Jake the Flint had "drifted south into Mexico where he was plying the
trade of cattle and horse stealer, with the usual accompaniments of that
profession--fighting, murdering, drinking, etcetera." Some of the deeds
of this notorious outlaw, as narrated by the cow-boy Crux, who happened
to be there, made the blood of Dick run cold--and Dick's blood was not
easily made to run otherwise than naturally by any one--except, of
course, by Mary Jackson, who could at all events make it run hot, also
fast or slow, very much according to her own sweet will!

But the seaman had no time to lose. He had still a long way to go, and
the day was advancing. Remounting Black Polly he was soon out again on
the prairie, sweeping over the grassy waves and down into the hollows
with a feeling of hilarious jollity, that was born of high health,
good-nature, pleasant circumstances, and a free-and-easy mind.

Nothing worthy of particular notice occurred after this to mar the
pleasure of our sailor's "voyage" over the prairie until he reached a
belt of woodland, through which for half a mile he had to travel. Here
he drew rein and began to traverse the bit of forest at a quiet amble,
partly to rest Polly, and partly that he might more thoroughly enjoy the
woodland scenery through the umbrageous canopy of which the sun was
sending his slanting rays and covering the sward with a confused
chequer-work of green and gold.

And here Dick Darvall became communicative; entered into conversation,
so to speak, with himself. After a few minutes, however, this did not
prove a sufficient outlet to his exuberant spirits.

"Come, Dick," he exclaimed, "give us a song. Your voice ain't, perhaps,
much to speak of as to quality, but there's no end of quantity. Strike
up, now; what shall it be?"

Without replying to the question he struck up "Rule Britannia" in tones
that did not justify his disparaging remark as to quality. He reached
the other end of the wood and the end of the song at the same time.
"Britons," shouted he with unalterable determination--"Never, never,
ne-ever, shall be--Redskins!"

This unnatural termination was not an intentional variation. It was the
result of a scene that suddenly burst upon his view.

Far away on the prairie two riders were seen racing at what he would
have styled a slant away from him. They were going at a pace that
suggested fleeing for life.

"Redskins--arter somethin'," murmured Dick, pulling up, and shad