke and Hunky Ben, having been out together, had returned well laden with game; and Leather was busy at the fire preparing a savoury mess of the same for his sick friend when Dick arrived.“News from the old country!” he exclaimed, holding up the letters on entering the cave. “Two for Charles Brooke, Esquire, and one for Mister Leather!”“They might have been more polite to me. Hand it here,” said the latter, endeavouring to conceal under a jest his excitement at the sight of a letter from home; for his wild life had cut him off from communication for a very long time.“One of mine is from old Jacob Crossley,” said Charlie, tearing the letter open with eager interest.“An’ mine is from sister May,” exclaimed Shank.If any one had observed Buck Tom at that moment, he would have seen that the outlaw started and rose almost up on one elbow, while a deep flush suffused his bronzed countenance. The action and the flush were only momentary, however he sank down again and turned his face to the wall.Charlie also started and looked at Shank when the name of May was mentioned, and the eye of Hunky Ben was on him at the moment. But Hunky of course could not interpret the start. He knew little of our hero’s past history—nothing whatever about May. Being a western scout, no line of his mahogany-looking face indicated that the start aroused a thought of any kind.While the recipients of the letters were busily perusing their missives, Dick Darvall gave the scout a brief outline of his expedition to the ranch, reserving the graphic narration of incidents to a more fitting occasion, when all the party could listen.“Dick, you’re a trump,” said the scout.“I’m a lucky fellow, anyhow,” returned Dick.“In very truth ye are, lad, to escape from such a big bunch o’ Redskins without a scratch; why—”“Pooh!” interrupted the sailor, “that’s not the luck I’m thinkin’ of. Havin’ overhauled Roarin’ Bull an’ his little girl in time to help rescue them, that’s what I call luck—d’ee see?”“Yes, I see,” was Hunky Ben’s laconic reply.Perhaps the scout saw more than was intended, for he probably observed the glad enthusiasm with which the bold seaman mentioned Roaring Bull’s little girl. We cannot tell. His wooden countenance betrayed no sign, and he may have seen nothing; but he was a western scout, and accustomed to take particular note of the smallest signs of the wilderness.“Capital—first-rate!” exclaimed Charlie, looking up from his letter when he had finished it.“Just what I was going to say, or something of the same sort,” said Leather, as he folded his epistle.“Then there’s nothing but good news?” said Charlie.“Nothing. I suppose it’s the same with you, to judge from your looks,” returned Shank.“Exactly. Perhaps,” said Charlie, “it may interest you all to hear my letter. There are no secrets in it, and the gentleman who writes it is a jolly old fellow, Jacob Crossley by name. You know him, Dick, as the owner of theWalrus, though you’ve never seen him.”“All right. I remember; fire away,” said Dick.“It is dated from his office in London,” continued our hero, “and runs thus:—“My Dear Brooke,—We were all very glad to hear of your safe arrival in New York, and hope that long before this reaches your hand you will have found poor Leather and got him to some place of comfort, where he may recover the health that we have been given to understand he has lost.“I chanced to be down at Sealford visiting your mother when your letter arrived; hence my knowledge of its contents. Mrs Leather and her daughter May were then asusual. By the way, what a pretty girl May has become! I remember her such a rumpled up, dress-anyhow, harum-scarum sort of a girl, that I find it hard to believe the tall, graceful, modest creature I meet with now is the same person! Captain Stride says she is the finest craft he ever saw, except that wonderful ‘Maggie,’ about whose opinions and sayings he tells us so much.“But this is a double digression. To return: your letter of course gave us all great pleasure. It also gave your mother and May some anxiety, where it tells of the necessity of your going up to that wild-west place, Traitor’s Trap, where poor Leather is laid up. Take care of yourself, my dear boy, for I’m told that the red savages are still given to those roasting, scalping, and other torturing that one has read of in the pages of Fenimore Cooper.“By the way, before I forget it, let me say, in reference to the enclosed bill, it is a loan which I have obtained for Leather, at very moderate interest, and when more is required more can be obtained on the same terms. Let him understand this, for I don’t wish that he should think, on the one hand, that he is drawing on his mother’s slender resources, or, on the other hand, that he is under obligation to any one. I send the bill because I feel quite sure that you started on this expedition with too little. It is drawn in your name, and I think you will be able to cash it at any civilised town—even in the far west!“Talking of Captain Stride—was I talking of him? Well, no matter. As he is past work now, but thinks himself very far indeed from that condition, I have prevailed on him to accept a new and peculiar post arising out of the curious evolutions of the firm of Withers and Company which satisfies the firm completely and suits the captain to a T. As the work can be done anywhere, a residence has been taken for him in Sealford, mid-way between that of your mother and Mrs Leather, so that he and his wife and little girl can run into either port when so disposed. As Mrs L, however (to use his own phraseology), is almost always to be found at anchor in the Brooke harbour, he usually kills both with the same visit. I have not been to see him yet in the new abode, and do not know what the celebrated Maggie thinks of it.“When you find Leather, poor fellow, tell him that his mother and sister are very well. The former is indefatigable in knitting those hundreds of socks and stockings for poor people, about which there has been, and still is, and I think ever will be, so much mystery. The person who buys them from her must be very deep as well as honest, for no inquiries ever throw any fresh light on the subject, and he—or she, whichever it is—pays regularly as the worsted work is delivered—so I’m told! It is a little old lady who pays—but I’ve reason to believe that she’s only a go-between—some agent of a society for providing cheap clothing for the poor, I fancy, which the poor stand very much in need of, poor things! Your good mother helps in this work—at least so I am told, but I’m not much up in in the details of it yet. I mean to run down to see them in a few days and hear all about it.“Stride, I forgot to say, is allowed to smoke a pipe in your mother’s parlour when he pays her a visit. This is so like her amiability, for she hates tobacco as much as I do. I ventured on a similarly amiable experiment one day when the worthy Captain dined with me, but the result was so serious that I have not ventured to repeat it. You remember my worthy housekeeper, Mrs Bland? Well, she kicked over the traces and became quite unmanageable. I had given Stride leave to smoke after dessert, because I had a sort of idea that he could nor digest his food without a pipe. You know my feelings with regard toyoungfellows who try to emulate chimneys, so you can understand that my allowing the Captain to indulge was no relaxation of my principles, but was the result of a strong objection I had to spoil the dinner of a man who was somewhat older than myself by cramming my principles down his throat.“But the moment that Mrs Bland entered I knew by the glance of her eye, as well as by the sniff of her nose, that a storm was brewing up—as Stride puts it—and I was not wrong. The storm burst upon me that evening. It’s impossible, and might be tedious, to give you all the conversation that we had after Stride had gone, but the upshot was that she gave me warning.“‘But, my good woman,’ I began—“‘It’s of no use good-womaning me, Mr Crossley,’ said she, ‘I couldn’t exist in a ’ouse w’ere smokin’ is allowed. My dear father died of smokin’—at least, if he didn’t, smokin’ must ’ave ’ad somethink to do with it, for after the dear man was gone a pipe an’ a plug of the nasty stuff was found under ’is piller, so I can’t stand it; an’ what’s more, Mr Crossley, Iwon’tstand it! Just think, sir, ’ow silly it is to put a bit of clay in your mouth an’ draw smoke through it, an’ then to spit it out again as if you didn’t like it; as no more no onedoeson beginnin’ it, for boys only smoke to look like men, an’ men only smoke because they’ve got up the ’abit an’ can’t ’elp it. W’y, sir, you may git upany’abit. You may git the ’abit of walkin’ on your ’ands an’ shakin’ your legs in the hair if you was to persevere long enough, but that would only prove you a fool fit for a circus or a lunatic asylum. You never see the hanimals smokin’. They knows better. Just fancy! what would you think if you saw the cab ’osses all a-settin’ on their tails in the rank smokin’ pipes an’ cigars! What would you think of a ’oss w’en ’is cabby cried, “Gee-up, there’s a fare a ’owlin’ for us,” an’ that ’oss would say, “Hall right, cabby, just ’old on, hold man, till I finish my pipe”? No, Mr Crossley, no, I—’“‘But, my good soul!’ I burst in here, ‘do listen—’“‘No use good-soulin’ me, Mr Crossley. I tell you I won’t stand it. My dear father died of it, an’ Ican’tstand it—’“‘Ihateit, Mrs Bland, myself!’“I shouted this interruption in such a loud fierce tone that the good woman stopped and looked at me in surprise.“‘Yes, Mrs Bland,’ I continued, in the same tone, ‘I detest smoking. You know I always did, but now more than ever, for your reasoning has convinced me that there aresomeevil consequences of smoking which are almost worse than smoking itself! Rest assured that never again shall the smell of the noxious weed defile the walls of this house.’“‘Lauk, sir!’ said Mrs Bland.“I had subdued her, Charlie, by giving in with dignity. I shall try the same role next breeze that threatens.“I almost feel that I owe you an apology for the length of this epistle. Let me conclude by urging you to bring poor Leather home, strong and well. Tell him from me that there is a vacant situation in the firm of Withers and Company which will just suit him. He shall have it when he returns—if God spares me to see him again. But I’m getting old, Charlie, and we know not what a day may bring forth.”“A kind—a very kind letter,” said Leather earnestly, when his friend had finished reading.“Why, he writes as if he were your own father, Brooke,” remarked Buck Tom, who had been listening intently. “Have you known him long?”“Not long. Only since the time that he gave me the appointment of supercargo to theWalrus, but the little I have seen of him has aroused in me a feeling of strong regard.”“My sister May refers to him here,” said Leather, with a peculiar smile, as he re-opened his letter. “The greater part of this tells chiefly of private affairs which would not interest any of you, but here is a passage which forms a sort of commentary on what you have just heard:—“‘You will be amused to hear,’ she writes, ‘that good Captain Stride has come to live in Sealford. Kind old Mr Crossley has given him some sort of work connected with Withers and Company’s house which I can neither understand nor describe. Indeed, I am convinced it is merely work got up on purpose by Mr Crossley as an excuse for giving his old friend a salary, for he knows that Captain Stride would be terribly cast down if offered apension, as that would be equivalent to pronouncing him unfit for further duty, and the Captain will never admit himself to be in that condition till he is dying. Old Jacob Crossley—as you used to call him—thinks himself a very sagacious and “deep” man, but in truth there never was a simpler or more transparent one. He thinks that we know nothing about who it is that sends the old lady to buy up all the worsted-work that mother makes, but we know perfectly well that it is himself, and dear mother could never have gone on working with satisfaction and receiving the money for it all if we had not found out that he buys it for our fishermen, who are said really to be very much in need of the things she makes.“‘The dear old man is always doing something kind and considerate in a sly way, under the impression that nobody notices. He little knows the power of woman’s observation! By the way, that reminds me that he is not ignorant of woman’s powers in other ways. We heard yesterday that his old and faithful—though rather trying—housekeeper had quarrelled with him about smoking! We were greatly surprised, for we knew that the old gentleman is not and never was, a smoker. She threatened to leave, but we have since heard, I am glad to say, that they have made it up!“H’m! there’s food for meditation in all that,” said Dick Darvall, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it in his vest pocket.

Dick Darvall now learned that, owing to the disturbed state of the country, Captain Wilmot had left a small body of men to occupy Bull’s ranch for a time; hence their presence at the critical moment when Jackson and his daughter stood so much in need of their assistance. He also found that there were two letters awaiting the party at Traitor’s Trap—one for Charles Brooke, Esquire, and one for Mr S. Leather. They bore the postmarks of the old country.

“You’d better not start back wi’ them for three or four days, Dick,” said Jackson, when they were seated that evening in the hall of the ranch, enjoying a cup of coffee made by the fair hands of Mary.

Dick shook his head. “I’m acting post-boy just now” said he, “an’ it would ill become me to hang off an’ on here waitin’ for a fair wind when I can beat into port with a foul one.”

“But if the Redskins is up all round, as some o’ the boys have reported, it’s not merely a foul wind but a regular gale that’s blowin’, an’ it would puzzle you to beat into port in the teeth o’ that.”

“I think,” remarked Mary, with an arch smile, “that Mr Darvall had better ‘lay to’ until the troops return to-night and report on the state of the weather.”

To this the gallant seaman declared that he would be only too happy to cast anchor altogether where he was for the rest of his life, but that duty was duty, and that, blow high or blow low, fair weather or foul, duty had to be attended to.

“That’s true, O high-principled seaman!” returned Jackson; “and what d’ye consider your duty at the present time?”

“To deliver my letters, O Roarin’ Bull!” replied Dick.

“Just so, but if you go slick off when Redskins are rampagin’ around, you’ll be sure to get nabbed an’ roasted alive, an’ so you’llneverdeliver your letters.”

“It’s my duty to try,” said Dick. “Hows’ever,” he added, turning to Mary with a benignant smile, “I’ll take your advice, Miss Mary, an’ wait for the report o’ the soldiers.”

When the troopers returned, their report was, that the Redskins, after being pretty severely handled, had managed to reach the woods, where it would have been useless to follow them so close upon night; but it was their opinion that the band, which had so nearly captured the boss of the ranch and his daughter, was merely a marauding band, from the south, of the same Indians who had previously attacked the ranch, and that, as for the Indians of the district, they believed them to be quite peaceably disposed.

“Which says a good deal for them,” remarked the officer in command of the troops, “when we consider the provocation they receive from Buck Tom, Jake the Flint, and such-like ruffians.”

“The moon rises at ten to-night, Dick,” said Jackson, as they went together to the stables to see that the horses were all right.

“That’s so,” said the sailor, who noticed something peculiar in the man’s tone; “what may be the reason o’ your reference to that bit of astronomy?”

“Why, you see,” returned the other, “post-boys in these diggin’s are used to travellin’ night an’ day. An’ the troopers’ report o’ the weather might be worse. You was sayin’ somethin’ about duty, wasn’t you?”

“Right, Jackson,” returned Dick, “but Black Polly is not used to travellin’ night an’ day. If she was, I’d take her back to-night, for moonlight is good enough for a man that has twice taken soundin’s along the road, an’ who’s well up in all the buoys, beacons, an’ landmarks, but it would be cruelty to the good mare.”

“Duty first, Dick, the mare second. You don’t need to trouble about her. I’ll lend ye one o’ my best horses an’ take good care o’ Black Polly till Hunky Ben claims her.”

“Thank ’ee, Jackson, but I’ll not part wi’ Black Polly till I’ve delivered her to her owner. I won’t accept your invite to stop here three or four days, but neither will I start off to-night. I’ve too much regard for the good mare to do that.”

“Ho! ho!” thought his host, with an inward chuckle, “it’s not so much the mare as Mary that you’ve a regard for, my young sailor!”

But in spite of his name the man was much too polite to express this opinion aloud. He merely said, “Well, Dick, you know that you’re welcome to squat here as long or as short a time as you like, an’ use the best o’ my horses, if so disposed, or do the postboy business on Black Polly. Do as ye like wi’ me an’ mine, boy, for it’s only fair to say that but for your help this day my Mary an’ me would have bin done for.”

They reached the stable as he was speaking, and Jackson at once turned the conversation on the horses, thus preventing a reply from Dick—in regard to which the latter was not sorry.

In the stall the form of Black Polly looked grander than ever, for her head nearly touched the roof as she raised it and turned a gleaming eye on the visitors, at the same time uttering a slight whinny of expectation.

“Why, I do believe she has transferred her affections to you, Dick,” said Jackson. “I never heard her do that before except to Hunky Ben, and she’s bin many a time in that stall.”

“More likely that she expected Ben had come to bid her good-night,” returned the sailor.

But the way in which the beautiful creature received Dick’s caresses induced Jackson to hold to his opinion. It is more probable, however, that some similarity of disposition between Dick Darvall and Hunky Ben had commended itself to the mare, which was, as much as many a human being, of an amiable, loving disposition. She thoroughly appreciated the tenderness and forbearance of her master, and, more recently, of Dick. No doubt the somewhat rough way in which she had been thrown to the ground that day may have astonished her, but it evidently had not soured her temper.

That night Dick did not see much of Mary. She was far too busy attending to, and providing for, the numerous guests at the ranch to be able to give individual attention to any one in particular—even had she been so disposed.

Buttercup of course lent able assistance to her mistress in these domestic duties, and, despite her own juvenility—we might perhaps say, in consequence of it—gave Mary much valuable advice.

“Dat man’s in a bad way,” said she, as, with her huge lips pouting earnestly, she examined the contents of a big pot on the fire. The black maiden’s lips were so pronounced and expressive that they might almost be said to constitute her face!

“What man?” asked Mary, who, with her sleeves tucked up to the elbows, was manipulating certain proportions of flour, water, and butter.

“Why, Dick, oh course. He’s de only man wuth speakin’ about.”

Mary blushed a little in spite of herself, and laughed hilariously as she replied—

“Dear me, Butter, I didn’t think he had made such a deep impression on you.”

“’S not on’y on me he’s made a ’mpress’n,” returned the maid, carelessly. “He makes de same ’mpress’n on eberybody.”

“How d’you know?” asked Mary.

“’Cause I see,” answered the maid.

She turned her eyes on her mistress as she spoke, and immediately a transformation scene was presented. The eyes dwindled into slits as the cheeks rose, and the serious pout became a smile so magnificent that ivory teeth and scarlet gums set in ebony alone met the gaze of the beholder.

“Buttercup,” exclaimed Mary, stamping her little foot firmly, “it’s boiling over!”

She was right. Teeth and gums vanished. The eyes returned, so did the pout, and the pot was whipped off the fire in a twinkling, but not before a mighty hiss was heard and the head of the black maiden was involved in a cloud of steam and ashes!

“I told you so!” cried Mary, quoting from an ancient Manuscript.

“No, you di’n’t,” retorted her servitor, speaking from the depths of her own consciousness.

We refrain from following the conversation beyond this point, as it became culinary and flat.

Next day Dick Darvall, refreshed—and, owing to some quite inexplicable influences, enlivened—mounted Black Polly and started off alone for Traitor’s Trap, leaving his heart and a reputation for cool pluck behind him.

Of course he was particularly watchful and circumspect on the way up, but saw nothing to call for a further display of either pluck or coolness. On arriving at the cave he found his friends there much as he had left them. Buck Tom, owing to the skilled attentions which he had received from that amateur surgeon, Hunky Ben, and a long refreshing sleep—the result of partial relief from pain—was a good deal better; and poor Leather, cheered by the hope thus raised of his friend’s recovery, was himself considerably improved in health and spirits.

Fortunately for his own peace of mind, it never seemed to occur to Shank that a return to health meant for Buck Tom, death on the gallows. Perhaps his own illness had weakened Shank’s powers of thought. It may be, his naturally thoughtless disposition helped to render him oblivious of the solemn fact, and no one was cruel enough to remind him of it. But Buck himself never forgot it; yet he betrayed no symptom of despondency, neither did he indicate any degree of hope. He was a man of resolute purpose, and had the power of subduing—at least of absolutely concealing—his feelings. To those who nursed him he seemed to be in a state of gentle, colourless resignation.

Charlie Brooke and Hunky Ben, having been out together, had returned well laden with game; and Leather was busy at the fire preparing a savoury mess of the same for his sick friend when Dick arrived.

“News from the old country!” he exclaimed, holding up the letters on entering the cave. “Two for Charles Brooke, Esquire, and one for Mister Leather!”

“They might have been more polite to me. Hand it here,” said the latter, endeavouring to conceal under a jest his excitement at the sight of a letter from home; for his wild life had cut him off from communication for a very long time.

“One of mine is from old Jacob Crossley,” said Charlie, tearing the letter open with eager interest.

“An’ mine is from sister May,” exclaimed Shank.

If any one had observed Buck Tom at that moment, he would have seen that the outlaw started and rose almost up on one elbow, while a deep flush suffused his bronzed countenance. The action and the flush were only momentary, however he sank down again and turned his face to the wall.

Charlie also started and looked at Shank when the name of May was mentioned, and the eye of Hunky Ben was on him at the moment. But Hunky of course could not interpret the start. He knew little of our hero’s past history—nothing whatever about May. Being a western scout, no line of his mahogany-looking face indicated that the start aroused a thought of any kind.

While the recipients of the letters were busily perusing their missives, Dick Darvall gave the scout a brief outline of his expedition to the ranch, reserving the graphic narration of incidents to a more fitting occasion, when all the party could listen.

“Dick, you’re a trump,” said the scout.

“I’m a lucky fellow, anyhow,” returned Dick.

“In very truth ye are, lad, to escape from such a big bunch o’ Redskins without a scratch; why—”

“Pooh!” interrupted the sailor, “that’s not the luck I’m thinkin’ of. Havin’ overhauled Roarin’ Bull an’ his little girl in time to help rescue them, that’s what I call luck—d’ee see?”

“Yes, I see,” was Hunky Ben’s laconic reply.

Perhaps the scout saw more than was intended, for he probably observed the glad enthusiasm with which the bold seaman mentioned Roaring Bull’s little girl. We cannot tell. His wooden countenance betrayed no sign, and he may have seen nothing; but he was a western scout, and accustomed to take particular note of the smallest signs of the wilderness.

“Capital—first-rate!” exclaimed Charlie, looking up from his letter when he had finished it.

“Just what I was going to say, or something of the same sort,” said Leather, as he folded his epistle.

“Then there’s nothing but good news?” said Charlie.

“Nothing. I suppose it’s the same with you, to judge from your looks,” returned Shank.

“Exactly. Perhaps,” said Charlie, “it may interest you all to hear my letter. There are no secrets in it, and the gentleman who writes it is a jolly old fellow, Jacob Crossley by name. You know him, Dick, as the owner of theWalrus, though you’ve never seen him.”

“All right. I remember; fire away,” said Dick.

“It is dated from his office in London,” continued our hero, “and runs thus:—

“My Dear Brooke,—We were all very glad to hear of your safe arrival in New York, and hope that long before this reaches your hand you will have found poor Leather and got him to some place of comfort, where he may recover the health that we have been given to understand he has lost.“I chanced to be down at Sealford visiting your mother when your letter arrived; hence my knowledge of its contents. Mrs Leather and her daughter May were then asusual. By the way, what a pretty girl May has become! I remember her such a rumpled up, dress-anyhow, harum-scarum sort of a girl, that I find it hard to believe the tall, graceful, modest creature I meet with now is the same person! Captain Stride says she is the finest craft he ever saw, except that wonderful ‘Maggie,’ about whose opinions and sayings he tells us so much.“But this is a double digression. To return: your letter of course gave us all great pleasure. It also gave your mother and May some anxiety, where it tells of the necessity of your going up to that wild-west place, Traitor’s Trap, where poor Leather is laid up. Take care of yourself, my dear boy, for I’m told that the red savages are still given to those roasting, scalping, and other torturing that one has read of in the pages of Fenimore Cooper.“By the way, before I forget it, let me say, in reference to the enclosed bill, it is a loan which I have obtained for Leather, at very moderate interest, and when more is required more can be obtained on the same terms. Let him understand this, for I don’t wish that he should think, on the one hand, that he is drawing on his mother’s slender resources, or, on the other hand, that he is under obligation to any one. I send the bill because I feel quite sure that you started on this expedition with too little. It is drawn in your name, and I think you will be able to cash it at any civilised town—even in the far west!“Talking of Captain Stride—was I talking of him? Well, no matter. As he is past work now, but thinks himself very far indeed from that condition, I have prevailed on him to accept a new and peculiar post arising out of the curious evolutions of the firm of Withers and Company which satisfies the firm completely and suits the captain to a T. As the work can be done anywhere, a residence has been taken for him in Sealford, mid-way between that of your mother and Mrs Leather, so that he and his wife and little girl can run into either port when so disposed. As Mrs L, however (to use his own phraseology), is almost always to be found at anchor in the Brooke harbour, he usually kills both with the same visit. I have not been to see him yet in the new abode, and do not know what the celebrated Maggie thinks of it.“When you find Leather, poor fellow, tell him that his mother and sister are very well. The former is indefatigable in knitting those hundreds of socks and stockings for poor people, about which there has been, and still is, and I think ever will be, so much mystery. The person who buys them from her must be very deep as well as honest, for no inquiries ever throw any fresh light on the subject, and he—or she, whichever it is—pays regularly as the worsted work is delivered—so I’m told! It is a little old lady who pays—but I’ve reason to believe that she’s only a go-between—some agent of a society for providing cheap clothing for the poor, I fancy, which the poor stand very much in need of, poor things! Your good mother helps in this work—at least so I am told, but I’m not much up in in the details of it yet. I mean to run down to see them in a few days and hear all about it.“Stride, I forgot to say, is allowed to smoke a pipe in your mother’s parlour when he pays her a visit. This is so like her amiability, for she hates tobacco as much as I do. I ventured on a similarly amiable experiment one day when the worthy Captain dined with me, but the result was so serious that I have not ventured to repeat it. You remember my worthy housekeeper, Mrs Bland? Well, she kicked over the traces and became quite unmanageable. I had given Stride leave to smoke after dessert, because I had a sort of idea that he could nor digest his food without a pipe. You know my feelings with regard toyoungfellows who try to emulate chimneys, so you can understand that my allowing the Captain to indulge was no relaxation of my principles, but was the result of a strong objection I had to spoil the dinner of a man who was somewhat older than myself by cramming my principles down his throat.“But the moment that Mrs Bland entered I knew by the glance of her eye, as well as by the sniff of her nose, that a storm was brewing up—as Stride puts it—and I was not wrong. The storm burst upon me that evening. It’s impossible, and might be tedious, to give you all the conversation that we had after Stride had gone, but the upshot was that she gave me warning.“‘But, my good woman,’ I began—“‘It’s of no use good-womaning me, Mr Crossley,’ said she, ‘I couldn’t exist in a ’ouse w’ere smokin’ is allowed. My dear father died of smokin’—at least, if he didn’t, smokin’ must ’ave ’ad somethink to do with it, for after the dear man was gone a pipe an’ a plug of the nasty stuff was found under ’is piller, so I can’t stand it; an’ what’s more, Mr Crossley, Iwon’tstand it! Just think, sir, ’ow silly it is to put a bit of clay in your mouth an’ draw smoke through it, an’ then to spit it out again as if you didn’t like it; as no more no onedoeson beginnin’ it, for boys only smoke to look like men, an’ men only smoke because they’ve got up the ’abit an’ can’t ’elp it. W’y, sir, you may git upany’abit. You may git the ’abit of walkin’ on your ’ands an’ shakin’ your legs in the hair if you was to persevere long enough, but that would only prove you a fool fit for a circus or a lunatic asylum. You never see the hanimals smokin’. They knows better. Just fancy! what would you think if you saw the cab ’osses all a-settin’ on their tails in the rank smokin’ pipes an’ cigars! What would you think of a ’oss w’en ’is cabby cried, “Gee-up, there’s a fare a ’owlin’ for us,” an’ that ’oss would say, “Hall right, cabby, just ’old on, hold man, till I finish my pipe”? No, Mr Crossley, no, I—’“‘But, my good soul!’ I burst in here, ‘do listen—’“‘No use good-soulin’ me, Mr Crossley. I tell you I won’t stand it. My dear father died of it, an’ Ican’tstand it—’“‘Ihateit, Mrs Bland, myself!’“I shouted this interruption in such a loud fierce tone that the good woman stopped and looked at me in surprise.“‘Yes, Mrs Bland,’ I continued, in the same tone, ‘I detest smoking. You know I always did, but now more than ever, for your reasoning has convinced me that there aresomeevil consequences of smoking which are almost worse than smoking itself! Rest assured that never again shall the smell of the noxious weed defile the walls of this house.’“‘Lauk, sir!’ said Mrs Bland.“I had subdued her, Charlie, by giving in with dignity. I shall try the same role next breeze that threatens.“I almost feel that I owe you an apology for the length of this epistle. Let me conclude by urging you to bring poor Leather home, strong and well. Tell him from me that there is a vacant situation in the firm of Withers and Company which will just suit him. He shall have it when he returns—if God spares me to see him again. But I’m getting old, Charlie, and we know not what a day may bring forth.”

“My Dear Brooke,—We were all very glad to hear of your safe arrival in New York, and hope that long before this reaches your hand you will have found poor Leather and got him to some place of comfort, where he may recover the health that we have been given to understand he has lost.

“I chanced to be down at Sealford visiting your mother when your letter arrived; hence my knowledge of its contents. Mrs Leather and her daughter May were then asusual. By the way, what a pretty girl May has become! I remember her such a rumpled up, dress-anyhow, harum-scarum sort of a girl, that I find it hard to believe the tall, graceful, modest creature I meet with now is the same person! Captain Stride says she is the finest craft he ever saw, except that wonderful ‘Maggie,’ about whose opinions and sayings he tells us so much.

“But this is a double digression. To return: your letter of course gave us all great pleasure. It also gave your mother and May some anxiety, where it tells of the necessity of your going up to that wild-west place, Traitor’s Trap, where poor Leather is laid up. Take care of yourself, my dear boy, for I’m told that the red savages are still given to those roasting, scalping, and other torturing that one has read of in the pages of Fenimore Cooper.

“By the way, before I forget it, let me say, in reference to the enclosed bill, it is a loan which I have obtained for Leather, at very moderate interest, and when more is required more can be obtained on the same terms. Let him understand this, for I don’t wish that he should think, on the one hand, that he is drawing on his mother’s slender resources, or, on the other hand, that he is under obligation to any one. I send the bill because I feel quite sure that you started on this expedition with too little. It is drawn in your name, and I think you will be able to cash it at any civilised town—even in the far west!

“Talking of Captain Stride—was I talking of him? Well, no matter. As he is past work now, but thinks himself very far indeed from that condition, I have prevailed on him to accept a new and peculiar post arising out of the curious evolutions of the firm of Withers and Company which satisfies the firm completely and suits the captain to a T. As the work can be done anywhere, a residence has been taken for him in Sealford, mid-way between that of your mother and Mrs Leather, so that he and his wife and little girl can run into either port when so disposed. As Mrs L, however (to use his own phraseology), is almost always to be found at anchor in the Brooke harbour, he usually kills both with the same visit. I have not been to see him yet in the new abode, and do not know what the celebrated Maggie thinks of it.

“When you find Leather, poor fellow, tell him that his mother and sister are very well. The former is indefatigable in knitting those hundreds of socks and stockings for poor people, about which there has been, and still is, and I think ever will be, so much mystery. The person who buys them from her must be very deep as well as honest, for no inquiries ever throw any fresh light on the subject, and he—or she, whichever it is—pays regularly as the worsted work is delivered—so I’m told! It is a little old lady who pays—but I’ve reason to believe that she’s only a go-between—some agent of a society for providing cheap clothing for the poor, I fancy, which the poor stand very much in need of, poor things! Your good mother helps in this work—at least so I am told, but I’m not much up in in the details of it yet. I mean to run down to see them in a few days and hear all about it.

“Stride, I forgot to say, is allowed to smoke a pipe in your mother’s parlour when he pays her a visit. This is so like her amiability, for she hates tobacco as much as I do. I ventured on a similarly amiable experiment one day when the worthy Captain dined with me, but the result was so serious that I have not ventured to repeat it. You remember my worthy housekeeper, Mrs Bland? Well, she kicked over the traces and became quite unmanageable. I had given Stride leave to smoke after dessert, because I had a sort of idea that he could nor digest his food without a pipe. You know my feelings with regard toyoungfellows who try to emulate chimneys, so you can understand that my allowing the Captain to indulge was no relaxation of my principles, but was the result of a strong objection I had to spoil the dinner of a man who was somewhat older than myself by cramming my principles down his throat.

“But the moment that Mrs Bland entered I knew by the glance of her eye, as well as by the sniff of her nose, that a storm was brewing up—as Stride puts it—and I was not wrong. The storm burst upon me that evening. It’s impossible, and might be tedious, to give you all the conversation that we had after Stride had gone, but the upshot was that she gave me warning.

“‘But, my good woman,’ I began—

“‘It’s of no use good-womaning me, Mr Crossley,’ said she, ‘I couldn’t exist in a ’ouse w’ere smokin’ is allowed. My dear father died of smokin’—at least, if he didn’t, smokin’ must ’ave ’ad somethink to do with it, for after the dear man was gone a pipe an’ a plug of the nasty stuff was found under ’is piller, so I can’t stand it; an’ what’s more, Mr Crossley, Iwon’tstand it! Just think, sir, ’ow silly it is to put a bit of clay in your mouth an’ draw smoke through it, an’ then to spit it out again as if you didn’t like it; as no more no onedoeson beginnin’ it, for boys only smoke to look like men, an’ men only smoke because they’ve got up the ’abit an’ can’t ’elp it. W’y, sir, you may git upany’abit. You may git the ’abit of walkin’ on your ’ands an’ shakin’ your legs in the hair if you was to persevere long enough, but that would only prove you a fool fit for a circus or a lunatic asylum. You never see the hanimals smokin’. They knows better. Just fancy! what would you think if you saw the cab ’osses all a-settin’ on their tails in the rank smokin’ pipes an’ cigars! What would you think of a ’oss w’en ’is cabby cried, “Gee-up, there’s a fare a ’owlin’ for us,” an’ that ’oss would say, “Hall right, cabby, just ’old on, hold man, till I finish my pipe”? No, Mr Crossley, no, I—’

“‘But, my good soul!’ I burst in here, ‘do listen—’

“‘No use good-soulin’ me, Mr Crossley. I tell you I won’t stand it. My dear father died of it, an’ Ican’tstand it—’

“‘Ihateit, Mrs Bland, myself!’

“I shouted this interruption in such a loud fierce tone that the good woman stopped and looked at me in surprise.

“‘Yes, Mrs Bland,’ I continued, in the same tone, ‘I detest smoking. You know I always did, but now more than ever, for your reasoning has convinced me that there aresomeevil consequences of smoking which are almost worse than smoking itself! Rest assured that never again shall the smell of the noxious weed defile the walls of this house.’

“‘Lauk, sir!’ said Mrs Bland.

“I had subdued her, Charlie, by giving in with dignity. I shall try the same role next breeze that threatens.

“I almost feel that I owe you an apology for the length of this epistle. Let me conclude by urging you to bring poor Leather home, strong and well. Tell him from me that there is a vacant situation in the firm of Withers and Company which will just suit him. He shall have it when he returns—if God spares me to see him again. But I’m getting old, Charlie, and we know not what a day may bring forth.”

“A kind—a very kind letter,” said Leather earnestly, when his friend had finished reading.

“Why, he writes as if he were your own father, Brooke,” remarked Buck Tom, who had been listening intently. “Have you known him long?”

“Not long. Only since the time that he gave me the appointment of supercargo to theWalrus, but the little I have seen of him has aroused in me a feeling of strong regard.”

“My sister May refers to him here,” said Leather, with a peculiar smile, as he re-opened his letter. “The greater part of this tells chiefly of private affairs which would not interest any of you, but here is a passage which forms a sort of commentary on what you have just heard:—

“‘You will be amused to hear,’ she writes, ‘that good Captain Stride has come to live in Sealford. Kind old Mr Crossley has given him some sort of work connected with Withers and Company’s house which I can neither understand nor describe. Indeed, I am convinced it is merely work got up on purpose by Mr Crossley as an excuse for giving his old friend a salary, for he knows that Captain Stride would be terribly cast down if offered apension, as that would be equivalent to pronouncing him unfit for further duty, and the Captain will never admit himself to be in that condition till he is dying. Old Jacob Crossley—as you used to call him—thinks himself a very sagacious and “deep” man, but in truth there never was a simpler or more transparent one. He thinks that we know nothing about who it is that sends the old lady to buy up all the worsted-work that mother makes, but we know perfectly well that it is himself, and dear mother could never have gone on working with satisfaction and receiving the money for it all if we had not found out that he buys it for our fishermen, who are said really to be very much in need of the things she makes.“‘The dear old man is always doing something kind and considerate in a sly way, under the impression that nobody notices. He little knows the power of woman’s observation! By the way, that reminds me that he is not ignorant of woman’s powers in other ways. We heard yesterday that his old and faithful—though rather trying—housekeeper had quarrelled with him about smoking! We were greatly surprised, for we knew that the old gentleman is not and never was, a smoker. She threatened to leave, but we have since heard, I am glad to say, that they have made it up!

“‘You will be amused to hear,’ she writes, ‘that good Captain Stride has come to live in Sealford. Kind old Mr Crossley has given him some sort of work connected with Withers and Company’s house which I can neither understand nor describe. Indeed, I am convinced it is merely work got up on purpose by Mr Crossley as an excuse for giving his old friend a salary, for he knows that Captain Stride would be terribly cast down if offered apension, as that would be equivalent to pronouncing him unfit for further duty, and the Captain will never admit himself to be in that condition till he is dying. Old Jacob Crossley—as you used to call him—thinks himself a very sagacious and “deep” man, but in truth there never was a simpler or more transparent one. He thinks that we know nothing about who it is that sends the old lady to buy up all the worsted-work that mother makes, but we know perfectly well that it is himself, and dear mother could never have gone on working with satisfaction and receiving the money for it all if we had not found out that he buys it for our fishermen, who are said really to be very much in need of the things she makes.

“‘The dear old man is always doing something kind and considerate in a sly way, under the impression that nobody notices. He little knows the power of woman’s observation! By the way, that reminds me that he is not ignorant of woman’s powers in other ways. We heard yesterday that his old and faithful—though rather trying—housekeeper had quarrelled with him about smoking! We were greatly surprised, for we knew that the old gentleman is not and never was, a smoker. She threatened to leave, but we have since heard, I am glad to say, that they have made it up!

“H’m! there’s food for meditation in all that,” said Dick Darvall, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it in his vest pocket.

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