University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

The closing sentence of the preceeding chapter was occasioned by the
glimpse of a man's shadow, that for a moment swept along in the sunlight,
some twenty paces distant from the speaker, and then suddenly disappeared
by being swallowed up in the larger and more stationary shade thrown from
the cottage by the sinking sun. Scarcely were the words alluded to uttered.
ere the sound of a step was heard close by the door, and the next moment
the cause of the shadow and remark divided the light of the entrance.

The individual in question, was a stout built, broad-shouldered, athletic
man—some five feet nine inches in height—whose age, judging from his general
appearance, as well as his features, might range from twenty-seven to
thirty years. At the moment when he appeared before our acquaintances
of the foregoing chapter, his right arm was held in a manner so as to screen
the lower portion of his face, while a hat, not very much unlike those of
the present day, pressed down upon his forehead, left but little of his countenance,
and that mainly about the eyes, visible. With the latter he gave
a quick, searching, suspicious glance at the two before him; and then, as if
satisfied he had nothing to fear, lowered his arm and raised his hat from his
forehead, exposing a physiognomy by no means pleasing to one skilled in
reading the heart thereby. His complexion was swarthy—his skin coarse—
and the general expression of his features repulsive in the extreme; said expression
arising from the combination of three distinct parts of his countenance—namely:
the forehead which was low and receding from two darkred
shaggy eyebrows,—the eyes themselves, which were small, bloodshot
and very fiery; and the mouth, which was narrow, thin-lipped and habitually
contracted into a sneering, sinister smile. In this general expression,
was combined cunning, deceit, treachery and bloodthirsty ferocity—each one
of which passions were sufficiently powerful, when fully excited, to predominate
over the whole combination. The hair of his head was short, thick,
coarse and red, grew low upon his forehead, and, in its own peculiar way,
added a fierceness to his whole appearance. Nature had evidently designed
him for a villain of the darkest die; and on the same principle that she gives
a rattle to a certain venemous snake, that other creatures may be warned
of the deadly fang in time to avoid it—so had she stamped him with a look
wherein his passions were mirrored, that those who gazed thereon might
know with whom and what they had to do, and be prepared accordingly.
The costume too of the stranger, was rather singular, and worthy of note—
being composed, for the most part, of an extraordinary long frock or overcoat—more
like the gown of some monk than either—which reached almost
down to the moccasins covering his feet, and was laced together in front,
nearly the whole length, by thongs of deerskin. Around the waist passed a
rude belt of the same material—carelessly tied at one side—in which, contrary
to the usual custom of that period, there was not cofined a single weapon,
not even so much as a knife; and this fact, together with the general
appearance of the individual and his own suspicious movements, led Algernon,
almost at the first glance, to consider the long frock or gown an article
of disguise, beneath which the stranger was doubtless doubly armed and costumed
in a very different manner.

As the eyes of the new comer, after closely scanning Reynolds, rested
for the first time upon Ella, there flashed across his ugly features an expression
of admiration and surprise—while the look of suspicion which he had
previously exhibited, seemed entirely to disappear. Turning to the young
man, who on his appearance had risen from his seat, and now stood as if
waiting to know his commands, in a voice evidently much softened from its
usual tones, but still by no means pleasant and harmonious, he said:

“Will you be kind enough to inform me, sir, to whom this dwelling belongs?”

“It is owned, I believe, by one Benjamin Younker,” answered Algernon,
in a cavalier manner, still eyeing the other closely.

“May I ask his occupation?”

“He is a farmer, sir—a tiller of the soil.”

“Will you favor me with a description of his personal appearance?”

“I can do so,” replied Algernon, somewhat surprised at the question,
“provided I know the motive of inquiry to be a good one.”

“It is no other, I assure you,” returned the stranger. “It was simply
prompted by curiosity.”

“Well, then, the individual in question is a man who has seen more than
fifty years;—is tall—raw-boned—muscular—has a stoop in the shoulder—a
long thin face—small eyes, and hair slightly gray.”

“Has he any sons?” inquired the stranger.

“One, a youth of twenty, who bears a strong resemblance to his father.”

“Daughters?”

“He has no other child.”

“Then this young lady”—slightly bowing to Ella.

“Is a more distant relation—a niece,” answered Ella, rising as she spoke
and disappearing from his sight.

“A beautiful creature!” said the stranger musingly as if to himself—“a
beautiful creature! Pardon me,” added he, again addressing Algernon, “but
may I inquire concerning yourself?”

“I am a guest here, sir.”

“Aha—yes; a hunter I presume?”

“I sometimes hunt.”

“Pardon me again—but are there more indwellers here than you have
mentioned?”

“One, sir—the good dame of the cottage.”

For a moment or two the stranger mused, as if conning over in his mind
all that had been said, and then observed: “Doubtless you think me very
inquisitive; but I had a reason for all my questions, and I thank you sincerely,
sir, for your prompt replies. It is now growing late; the sun will
presently be down; and as I am a traveller—a stranger in this region—I
would rather not persue my journey farther, providing I could be entertained
here for the night.”

“As to that, I am unable to answer,” said Algernon; “but if you will step
within, I will make the necessary inquiries.”

“Thank you,” replied the stranger, with a show of cordiality, “thank
you,” and he immediately entered the cottage.

Those days, as before said, were the good old days of hospitality, and,
as far as population went, of social intercourse also, when every man's cabin
was the stranger's home, and every neighbor every neighbor's friend.
There were no distinct grades of society then as now, from which an honest
individual of moral worth must be excluded because of poverty—a good
character for upright dealing being the standard by which all were judged;

and whoever possessed this, could rank equally with the best, though poor
as the beggar Lazarus. Doubtless intellect and education then, as well as at
the present day, held in many things a superiority over imbecility and ignorance;
but there were no distinct lines of demarcation drawn; and in the
ordinary routine of intercourse one with another, there was no superiority
claimed and none aknowledged. And this arose, probably, from the necessity
each felt of there being a general unity—a general blending together of all
qualifications, as it were, into one body politic—by which each individual
became an individual member of the whole, perfect in his place, and capable
of supplying what another might chance to need; as the man of education
might be puny in stature and deficient of a strong arm; the man of strong
arm deficient in education; the imbeeile man might be a superior woodman
—the man of intellect an inferior one;—so that as, before remarked, each of
these qualities being essential to perfect the whole, each one of course was
called upon to exercise his peculiar talent and take his position on an
equality with his neighbor. There has been great change in society since
then; those days of simple equality have gone forever; but we question if the
present race, with all their privileges, with all their security, with all their
means of enjoyment, are as happy as those noble old pioneers, with all their
necessities, with all their dangers, with all their sufferings.

According, therefore, to the established custom of the early settlers, the
stranger for whom Algernon proceeded to make inquiries, was entitled to all
the rights of hospitality; and whether liked or disliked, could not consistently
be smiled away, nor frowned away, as doubtless he would have been, had
he lived in this civil wonder-working age of lightning and steam; and
though his appearance was any thing but agreeable to Mrs. Younker, who
surveyed him through her spectacles (being a little near sighted) from the
adjoining cabin, whither Algernon had repaired to learn her decision; and
though it would prove inconvenient to herself to grant his request, yet, as
she expressed it, “He war a stranger, as hadn't no home and didn't know
whar to go to, and prehaps war hungry, poor man, and it wouldn't be right
nor Christian-like to refuse him jest a night's lodging like;” and so the matter
was settled, and Algernon was deputed to inform him that he could stay
and would be welcome to such fare as their humble means afforded.

Some half au hour later, a loud hallowing announced the arrival of the
two Younkers, with the domestic cattle—consisting of the kine and some pet
sheep which ran with them—from their labors in an distant field, where
they had been engaged in harvesting corn. A few minutes after, the elder
Younker entered the cabin, bearing upon his shoulder a rifle, from which
depended a large fat turkey that he had shot during his absence. With a
slight but friendly nod to the stranger, he proceeded to deposit his game on
the hearth—where it was presently examined and commented on at considerable
length by the good dame—and then carefully placing his rifle on a couple
of horn hooks depending from the ceiling for the purpose, he seated himself
on a stool, his back to the wall, with the air of one who is very much fatigued,
and does not wish to mingle in conversation of any kind.

The sun by this time was already below the horizon, twilight was fast
deepening into night, and the matron having finished her eulogy on the
turkey, and “Wondered ef sech birds wouldn't git to being scaser arter a
while, when all on 'em war shot?” proceeded to the cow-yard, to assist
Isaac in milking; while Ella burried hither and thither, with almost noiseless
activity, to prepare the evening repast. A bright fire was soon kindled
in the chimney, over which was suspended a kettle for boiling water, while
in front nearly perpendicular, was placed a large corn loaf, whose savory

odor, as it began to cook, was far from being disagreeable to the olfactory
organs of the lookers on. The table, of which we have previously given a
description, was next drawn into the middle of the apartment and covered
with a home-made cloth of linen, on which were placed a medley of dishes
of various sizes and materials—some of wood, some of pewter, some of
earthen, and one of stone—with knives and forks to correspond. Three of
these dishes were occupied—one with clean, fresh butter, another with rich
old cheese, and the third with a quantity of cold venison steak. In the
course of another half hour, the cake was baked and on the table—Isaac
and his mother had entered with the milk—the announcement was made by
Ella that all was ready, and the whole party taking seats around the humble
board, proceeded to do justice to the fare before them.

A light placed in the center of the table, threw its gleams upon the faces
of each, and exhibited a singular variety of expressions. That of the stranger
was downeast, sinister and suspicious, combined with an evident desire
of appearing exactly the reverse. Occasionally, when he thought no eye
was on him, he would steal a glance at Ella, and some times gaze steadily—
like one who is resolved upon a certain event, without being decided as to
the exact manner of its accomplishment—until he found himself observed,
when his glance would fall to his plate, or be directed to some other object,
with the seeming embarrassment of one caught in some guilty act. This
was noticed more than once by Algernon, who, perhaps, more than either
of the others, felt from the first that strong dislike, that suspicious repugnance
to the stranger, which can only be explained as one of the mysteries
of nature, whereby we are sometimes warned of whom we should shun, as
the instinct of an animal makes known to it its inveterate foe; and though
he strove to think there was nothing of evil meant by a circumstance
apparently so trifling—that the glance of the stranger was simply one of
admiration or curiosity.—yet the thought that it might be otherwise—that
he might be planning something wicked to the fair being before him—
haunted his mind like some hideous vision, made him for the time more
distrustful more watchful than ever, and was afterward reverted to with a
painful sensation. The features of Algernon also exhibited an expression
of remorse and hopeless melancholy, the reason whereof the reader, who
has now been made acquainted with the secret, will readily underst and.
The face of Ella, too, was paler than usual—more sad and thoughtful,—so
much so, that it was remarked by Mrs. Younker, who immediately instituted
the necessary inquiries concerning her health, and explained to her
at some length the most approved method of curing a cold, in case that were
the cause. In striking contrast to the sober looks of the others—for Younker
himself was a man who seldom exhibited other than a sedate expression
—was the general appearance and manner of Isaac. He seemed exceedingly
exhilerated in spirits, yet kept his eyes down, and appeared at times very
absent minded. Whatever his thoughts were, it was evident they were
pleasing ones; for he would smile to himself, and occasionally display a
comical nervousness, as though he had some very important secret to make
known, yet was not ready to communicate it. This had been observed in
him through the day, and was so different from his usual manner, and so
much beyond any conjecture his mother could form of the cause, that at last
her curiosity became so excited, that to restrain it longer was like holding
down the safety-valve to an over-heated steam boiler; and accordingly,
taking advantage of another mysterious smile which Isaac chanced to display
while looking at a large piece of corn bread already on its way to his
capacious jaws, she exclaimed:

“Why, what on yarth is the matter with you, Isaac, that you keep a
grinning, and grinning, and fidgetting about all to yourself so much like a
plaguy nateral born fool for?”

So loud, sudden and unexpected was this question put—for all had been
silent some minutes previous—that Isaac started, blushed, dropped the bread
already near enough to his teeth to have felt uncomfortable, had it been
capable of feeling, endeavered to catch it, blundered, and finally upset his
plate and contents into his lap, in a manner so truly ridieulous, that Ella
and Mrs. Younker, unable to restrain their mirth, laughed heartily, while
the stranger and Algernon smiled, and the stern features of the father relaxed
into an expression of quiet humor seldom seen on his countenance.

“ 'Pon my word,” continued Mrs. Younker, so soon as she could collect
breath enough after laughing to go on; “I do raley believe as how the boy's
ayther crazy, or in love, for sartin. What does ail ye, Isaac?—do tell!”

“Perhaps he was thinking of his dear Peggy,” said Ella, archly, who was,
by the way, very fond of teasing him whenever opportunity presented, and
could not even now, despite her previous low spirits, forbear a little innocent
raillery—such being the natural and happy tone of her temperament,
that wit and humor were ever ready on the slightest provocation to take the
ascendency, as old wine when stirred ever sends its sparkling beads upward.
“I wonder, Isaac, if you looked as amiable and interesting in the eyes of
dear Peggy, and made as graeeful an appearance, when you popped the
question?”

“Why, how in the name o' all Christen nater did you find out I'd done
it?” asked Isaac, in reply, who having meantime regained his former position,
and restored the plate, minus some of its contents, now sat a perfect
picture of comical surprise, with his mouth slightly ajar, and his small eyes
strained to their utmost and fastened seriously upon the querist as he
awaited her answer.

“Murder will out, dear Isaac,” replied Ella, with a ringing laugh, in
which she was joined by most of the others, and particularly by the subject
of the joke, who perceiving too late for retreat, that he had been betrayed
into an acknowledgement of his secret, deemed this his wisest course
for defence.

“And so, Isaac, you have really proposed to darling Peggy, then? and
we are to have a wedding shortly?” continued his tormentor. “And pray
which did look the most foolish of the two?—or was it a drawn-game, as we
sometimes say of draughts?”

“Why,” rejoined Isaac, changing color as rapidly as an aurora boreallis,
and evidently much embarrassed, “I 'spect I mought as well own up, being's
I've got cotched in my own trap; and besides it won't make no great difference,
only as I war intending it for a surprise. You see I axed Peggy the
question last night; and its all settled, and we're going to be married in less
nor a week, ef nothing unforseen don't happen; and as Mr. Reynolds ar a
stranger in these diggins, I thought prehaps as how he'd like a little amusement
like, and so I've fixed on him for my groomsman.”

“I am much obliged for your kind intentions on my behalf, and the honor
you would confer on me,” answered Reynolds, sadly; “but I am sorry to
say, I shall be under the necessity of declining your invitation; as on the
morrow I design taking a farewell leave of you all, and quitting this part of
the country forever.”

Mr. Younker, his wife and son all started with looks of surprise at this
announcement, while Ella again grew deadly pale, and rising with some little
trepidation, retired from the table. The stranger was the only one unmoved.

“To-morrow!” ejaculated Mrs. Younker.

“Take leave o' us!” said the host.

“Quit the country forever!” repeated Isaac.

“Such, I assure you, is my determination,” rejoined Algernon.

“But your wound, Mr. Reynolds?” suggested Younker.

“Is not entirely healed,” returned Algernon, “yet I trust sufficiently so
to allow me to pursue my journey. The wound, as you are aware, was
only a flesh one—the ball having entered the right side, glanced on the
lower rib and passed out nearly in front—and though very dangerous at the
time from excessive hemorrhage, has of late been rapidly healing, and now
troubles me but little if any.”

“Well, now, Mr. Reynolds,” rejoined Mrs. Younker. “I'm a considerable
older woman nor you ar—that is, I mean to say I'm a much older individule,—and
I 'spect I've had in my time some lettle experience in matters
that you don't know nothing about; and so you musn't go to thinking hard
o' me, ef I give you a lettle advice, and tell you to stay right whar you ar,
aud not stir a single step away for three weeks;—'cause ef you do, your
wound may get rupturous agin, and in some lone place jest carry you right
straight off into the shader o' the valley of death—as our good old Rev. Mr.
Allprayer used to say, when he wanted to comfort the sick. O, dear good
man he war. Preacher Allprayer,”—continued the voluble old lady, with
a sigh, her mind now wholly occupied with his virtues—“dear good man he
war! I jest remember,—Lord bless ye, I'll never forgit it—how he come'd
to me when I war sick, with tears a running out o' his eyes like he'd been
eating raw inyuns; poor man, and told me that I war going to die right
straight away, and never need to hope to be no better; and that I'd most
likely go right straight to that orful place whar all bad folks goes to. O, the
dear man! I never could help always liking him arter that—it made me feel
so orful narvous and religious like. Why, what on yarth be you grinning
at agin, Isaac?—jest for all the world like a monkey for?”

“Nothing, mother,” answered Isaac, nearly choking with smothered
laughter, “only I war jest kind o' thinking what a kind comforter Mr. Allprayer
war, to tell you you couldn't live no longer, and that when you died
you'd jest go right straight to—to—”

“Silence! you irrelevant boy, you!” (irreverent was doubtless meant)
interrupted the dame, angrily: “How dare you to go making fun o' the pious
Rev. Mr. Allprayer?—him as used to preach all Sunday long, and pray all
Sunday night, and never did nothing wrong—though he did get turned out
o' the meeting house arterward for getting drunk and swearing; but then
the poor man cried and said it war nothing but a accident, which hadn't
happened more nor ten times to him sence he'd bin a preacher of the everlasting
gospel. Thar, thar, the crazy head's a giggling agin! I do wish,
Ben, you'd see to Isaac, and make him behave himself—for he's got so tittery
like, sence he's axed Peggy, thar's no use o' my trying to do nothing
with him.”

“Isaac! Isaac!” said his father with a reproving glance, and, as though
that voice and look possessed a spell, the features of the young man instantly
became grave, almost solemn. Then turning to Algernon, the old man
continued: “As to leaving us, Mr. Reynolds, you of course know your own
business best, and it arn't my desire to interfere; but ef you could put up
with our humble fare, say a week or ten days longer, I think as how it
would be much better for you, and would give us a deal more pleasure
besides.”

“Why, I'll jest tell you what tis,” put in Isaac; “I've fixed on you for

groomsman, and I arn't a going to gin in no how; so unless you want to
quarrel, you'll have to stay; and more'n that, it's spected you'll see to
taking Ella thar, for I know she don't like to go with any o' the fellers
round here, and I shall gin out she's going with you, which may be won't hurt
your feelings none,—at any rate I know it won't hers.”

At the mention of Ella, Algernon crimsoned to the eyes, and became so
exceedingly confused that he could with difficulty stammer forth, by way
of reply, the query as to the time when the important event was expected
to take place.

“Let me see,” answered Isaac, telling off the days on his fingers: “tomorrow's
Friday; then Saturday's one, Sunday's two, Monday's three, and
Tuesday's four—only four days from to-morrow morning, Mr. Reynolds.”

“Then, as you so urgently insist upon it,” rejoined Reynolds, I will postpone
my departure till after the wedding.”

Isaac thanked him cordially, and the father and mother looked gratified
at the result; Ella he could not see—she having withdrawn from the table,
as previously noted. Some further conversation ensued relative to the
manner in which weddings were conducted in that country, and the design
of proceeding with the one in question; but as we intend the reader to be
present at the wedding itself, we shall not detail it. We will remark here,
by the way, that the stranger seemed to take a singular interest in all that
was said, concerning the residence of the intended bride—the road the party
were expected to take to reach there—their probable number—manner of
travel, and the time when they would be likely to set forth and return. In
all this it was observed by Algernon, that whenever he asked a question
direct, it was put in such a careless manner as would lead one not otherwise
suspicious to suppose him perfectly indifferent as to whether it were answered
or not; but he somehow fancied, he scarce knew why, that there was a
strong under current to this outward seeming. And furthermore he observed,
that the stranger in general avoided putting a question at all—rather
seeking his information by conjecturing or supposing what would immediately
be contradicted or confirmed. This mode of interrogation, so closely
followed up to every particular, yet apparently with such indifference,
together with the stranger's treacherous look and several minor things all
bearing a suspicious cast, more than half convinced Algernon that the
other was a spy, and that some foul play was assuredly meditated; though
what, and to whom, or for what purpose, he was at a loss to determine.

From the particulars of the coming wedding, the stranger, after a little,
adroitly turned the conversation upon the wound of Reynolds, asked a number
of questions, and appeared deeply interested in the whole narration
concerning it—the attack upon him by the Indians and his providential
escape through the assistance of Boone—all of which was detailed by Isaac
in his own peculiar way. From this case in particular, the conversation
gradually spread to other cases that had happened in the vicinity; and also
to the state of the country, with regard to what it had been and now was—
its settlements—its increase of inhabitants—the many Indian invasions and
massacres that had occurred within the last five years on the borders,—and
the present supposed population of the frontiers.

“As to myself,” said Younker, in reply to some observation of the stranger,
“as to myself and family, we've been extremely fortunate in 'scaping
the red foe—though I've bin daily fearful that when I went away to my
work in the morning, I'd may be come back agin at noon or night and find
my women folks gone, or murdered, and my cot in ashes; but, thank the
Lord! I've been so far spared sech a heart rending sight.”

“And had you no personal fears?” asked the stranger.

“I don't know's I understand you.”

“Had you no fears for yourself individually?”

“Well, I can't say's I had,” answered the other. I'm an old man—or
at least I'm in my second half century—and I've so endeavered to live, as
not to fear to go at any moment when God sees fit, and by whatsomever means
he may choose to take me.”

“I suppose you now consider yourself in a measure safe from Indian encroachments?”
observed the other.

“No man, stranger—I beg pardon, but I'd like to know your name!”

“Certainly, sir,” answered the other, a little embarrassed. “My name is
—is—Williams.”

“Thank you! No man, Mr. Williams, ar justified in considering himself
safe from Injens, in a country like this; but to tell the truth, I don't feel so
fearful of'em, as when I first come out here with my family, two year ago;
though thar's no telling what may hap in the course o' two year more.”

“And did you venture here at once, on your arrival in this western country?”

“Not exactly; for the land laws o' Varginna, passed the year I come
out, made it rayther difficult gitting hold o' land, about which thar war
a great deal o' disputing, and which war kept up till the commissioners
came out and settled the matter; and so while this war agitating, I took
my family to Boonesborough, whar they remained, excepting Isaac, who
went along with me, until we'd got all matters fixed for moving 'em here.
But as you've axed considerable many questions, pray may I know ef you're
from the east?—And ef so, what news thar is with respect to this here war
with the Britishers?”

“Why,” replied the other hesitatingly, “though not strictly speaking from
the east, yet I've been eastward the past season, and have some news of the
war; and, as far as I am able to judge, think it will result in the total subjugation
of the colonies.”

“God forbid!” exclaimed Younker.

“Heaven forefend!” said Reynolds, with a start.

“Lord presarve us!—marsy on us!” cried Mrs. Younker, with vehemence.
“What on yarth shall we do, ef them plaguy Britishers git uppermost?
They'll take away all our lands, for sartin!—and Ben's bin and
bought four hundred acres, poor man, at forty cents a acre, under the new
laws of Varginna.[1] which comes to one hundred and sixty dollars, hard money;
and now maybe he'll have to lose it all, and not git nothing for it; and
then what in the name o' the whole univarsal creation will become on us?”

“Well, well, Dorothy—don't fret about it till it happens—thar'll be plenty
o' time theh,” said Younker, gravely; “and prehaps it won't happen at all.”

“Don't talk to me about fretting, Mr. Younker!” rejoined the now irritated
dame, a la Caudle: “I reckon I don't fret no easier nor you do, nor
half so much nother; but I'd like to know who wouldn't fret, when they
know they're going to lose all that property by them thar good for nothing red
coated. Britishers, who I do believe is jest as mean as Injens, and they're
too mean to live, that's sartin. Fret, indeed! I reckon it wouldn't do for
you to be letting Preacher Allprayer hear ye say so; for he said one time
with his own mouth—and to me too, mind that!—that I'd got the bestest

disposition in the whole univarsal yarth o' creation under the sun!” and
the voluble old lady paused to take breath.

“It's my opine, that ef Preacher Allprayer had lived with you as long as I
have, he wouldn't reiterate that thar sentence under oath,” returned Younker
quietly. Then perceiving that a storm was brewing, he hastened to change
the conversation, by addressing the stranger: “What cause have you, Mr.
Williams, for speaking so discourageous o' the war?”

“The failure of the American arms in battle, the weakness of their resources,
and the strength of their opponents,” replied the other. “I presume
you have heard of the battles of Guilford and Camden, in both of which
General Greene was defeated?”

“General Gates commanded at Camden, sir!” interposed Reynolds somewhat
haughtily.

“I beg pardon, sir!” retorted the other, in a sneering, sarcastic tone, “but
I was speaking of the defeat of General Greene!”

“At Camden?”

“At Camden, sir!”

“I am sorry you are no better informed,” rejoined Algernon, with flashing
eyes. “I repeat that General Gates commanded at Camden; and as, unfortunately,
I chanced to be in the fight, I claim the privilege of being positive.”

“The youth is doubtless speaking of the battle fought a year or two ago,”
rejoined Williams, turning to Younker, in a manner the most insulting to
Reynolds, who clenched his hand, and pressed his nether lip with his teeth
until the blood sprang through, but said nothing. “I have reference to the
two engagements which took place at Guilford Court House and Camden,
in March and April last; whereby, as I said before, General Greene, who
commanded at both, was twice defeated, and retreated with great loss; although
in the former action his forces outnumbered those of his opponent,
Lord Cornwallis, as two to one; and in the latter, far exceeded those of
Lord Rawdon, his opponent also.”

“This is indeed startling news,” answered Younker, “and I'm fearful o'
the result!”

“You may depend on't, them thar four-hundred acres is all gone clean to
nothing,” observed Mrs. Younker; “and its my opine, Ben, you'd better sell
right straight out immediately, afore the news gits about any further, for
fear o' accidents and them things.”

“I suppose in reality the present war with England does not trouble you
here?” said the stranger, interrogatively.

“Why not in reality,” answered Younker, “only so far as the Britishers
and thar accursed renegade agents set on the Injens agin us.”

“To what renegade agents do you allude?” inquired the other, with a
degree of interest he had not before exhibited.

“Why to the Girtys, McKee, and Elliot,—and perticularly to that thar
scoundrel, Simon Girty, the worst o' all on 'em.”

“Ha! Simon Girty,” said the other, with a slight start and change of
countenance, “what know you of him?”

“Nothing that's good, you may be sartin, and every thing that's evil.
He's leagued with the Injens, purposely to excite 'em agin his own white
brethren—to have them murder women and children, that he may feast his
eyes on thar innocent blood. I'm not given to be o' a revengeful speret,
Mr. Williams, but I never think o' that thar renegade, Simon Girty, but I
in wardly pray for the curse o' an avenging God to light upon him; and
come it will, ayther soon or late, you may depend on't!”

“Amen to that thar sentiment!” responded the dame; while the stranger
became very much agitated, on account, as he said, of a violent pain in his
side, to which he was subject.

Mrs. Younker was on the point of bringing down her invectives on the
head of the renegade in a speech of some considerable length, when perceiving
the distressful look of the other, the kind-hearted woman suddenly
forgot her animosity in sympathy for her suffering guest, and forthwith
proceeded, with all the eloquence of which she was master, to recommend a
certain essence that chanced to be in the house, as a never failing remedy
for all griping and other pains whereby unfortunate humanity was oftentimes
afflicted.

“It's one o' the bestest things as ever war invented,” continued the good
woman, in her eulogy of the article in question, “and has did more good in
it's time, nor all the doctors on the univarsal yarth put together could do, in
the way of curing sprains, and bruises, and stomach-pains, and them things;
and ef you don't believe it, Mr. Williams, you can see it all in print, ef
you can read, and I spect you can, on the bottle itself, jest as plain as any
thing; and besides, I've got the testament (testimony doubtless) of the good
and pious Rev. Mr. Allprayer, who tuk some on't once for the gout, and he
said as how the contracting (counteracting?) pains war so many, that he
didn't no more feel the gout for a long time to come arterwards. I've no
doubt it'll sarve you jest the same way, and I'll go and fetch it right straight off.”

But the mission of the good woman was prevented by the complainant's
insisting that he was much better, would presently be well, and wished to
retire for the night. His request was granted—but little more was said—
and all shortly after betook themselves to bed—to think, or sleep, or dream,
as the case might be with each.

When the family arose on the following morning, they found the stranger
had departed; but when or whither none could tell.