was
not too late to entertain such a supposition. Notwithstanding what had
passed, we had been yet but a short while upon the spot. If on the way,
he might think the shots were fired from my double-barrelled gun--fired
at some game. He might not be deterred. There was still a hope he
might come in time. If so, we would be able to reach his tree-cave in
safety.

There was no trace of the dogs, save a blotch or two of blood upon the
rough bark of the log, and that was not visible from the shore. Unless
there were other dogs to guide them to the spot, the men might not in
the darkness so easily discover these marks. We might yet baffle them!

With fresh hope I turned once more towards the water, and gazed in the
direction in which I expected the pirogue to come. Alas! there was no
sign of it. No sound came from the lake save the wild calling of the
affrighted birds.

I turned once more to the land.

I saw the cane-brake in motion. The tall culms vibrated and crackled
under the heavy tread of a man, who the next moment emerging into the
open ground, advanced at a slinging trot towards the water!

He was alone and afoot--there were no dogs with him--but the long rifle
poised upon his shoulder, and the hunting accoutrements around his body,
told me at a glance he was the owner of the deer-hounds.

His black bushy beard, his leggings, and buckskin shirt, his red
neckcloth and raccoon cap--but above all, the brutal ferocity of his
visage, left me in no doubt as to who this character was. The
description of the runaway answered him in every particular. He could
be no other than _Ruffin the man-hunter_!

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR.

SHOT FOR SHOT.

Yes, the individual who now advanced was Ruffin the man-hunter; and the
dogs I had killed, were his--a brace of sleuth-hounds, well-known in the
settlement as being specially trained to tracking the unfortunate
blacks, that, driven by cruel treatment, had taken to the woods.

Well-known, too, was their master--a dissipated brutal fellow, half
hunter, half hog-thief, who dwelt in the woods like an Indian savage,
and hired himself out to such of the planters as needed the aid of him
and his horrid hounds!

As I have said, I had never seen this individual, though I had heard of
him often--from Scipio, from the boy Caton, and, lastly, from Gabriel.
The Bambarra had described him minutely--had told me wild stories of the
man's wickedness and ferocious cruelty--how he