His mind was made up, he would deliver them himself.

The poetic, soulful side of his mission was delicately indicated by a pale blue necktie, a clean shirt, and a small package of ginger-nuts, of which Flip was extravagantly fond.
The common road to Fairley's Ranch was by the stage turnpike to a point below the Gin and Ginger Woods, where the prudent horseman usually left his beast and followed the intersecting trail afoot.

It was here that the Postmaster suddenly observed on the edge of the wood the figure of an elegantly dressed woman; she was walking slowly, and apparently at her ease; one hand held her skirts lightly gathered between her gloved fingers, the other slowly swung a riding-whip.

Was it a picnic of some people from Monterey or Santa Cruz?
The spectacle was novel enough to justify his coming nearer.

Suddenly she withdrew into the wood; he lost sight of her; she was gone.