hen I got home, I
gave his name to my beast, just for the pleasure of thinking of that
hang-gallows thief, every time I had occasion to give the creetur a dig
in the ribs, or lay a blow across his withers! And yet he is a most an
excellent horse, major, and a hundred times more of a gentleman than his
namesake,--though he is a little hard-headed too--but that he larnt from
me. It really seems to me that the dumb beast thinks his name a
disgrace, as he has good right, but has got used to it. And, besides, I
hear that the cross-grained, growling dog of a captain has been killed
in a scuffle since I left Charlestown, so now I consider my horse a sort
of tombstone with the ugly sinner's name on it; and as I straddle it
every day you see, that's another satisfaction."

"Well, sergeant, there are few men enjoy their revenge more
good-humoredly than you. So, come, straddle your tombstone again, and
make the bones beneath it jog."

In good glee, our travellers now betook themselves once more to the
road.

CHAPTER III.

AN INCIDENT THAT SAVORS OF ROMANCE.

By the time the sun had fallen to the level of the summits of the Blue
Ridge, Butler and Robinson had progressed so far in their journey, as to
find themselves in the vicinity of the Rockfish river--a rapid mountain
stream, that traverses the southern confine of Albemarle, and which, at
that period, separated this county from Amherst. Their path had led
them, by a short circuit, out of the ravine of Cove creek, along upon
the ridges of the neighboring hills; and they were now descending from
this elevation, into the valley of the Rockfish, near to the point where
the Cove creek forms its junction with this river. The hill was covered
with a stately forest, and a broad, winding road had been cut down the
steep side, in such a manner as to present a high bank on one hand, and
an abrupt sheer descent on the other. From this road might be seen, at
intervals, glimmering through the screen of underwood, the waters of the
small river below; whilst, at the same time, the circuitous course of
the descending track left but few paces of its length visible from any
one point, except where, now and then, it came boldly forth to the verge
of some wild crag, from which glimpses were to be obtained of its
frequent traverses towards the deep and romantic dell that received the
mingled tribute of the two streams.

Here, as our travellers journeyed downward, their attention was aw