“Thar’s the brute, strannger!” said he, with uncommon glee:  “he war too hard a horse for Ralph’s riding; and, I reckon, if he hadn’t been, you wouldn’t have had him so easy, for he’s a peeler at a run, trot, or gallop, he is, I tell you!  It’s bad luck for Stackpole to be flung by man and beast two days hand-running,—­first by Bloody Nathan, then by a stolen crittur!”

“And whar is the brute, Stackpole? and what have you done with him?” demanded Bruce.

“Thar, father, you’re too hard for me,” replied the youth; “but I’ll tell you all I know on it.  You needn’t look at his legs, Captain, for they’re all as sound as hickory:  the crittur’s a bit worried with his morning’s work; but that’s nothing to speak on.”

The lad’s story was soon told.  The track of the horse-thief had been followed through the woods; and it was soon seen, from its irregularity, that he had made an unlucky selection of beasts, both being so restive and rebellious, that, it was obvious, he had found it no easy matter to urge them along.  A place was found where he appeared to have been thrown by the turbulent Briareus, which he seemed afterwards to have pursued, mounted on the pony, in the vain hope of retaking the mettlesome charger, until persuaded of his inability, or afraid, from the direction in which the animal had fled, of being led back again to the settlement.  His track, after abandoning the chase, was as plain as that left by the war-horse, and was followed by the main body of pursuers, while Richard and two or three others, taking the latter, had the good fortune to find and recover the animal as he was solacing himself, after his morning adventures, in a grassy wood, scarce two miles from the Station.  What had become of Stackpole the lad knew not, but had no doubt, as he added, with a knowing look, “that Lynch’s boys would soon give a good account of him; for Major Smalleye war as mad as a beaten b’ar about the two-y’ar-old pony.”

“Well,” said the father, “I reckon the brute will deserve all he may come by; and thar’s no use in mourning him.  Thar’s as good Injun-fighters as he, left in Kentucky, thar’s the comfort; and thar’s no denying, men will be much easier about their horses.”

With this consoling assurance, in which Roland saw implied the visitation of the deadliest vengeance on the head of the offender, Bruce proceeded to congratulate him on the recovery of Brown Briareus, and to intimate his readiness, after the animal had been allowed a little rest, which it evidently needed, to marshal his band of young men, and conduct him on his way after the exiles.  But fate willed that the friendly intention should never be put into execution, and that the young soldier should go forth on his pilgrimage unattended and unprotected.