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'll _never_
deliver 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 mo