hereinafter described.  If you agree to these terms, send your answer in writing by a solitary messenger to-night at half-past eight o’clock.  After crossing Owl Creek, on the road to Poplar Cove, there are three large trees about a hundred yards apart, close to the fence of the wheat field on the right-hand side.  At the bottom of the fence-post, opposite the third tree, will be found a small pasteboard box.

   The messenger will place the answer in this box and return
   immediately to Summit.

   If you attempt any treachery or fail to comply with our demand as
   stated, you will never see your boy again.

   If you pay the money as demanded, he will be returned to you safe
   and well within three hours.  These terms are final, and if you do
   not accede to them no further communication will be attempted.

   TWO DESPERATE MEN.

I addressed this letter to Dorset, and put it in my pocket.  As I was about to start, the kid comes up to me and says: 

“Aw, Snake-eye, you said I could play the Black Scout while you was gone.”

“Play it, of course,” says I.  “Mr. Bill will play with you.  What kind of a game is it?”

“I’m the Black Scout,” says Red Chief, “and I have to ride to the stockade to warn the settlers that the Indians are coming.  I’m tired of playing Indian myself.  I want to be the Black Scout.”

“All right,” says I.  “It sounds harmless to me.  I guess Mr. Bill will help you foil the pesky savages.”

“What am I to do?” asks Bill, looking at the kid suspiciously.

“You are the hoss,” says Black Scout.  “Get down on your hands and knees.  How can I ride to the stockade without a hoss?”

“You’d better keep him interested,” said I, “till we get the scheme going.  Loosen up.”

Bill gets down on his all fours, and a look comes in his eye like a rabbit’s when you catch it in a trap.

“How far is it to the stockade, kid?” he asks, in a husky manner of voice.

“Ninety miles,” says the Black Scout.  “And you have to hump yourself to get there on time.  Whoa, now!”

The Black Scout jumps on Bill’s back and digs his heels in his side.

“For Heaven’s sake,” says Bill, “hurry back, Sam, as soon as you can.  I wish we hadn’t made the ransom more than a thousand.  Say, you quit kicking me or I’ll get up and warm you good.”

I walked over to Poplar Cove and sat around the postoffice and store, talking with the chawbacons that came in to trade.  One whiskerando says that he hears Summit is all upset on account of Elder Ebenezer Dorset’s boy having been lost or stolen.  That was all I wanted to know.  I bought some smoking tobacco, referred casually to the price of black-eyed peas, posted my letter surreptitiously and came away.  The postmaster said the mail-carrier would come by in an hour to take the mail on to Summit.

When I got back to the cave Bill and the boy were not to be found.  I explored the vicinity of the cave, and risked a yodel or two, but there was no response.