"Jerry Rook, Jerry Rook!" he mutters in apostrophe to himself, "what the stewpid hae ye been thinking o'. Ye've never yit spilt hewmin blood, an' mustn't begin thet game now. It mout lie like a log upon yur soul, and besides, it's jest possible that somebody mout get to hear o't. The crack o' a rifle air a sespishous soun' at any time, but more espeeshully i' the dead o' night, if thar should chance to be the howl of a wounded man comin' arter it. Sposin he, that air Dick, warn't shot dead at fust go. Durned ef I'd like to foller it up; neery bit o't. As things stan' thar need be no sech chances, eyther o' fearin' or failin'. A word to Planter Brandon 'll be as good as six shots out o' the surest rifle. It's only to let him know Dick Tarleton's hyar, an' a direckshun beouts whar he kin be foun'. He'll soon summons the other to 'sist him in thet same bizness they left unfinished, now, God knows how miny yeer ago. They'll make short work wi' him. No danger ov thar givin' him time to palaver beout _thet_ or anythin' else, I reckin; an' no danger to _me_. A hint'll be enuf, 'ithout my appearin' among 'em. The very plan, by the Etarnal!" "How's best for the hint ter be konvayed to 'em? Ha! I kin rite. Fort'nit I got skoolin' enuf for thet. I'll write to Planter Brandon. The gurl kin take it over to the plantation. She needn't be know'd eyther. She kin rop up in hur cloke, and gi'e it ter sum o' the niggers, as'll sure ter be 'beout the place outside. Thar's no need for a answer. I know what Brandon'll do arter gittin' it. "Thar's no time to be squandered away. By this, Dick hes got ter the town. Thar's no tellin' how long he may stay thar, an' they must intrap him on his way back. They kin be a waitin' an' riddy, in that bit o' clearin'. The very place for the purpis, considerin' it's been tried arready. "No, thar arn't a minnit to be lost. I must inter the shanty, an' scrape off the letter." Bent upon his devilish design, he hastens inside the house; as he enters, calling upon his daughter to come into the kitchen. "Hyar gurl. Ye've got some paper ye rite yur lessons upon. Fetch me a sheet o't, along wi' a pen an' ink. Be quick 'bout it." The young girl wonders what he can want with things so rarely used by him, but she is not accustomed to question him, and without saying a word, complies with the requisition. The pen, inkstand, and paper, are placed on the rude slab table, and Jerry Rook sits down before it, taking the pen between his fingers. After a few moments spent in silent cogitation, reflecting on the form of his epistle, it is produced. Badly spelt, and rudely scrawled, but short and simple, it runs thus:-- "To Planter Brandin, Esquare.