he saw that both barrels of the
accusation had taken effect on the charcoal-burner, who was rising with
epileptic rage, he fairly turned and fled. The old man would have
followed him with objurgation beyond the door, but for the restraining
hand of Flip.

Baffled and beaten, nevertheless Fate was not wholly unkind to the
retreating suitor. Near the Gin and Ginger Woods he picked up a letter
which had fallen from Flip's packet. He recognized the writing, and did
not scruple to read it. It was not a love epistle,--at least, not such
a one as he would have written,--it did not give the address nor the
name of the correspondent; but he read the following with greedy
eyes:--

"Perhaps it's just as well that you don't rig yourself out for the
benefit of those dead-beats at the Crossing, or any tramp that might
hang round the ranch. Keep all your style for me when I come. I can't
tell you when, it's mighty uncertain before the rainy season. But I'm
coming soon. Don't go back on your promise about lettin' up on the
tramps, and being a little more high-toned. And don't you give 'em so
much. It's true I sent you hats _twice_. I clean forgot all about the
first; but _I_ wouldn't have given a ten-dollar hat to a nigger woman
who had a sick baby because I had an extra hat. I'd have let that baby
slide. I forgot to ask whether the skirt is worn separately; I must see
that dressmaker sharp about it; but I think you'll want something on
besides a jacket and skirt; at least, it looks like it up here. I don't
think you could manage a piano down there without the old man knowing
it, and raisin' the devil generally. I promised you I'd let up on him.
Mind you keep all your promises to me. I'm glad you're gettin' on with
the six-shooter; tin cans are good at fifteen yards, but try it on
suthin' that _moves_! I forgot to say that I am on the track of your
big brother. It's a three years' old track, and he was in Arizona. The
friend who told me didn't expatiate much on what he did there, but I
reckon they had a high old time. If he's above the earth I'll find him,
you bet. The yerba buena and the southern wood came all right,--they
smelt like you. Say, Flip, do you remember the _last_--the _very
last_--thing that happened when you said 'good-by' on the trail? Don't
let me ever find out that you've let anybody else kiss"--

But here the virtuous indignation of the Postmaster found vent in an
oath. He threw the letter away. He retained of it