ow, youngster, get yer horse an' rifle
ready, and come to the block-house at daybreak to-morrow.--Good luck
to ye, mistress, till we meet agin."

Joe Blunt rose, and taking up his rifle--without which he scarcely
ever moved a foot from his own door--left the cottage with rapid
strides.

"My son," said Mrs. Varley, kissing Dick's cheek as he resumed
his seat, "put this in the little pocket I made for it in your
hunting-shirt."

She handed him a small pocket Bible.

"Dear mother," he said, as he placed the book carefully within the
breast of his coat, "the Redskin that takes that from me must take my
scalp first. But don't fear for me. You've often said the Lord would
protect me. So he will, mother, for sure it's an errand o' peace."

"Ay that's it, that's it," murmured the widow in a half-soliloquy.

Dick Varley spent that night in converse with his mother, and next
morning at daybreak he was at the place of meeting, mounted on his
sturdy little horse, with the "silver rifle" on his shoulder and
Crusoe by his side.

"That's right, lad, that's right. Nothin' like keepin' yer time," said
Joe, as he led out a pack-horse from the gate of the block-house,
while his own charger was held ready saddled by a man named Daniel
Brand, who had been appointed to the charge of the block-house in his
absence.

"Where's Henri?--oh, here he comes!" exclaimed Dick, as the hunter
referred to came thundering up the slope at a charge, on a horse
that resembled its rider in size and not a little in clumsiness of
appearance.

"Ah! mes boy. Him is a goot one to go," cried

Henri, remarking Dick's smile as he pulled up. "No hoss on de plain
can beat dis one, surement."

"Now then, Henri, lend a hand to fix this pack; we've no time to
palaver."

By this time they were joined by several of the soldiers and a few
hunters who had come to see them start.

"Remember, Joe," said one, "if you don't come back in three months
we'll all come out in a band to seek you."

"If we don't come back in less than that time, what's left o' us won't
be worth seekin' for," said Joe, tightening the girth of his saddle.

"Put a bit in yer own mouth, Henri," cried another, as the Canadian
arranged his steed's bridle; "yell need it more than yer horse when ye
git 'mong the red reptiles."

"Vraiment, if mon mout' needs one bit, yours will need one padlock."

"Now, lads, mount!" cried Joe Blunt as he vaulted into the saddle.

Dick Varley sprang li