“Not a whisper,” says Romescos, who, having dismounted, is nervously watching some object in the distance.  It is a pretty spot, clothed in softest verdure.  How suddenly the quick eye of Romescos discovered the white smoke curling above the green foliage!  “See! see!” he whispers again, motioning his hand behind, as Bengal stretches his neck, and looks eagerly in the same direction.  “Close dogs-close!” he demands, and the dogs crouch back, and coil their sleek bodies at the horses’ feet.  There, little more than a mile ahead, the treacherous smoke curls lazily upward, spreading a white haze in the blue atmosphere.  Daddy Bob has a rude camp there.  A few branches serve for a covering, the bare moss is his bed; the fires of his heart would warm it, were nothing more at hand!  Near by is the island on which he seeks refuge when the enemy approaches; and from this lone spot-his home for more than two years-has he sent forth many a fervent prayer, beseeching Almighty God to be his shield and his deliverer.  It was but yesterday he saw Jerushe, who shared with him her corn-cakes, which, when she does not meet him at his accustomed spot, she places at the foot of a marked tree.  Bob had added a few chips to his night fire, (his defence against tormenting mosquitoes), and made his moss bed.  Having tamed an owl and a squirrel, they now make his rude camp their home, and share his crumbs.  The squirrel nestles above his head, as the owl, moping about the camp entrance, suddenly hoots a warning and flutters its way into the thicket.  Starting to his feet with surprise-the squirrel chirping at the sudden commotion-the tramp of horses breaks fearfully upon the old man’s ear; bewildered he bounds from the camp.  Two water oaks stand a few feet from its entrance, and through them he descries his pursuers bearing down upon him at full speed, the dogs making the very forest echo with their savage yelps.  They are close upon him; the island is his only refuge!  Suddenly he leaps to the bank, plunges into the stream, and with death-like struggles gains the opposite shore, where he climbs a cedar, as the dogs, eager with savage pursuit, follow in his wake, and are well nigh seizing his extremities ere they cleared their vicious spring.  The two horsemen vault to the spot from whence the old man plunged into the water; and while the dogs make hideous ravings beneath the tree, they sit upon their horses, consulting, as the old man, from the tree top, looks piteously over the scene.  Life has few charms for him; death would not be unwelcome.

The tedious journey, and disappointment at seeing the old man’s resolution, has excited Romescos’ ire.  “He’s an old rack-not worth much, but he doesn’t seem like Kemp’s old saw-horse,” Romescos remarks to Bengal, as his hawk eye scans the old man perched among the cedar branches.  They are not more than forty yards apart, and within speaking distance.  Bengal, less excited, thinks it better to secure the old “coon” without letting the dogs taste of him.