years old and not bigger as a frankfurter. The close-fist of a Peter
Hildesmuller!--some day I shall with a big club pound that man's
dummkopf--all in and out the town. Perhaps in this letter Lena will
say that she is yet feeling better. So, her mamma will be glad. /Auf
wiedersehen/, Herr Ballinger--your feets will take cold out in the
night air."

"So long, Fritzy," said old man Ballinger. "You got a nice cool night
for your drive."

Up the road went the little black mules at their steady trot, while
Fritz thundered at them occasional words of endearment and cheer.

These fancies occupied the mind of the mail-carrier until he reached
the big post oak forest, eight miles from Ballinger's. Here his
ruminations were scattered by the sudden flash and report of pistols
and a whooping as if from a whole tribe of Indians. A band of
galloping centaurs closed in around the mail wagon. One of them leaned
over the front wheel, covered the driver with his revolver, and
ordered him to stop. Others caught at the bridles of Donder and
Blitzen.

"Donnerwetter!" shouted Fritz, with all his tremendous voice--"wass
ist? Release your hands from dose mules. Ve vas der United States
mail!"

"Hurry up, Dutch!" drawled a melancholy voice. "Don't you know when
you're in a stick-up? Reverse your mules and climb out of the cart."

It is due to the breadth of Hondo Bill's demerit and the largeness of