Dyck's life in Jamaica was clean; and his progress as a planter had been
free from black spots. He even kept no mistress, and none had ever known
him to have to do with women, black, brown, or white. He had never gone
a-Maying, as the saying was, and his only weakness or fault--if it was a
fault--was a fondness for the bottle of good wine which was ever open on
his table, and for tobacco in the smoking-leaf. To-day he smoked
incessantly and carefully. He threw no loose ends of burning tobacco
from cigar or pipe into the loose dry leaves and stiff-cut ground. Yet
they knew the small clouds floating away from his head did not check his
observation. That was proved beyond peradventure when they were within
sight of the homestead of Salem on an upland well-wooded. It was in
apparently happy circumstances, for they could see no commotion about the
homestead; they saw men with muskets, evidently keeping guard--yet too
openly keeping guard, and so some said to each other.
Presently Dyck reined his horse. Each man listened attentively, and eyed
the wood ahead of them, for it was clear Dyck suspected danger there.
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