"
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.
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