road, which seemed to turn toward each of the Cardinal points in the hour, until my patience was perfectly exhausted, and it was not till after sunset that it finally led me out into a prairie, the features of which I thought I recognised. I stopped, I looked around for the purpose of satisfying myself, when suddenly a horse burst from the thicket behind me, and went tearing off over the plain with every indication of excessive fright, snorting furiously, his head turned back, and stirrups flying in the air." "What sort of a horse?" "What color was he?" several broke in, with breathless impatience. "He was too far for me to tell in the dusk more than that he was a dark horse—say about the color of mine." "Stoner's horse was a dark brown!" some one said in a low voice, while the party moved uneasily in their seats and looked at each other.
There was a pause. The Squire got up and walked with a fidgety manner toward the window to look out, and turning with a serious face toward Henry, remarked, "This is a very curious story of yours, and if I did not know you too well, I should suspect you were quizzing. Did you hear a gun after you parted with this lank-sided fellow you describe?" "I thought I did once, but the sound was so distant, that I was too uncertain about its being a gun to risk getting lost again in going to it." "Was it about a quarter of an hour by sun?" (that is, before sundown,) interrupted the Driver. "Yes." "Well I hearn a gun about that time on your side, but thought it were some of yours." "It may be, this madman, or whatever he is, has danger in him," continued the Squire. "I can explain about the winding of that road which puzzled you so. It is a road I had cut to a number of board-trees we had rived on the ground. They were scattered about a good deal, but none of them far from any given place where you would strike the road, so that you were no great distance at any time from where this meeting occurred. We must turn out and look up this creature, boys." "I expected to find the horse here—he came on in this direction," said Henry. "No," said the Squire, "Stoner's house is beyond here."
Henry now seated himself at the table, and great as was the uncertainty attending the fate of Stoner, these men were too much accustomed to the vicissitudes and accidents common in the life of the frontier hunter to be affected by it for more than a few moments, and the joke and the laugh very soon went round as carelessly and pleasantly as if nothing had occurred at all unusual.
In the midst of this, the rapid tramp of a horse at full gallop was heard approaching. The Squire rose hastily and went out, while the room was oppressively still. In a few moments he entered with contracted brows and quite pale: "Stoner's negro has been sent over by his wife to let us know that his horse has returned with the reins on its neck and blood on the saddle. He has been shot, gentlemen." We all rose involuntarily at this, and stood with blank white faces, looking into each other's eyes. "The madman!" said one, in subdued tones, breaking the spell of silence. "Henry's bearded ghost," said another. "Yes," exclaimed several, "devil or ghost, that's the way it has happened." "I tell you what, Henry, has occurred to me ever since you finished your story: that this singular being was on the lookout for Stoner, and while you rode with your head down thought that you were he, for there are several points of general resemblance, such as size, color of your horses, &c., but that in the long look he took at your face he discovered the mistake, and, after leaving you, passed over to the left and met Stoner returning and has shot him. He is one of the Regulators though, and Hinch is a very blood-hound. I shall send for him to be here in the morning with the boys, and they will trail him up, if he is the devil in earnest, and have vengeance before sun-down to-morrow." This seemed the most reasonable solution of some of the inexplicable features of the affair, and as it was too dark to think of accomplishing any thing to-night, we had to content ourselves with a sound sleep preparatory for action on the morrow.
Soon after day-break, we were awakened by the sound of loud blustering voices about the house. I felt sure that this must be Hinch's party, and on looking out of my window saw them dismounted and grouped about the yard. I recognized the voice of our Host in sharp, decisive altercation, under our window, with some one, whose harsh, overbearing tones convinced me that it must be Hinch. I listened anxiously, and heard him swearing in round terms, that Henry's story was all gammon, an "old woman's tale," that he didn't believe a word of it; but if Stoner was murdered, Henry was
