the brute to lie in such a case; for, as he
is always ramping about the woods, he's as good as a paid scout.
Howsomever, the crittur did'nt speak on his own knowledge; and that
infarnal Stackpole was just ripe from the North side. But, I say,
captain, if your men will fight, just tote 'em back, stow away the women
behind the logs here, and march your guns after me; and, if thar's half
the number of red niggurs they speak of to be found, you shall see an
affa'r of a skrimmage that will be good for your wholesome,--you will, by
the etarnal!"

"If the men are of that mind," said Roland, gallantly, "I am not the one
to balk them. I will, at least, see whither their inclinations tend; and
that the matter may the sooner be decided, I will set out without delay."

"And we who war to escort you, captain," said the Kentuckian, with some
embarrassment: "you're a soldier, captain, and you see the case!"

"I do; I have no desire to weaken your force; and, I trust, no protection
is needed."

"Not an iota; the road is as safe as the furrow of a Virginnee
corn-field,--at least till you strike the lower Forks; and _thar_ I've
heard of no rampaging since last summer: I'll indamnify you against all
loss and mischief,--I will, if it war on my salvation!"

"If you could but spare me a single guide," said Forrester.

"Whar's the use, captain? The road is as broad and el'ar as a turnpike in
the Old Dominion; it leads you, chock up, right on the Upper Ford, whar
thar's safe passage at any moment: but, I reckon, the rains will make it
look a little wrathy a while, and so fetch your people to a stand-still.
But it's a pot soon full and soon empty, and it will be low enough in the
morning."

"The Upper Ford?" said Roland, his dream, for so he esteemed it,
recurring to his mind: "is there then a Lower Ford?"

"Ay," replied Bruce; "but thar's no passing it in the freshes; and
besides, the place has a bad name. It war thar old John Ashburn pitched
his Station, in '78; but the savages made murdering work of him, taking
every scalp in the company; and so it makes one sad-like to pass thar,
and the more partickelarly that it's all natteral fine ground for an
ambush. You'll see the road, when you're six mile deep in the forest,
turning off to the right, under a shivered beech-tree. You are then four
miles from the river, or tharabouts, and just that distance, I reckon,
from your company. No, captain," he repeated, "the road is wide and open,
a