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.”