rdiest horseman is spurring into the
depth of the forest beyond, and skurrying out of sight and hearing if that
were possible--the wailing wood notes have a story to whisper to the
deserted shore.

But "the best laid plans of mice and men aft gang aglee," and not above a
half mile from their watery exodus the puzzled yelpers vary their chorus
and slacken speed, and, warned by a ringing blast on the huntsman's horn,
the whole company of baffled pursuers double on their track, and by twos,
and threes, and then in larger squads, rejoin their river base. Here the
huntsmen consult together, and the pack renew their frenzy, frisking along
the river shore, scouring the woods, and soon afterwards, indicating by a
yelping chorus far down the stream that the stratagem of the refugees led
them that way. The impatient horsemen soon gallop at their heels, and
after one or two dissentient howls from the aged skeptics of the pack,
they one and all run full upon the warm scent, with a clamor that causes
the woods to "ring again," and sends the vital current tingling along the
veins of the coldest-blooded horseman. And now the lull is past, and the
thunder of pursuit once more greets the forest echoes. Away, away,
distancing the swamp tracts and riding into the region of the morning, for
its first beams, striking through the tree-boughs, sprinkle their forms
and play in feathered jets along the bosom of the forest. Away, away,
riding neck and neck with the fleet-footed swamp-hare, and crossing the
hurricane's track with a rush and sound that might have been its refrain.
Away, away, emerging upon the broad plateau, and yelling, yelping,
whooping, cursing, but never slackening speed. Away, away, vanishing
through lanes, disappearing over hill-tops, and clattering through the
valleys beyond, with a mighty hubbub that jars the base of the hills, and
sends the round echoes careering at their backs.

Blood of the martyrs! can it be? Just at the apex of yonder rise which the
feet of the pursuers take hold upon, lives an unprotected widow and her
daughter, and with ominous precision of stride the hue and cry points that
way.

The instincts of both men and beasts instantly acquaint them with the
situation, and, bending forward in one last despairing effort, they
emulate the rush of the tornado as they bear down the enclosures and sweep
up the incline, just in time to witness the most piteous spectacle that
men with emotions were ever invited t