"It does jest that, McGee. It tells as how the writer he wants ter
hold out the olive branch o' peace to the settlers on his lands. He
goes on to say as how he offers every fambly an acre, or as much more
as they wants, for ther really own, the deed to the same to be
delivered over to 'em without a cent o' charge!"

A murmuring sound of approval went up from the listeners. But all eyes
were glued on the figure of McGee, whom they knew full well held their
destinies in the hollow of his hand.

"Thet all?" demanded the giant, grimly.

"No, not quite, McGee," replied Daddy Mixer, hastily and pathetically.
"He sez as how he wants to develop this country into a lumber region,
and must have the help of the McGees. So he promises to pay wages as
high as any in the State, and give full work every day in the year to
every man or boy willing to enter his employ. And he winds up by
saying he's gwine to come down here right soon hisself, to meet
you-all, and fix up things just to suit everybody!"

Some one started to shout. It was an unfortunate move, for instantly
the black look on the heavy face of McGee grew more gloomy. He raised
his hand.

"Stop thet!" he roared, furiously. "Yuh pore fools, d'ye believe all
this lyin' stuff thet Doc. Lancing has writ, jest tuh pull the wool
over our eyes? It cain't be did! He's sure got sum slick trick up his
sleeve. These younkers hes been sent down tuh find out all 'bout us;
an' the sojers'll be along on ther heels tuh clar us out! I ain't
gwine tuh take up wid no sech trash as thet. We gotter show Doc.
Lancing we don't keer a mite foh his white flag. This hyah's his boy.
Now we gat him weuns is bound tuh send him away wid the nicest coat o'
tar an' feathers yuh ever heard tell on. That's my answer tuh Doc.
Lancing, an' it goes, yuh hyah, men!"

Larry uttered a loud groan; and it seemed as though others among the
listeners felt as down-spirited as did the Northern lad, to judge from
the sighs around.

But right then and there, in the midst of all the tense excitement,
there suddenly rang out a shot; followed by a scream from the lips of
Tony McGee, who was seen darting forward to where a fluttering object
lay struggling on the ground.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE "WINGED MESSENGER

"Oh! what was that? Who shot?" cried Larry, clutching his chum by the
arm.

Phil pointed to a small boy who was trying to sneak away, carrying an
old musket about half again as long a