“Oh, yes, cert’nly; jest so. We might, ef you’re in a great hurry, start this evenin’. The Rangers are all over the place between here an’ civilization, but we won’t stop for that, for with a strong fightin’ man like you fer a companion there’d be nothin’ to fear--about gittin’ a through ticket to glory this week.” “Cease jesting, Maybee! What I want is to make every hour tell upon the work of getting well--not only on my own account, but--we owe that poor girl something.” “Hem!” grunted Maybee, shooting the young man a keen look under which he colored slightly. “That’s right; always keep the weaker vessel in yer mem’ry; trust in the Lord and keep yer powder dry, as our friend Brown’d say. And that remin’s me of ’Tarius up home. ’Tarius got religion and when the day came roun’ fer the baptisin’ it was a January blizzard, although well along in the month of April. ’Tarius ain’t fond of cold weather no how, and he didn’t show up along with the other candidates. Next day the minister came up to look after ’Tarius. ‘Don’ ye trus’ in de Lawd, brother?’ says the minister. ‘Yes, brother,’ says ’Tarius, ‘I trust pintedly in de Lawd; but I ain’t gwine fool wif God!’ That’s my advice to you, Maxwell; don’t you fool with Providence; jest let well-enough alone.” The next afternoon Mr. Maybee came rushing back to the cabin which was their mutual home. “Well, young feller, we’re in fer it, an’ no mistake. You’ll git fightin’ a-plenty before forty-eight hours.” “What’s it?” queried Maxwell languidly, “another false alarm?” “No, by gosh; it’s the real thing this time. The Rangers are at Carlton’s. You remember hearin’ Parson Steward speak of Reynolds, don’ you?” Maxwell nodded. “He’s come up to camp an’ brought Brown the news.” “How soon will they get here?” “Cayn’t tell; maybe to-morrow an’ perhaps not before nex’ week; but it’s boun’ to come. Dog my cats, if I’m sorry. I fairly itch to git my hands on the onery cusses that killed the parson.” “Anything is better than waiting; it takes the life out of a man. I shall not feel safe until I get my feet on British soil once more. God being my helper, Maybee, I’ll never set foot on the soil of the ‘greatest (?) Republic on earth’ again,” he finished earnestly. Mr. Maybee chuckled. “Con-vinced are you? They used ter tell me when I was a little shaver that the proof of the puddin’ was in swallerin’ the bag--that is, pervidin’ it was a biled puddin’. I’ll ’low them varmints heat you pretty hot, but there’s nothin’ so convincin’ as ex-perience. I might a talked to you fer forty days an’ nights, wastin’ my breath fer nothin’, an’ you’d a said to yourself ‘Maybee’s stretchin’ it; ’taint quarter so bad as he makes out;’ but jest as soon as they git to work on your anatermy yer fin’ out that Maybee was mild by comparison. The South’s a horned hornet on the ‘nigger’ question. Time n’r tide, n’r God A’mighty aint goin’ to change ’em this week.”