ing the hounds, and laid out
plans for the immediate future. "They're in danger at Salem, Michael, so
we must help them. The hounds will settle this whole wretched business."

Michael told him of his prisoner, and what effect the threat about the
hounds had had. A look of purpose came into Dyck's face.

"A hound is as fair as a gun, and hounds shall be used here in Jamaica.
The governor can't refuse their landing now. The people would kill him
if he did. It was I proposed it all."

"Look, sir--who's that?" asked Michael, as they saw a figure riding
under the palms not far away.

It was very early morning, and the light was dim yet, but there was
sufficient to make even far sight easy. Dyck shaded his forehead with
his hand.

"It's not one of our people, Michael. It's a stranger."

As the rider came on he was stopped by two of the drivers of the estate.
Dyck and Michael saw him hold up a letter, and a moment later he was on
his way to Dyck, galloping hard. Arrived, he dropped to the ground, and
saluted Dyck.

"A letter from Salem, sir," he said, and handed it over to Dyck.

Dyck nodded, broke the seal of the letter and read it quickly. Then he
nodded again and bade the man eat a hearty breakfast and return with him
on one of the Enniskillen horses, as his own would be exhausted. "We'll
help protect Salem, my man," said Dyck.

The man grinned. "That's good," he answered. "They knew naught of the
rising when I left. But the governor was there yesterday, and he'd
protect us."

"Nonsense, fellow, the governor would go straight to Spanish Town where
he belongs, when there is trouble."

When the man had gone, Dyck turned to his servant. "Michael," he said,
"the news in the letter came from Darius Boland. He says the governor
told him he had orders from England to confine me here at Enniskillen,
and he meant to do it. We'll see how he does it. If he sends his
marshals, we'll make Gadarene swine of them."

There was a smile at his lips, and it was contemptuous, and the lines
of his forehead told of resolve. "Michael," he added, "we'll hunt Lord
Mallow with the hounds of our good fortune, for this war is our war.
They can't win it without me, and they shan't. Without the hounds it may
be a two years' war--with the hounds it can't go beyond a week or so."

"If the hounds get here, sir! But if they don't?"

Dyck laid his hand upon the sword at his side. "If they don't get here,
Michael, still the war will be ours,