The restlessness of Silvertail, despite of his rider’s caresses had been visibly increasing as they approached the dark cluster of walnuts.  Arrived opposite to this, his ears and tail erect, he had evinced even more than restlessness—­alarm:  and something, that did not meet the eye of his rider, caused him to take a sideward spring of several feet.  It was this action that, nearly unseating Sampson, had drawn from him the impatient exclamation just recorded.

At length the thicket was passed, and Silvertail, recovered from his alarm, moved forward once more on the bound, in obedience to the well known whistle of his master.

“Good speed have they made,” again mused Sampson, as he approached his home; “if indeed, as I suspect, it be them who are hiding in yonder thicket.  Silvertail could not have been more than ten minutes finishing his (hiccup) his corn, and the sands had but little time to warm beneath his hoofs when he did start.  These Yankees are swift footed fellows, as I have had good (hiccup) good experience, in the old war, when I could run a little myself after the best of them.  But here we are at last.  Whoa, Silvertail, whoa! and now to turn out Bill from his little wife.  Bill, I say, hilloa! hilloa!  Bill, hilloa!”

Long habit, which had taught the old man’s truly excellent and exemplary son the utter hopelessness of his disease, had also familiarized him with these nightly interruptions to his slumbers.  A light was speedily seen to flash across the chamber in which he slept, and presently the principal door of the lower building was unbarred, and unmurmuring, and uncomplaining, the half dressed young man stood in the presence of his father.  Placing the light on the threshold, he prepared to assist him as usual to dismount, but Sampson, contrary to custom, rejected for a time every offer of the kind.  His rapid gallop through the night air, added to the more than ordinary quantity of whiskey he had that day swallowed, was now producing its effect, and, while every feature of his countenance manifested the extreme of animal stupidity, his apprehension wandered and his voice became almost inarticulate.  Without the power to acquaint his son with the purpose he had in view, and of which he himself now entertained but a very indistinct recollection, he yet strove, impelled as he was by his confusedness of intention to retain his seat, but was eventually unhorsed and handed over to the care of his pretty daughter in law, whose office it was to dispose of him for the night, while her husband rubbed down, fed, and otherwise attended to Silvertail.

A few hours of sound sleep restored Sampson to his voice and his recollection, when his desire to follow the two individuals he had seen in the yard of the inn the preceding night, and whom he felt persuaded he must have passed on the road, was more than ever powerfully revived.  And yet, was it not highly probable that the favorable opportunity had been lost, and that, taking advantage of the night, they were already departed from the country, if such (and he doubted it not) was their intention.  “What a cursed fool,” he muttered to himself, “to let a thimbleful of liquor upset me on such an occasion; but, at all events, here goes for another trial.  With the impatient, over-indulged Sampson, to determine on a course of action, was to carry it into effect.”