“Liberty—­that is a grand thing to fight for,” said I, after a brief pause.

“Swap my blood any time fer thet air,” said D’ri.  “I can fight sassy, but not fer no king but God A’mighty.  Don’t pay t’ git all tore up less it’s fer suthin’ purty middlin’ vallyble.  My life ain’t wuth much, but, ye see, I hain’t nuthin’ else.”

We rode awhile in sober thought, hearing only a sough of the wind above and the rustling hoof-beat of our horses in the rich harvest of the autumn woods.  We were walking slowly over a stretch of bare moss when, at a sharp turn, we came suddenly in sight of a huge bear that sat facing us.  I drew my pistol as we pulled rein, firing quickly.  The bear ran away into the brush as I fired another shot.

“He ’s hit,” said D’ri, leaping off and bidding me hold the bit.  Then, with a long stride, he ran after the fleeing bear.  I had been waiting near half an hour when D’ri came back slowly, with a downhearted look.

“‘Tain’ no use,” said he.  “Can’t never git thet bear.  He’s got a flesh-wound high up in his hin’ quarters, an’ he’s travellin’ fast.”

He took a fresh chew of tobacco and mounted his horse.

“Terrible pity!” he exclaimed, shaking his head with some trace of lingering sorrow.  “Ray,” said he, soberly, after a little silence, “when ye see a bear lookin’ your way, ef ye want ’im, alwus shute at the end thet’s toward ye.”

There was no better bear-hunter in the north woods than D’ri, and to lose a bear was, for him, no light affliction.

“Can’t never break a bear’s neck by shutin’ ‘im in the hin’ quarters,” he remarked.

I made no answer.

“Might jest es well spit ’n ’is face,” he added presently; “jest eggzac’ly.”

This apt and forceful advice calmed a lingering sense of duty, and he rode on awhile in silence.  The woods were glooming in the early dusk when he spoke again.  Something revived his contempt of my education.  He had been trailing after me, and suddenly I felt his knee.

“Tell ye this, Ray,” said he, in a kindly tone.  “Ef ye wan’ t’ git a bear, got t’ mux ’im up a leetle for’ard—­right up ’n the neighborhood uv ‘is fo’c’s’le.  Don’t dew no good t’ shute ’is hams.  Might es well try t’ choke ‘im t’ death by pinchin’ ’is tail.”

We were out in the open.  Roofs and smoking chimneys were silhouetted on the sky, and, halfway up a hill, we could see the candle-lights of the red tavern.  There, in the bar, before blazing logs in a great fireplace, for the evening had come chilly, a table was laid for us, and we sat down with hearty happiness to tankards of old ale and a smoking haunch.  I have never drunk or eaten with a better relish.  There were half a dozen or so sitting about the bar, and all ears were for news of the army and all hands for our help.  If we asked for more potatoes or ale, half of them rose to proclaim it.  Between pipes of Virginia tobacco, and old sledge, and songs of love and daring, we had a memorable night.  When we went to our room, near twelve o’clock, I told D’ri of our dear friends, who, all day, had been much in my thought.