in what direction to turn, to extricate himself from the mazes into which he had so rashly ridden?  While he mused this question, Blucher started suddenly with evidently some new and exciting consciousness.  His ears were suddenly lifted—­his eyes were strained upon the copse in front—­he halted, as if reluctant to proceed.  It was evident that his senses had taken in some sights, or sounds, which were unusual.

Of course, our traveller was by no means heedless of this behavior on the part of the beast.  He well knew the superior keenness of the brute senses, over those of the man; and his own faculties were keenly enlisted in the scrutiny.  There might be wolves along the track—­the country was not wanting in them; or, more to be feared, there might be a panther lurking along some great overhanging forest bough.  There was need to be vigilant.  Either of these savages would make his propinquity known, at a short distance, to the senses of an animal so timid as the horse.  Or, it might be, that a worse beast still—­always worst of all when he emulates the nature of the beast—­man!—­might be lurking upon the track!  If so, the nature of the peril was perhaps greater still, to the rider if not the steed.  The section of the wild world in which our traveller journeyed was of doubtful character; but sparingly supplied with good citizens; and most certainly infested with many with whom the world had quarrelled—­whom it had driven forth in shame and terror.

The youth thought of all these things.  But they did not overcome his will, or lessen his courage.  Preparing himself, as well as he might, for all chances, he renewed his efforts to extricate himself from his thick harborage; pressing his steed firmly, in a direction which seemed to open fairly, the sky appearing more distinctly through the opening of the trees above.  Meanwhile, he kept his eyes busy, watching right and left.  Still, he could see nothing, hear nothing, but the slight footfall of his own steed.  And yet the animal continued uneasy, his ears pricked up, his head turning, this way and that, with evident curiosity; his feet set down hesitatingly, as if uncertain whether to proceed.

Curious and anxious, our traveller patted the neck of the beast affectionately, and, in low tones, endeavored to soothe his apprehensions: 

“Quietly, Blucher, quietly?  What do you see, old fellow, to make you uneasy?  Is it the snug stall, and the dry fodder, and the thirty ears, for which you long.  I’faith, old fellow, the chance is that both of us will seek shelter and supper in vain to-night.”

Blucher pricked up his ears at the tones, however subdued, of his rider’s voice, which he well knew; but his uneasiness continued; and, just when our young traveller, began to feel some impatience at his restiffness and coyness, a shrill whistle which rang through the forest, from the copse in front, seemed at once to determine the correctness of sense in the animal, and the sort of beast which had occasioned