r.

CHAPTER VII.

THE COUNTRYMAN.

Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.

SHAKSPEARE.

The crackling of the bushes continued, while the Rifleman compressed
his lips and stood like a tiger at bay. In a moment he saw a man making
his way through the tangled shrubbery, and almost immediately he
lowered his rifle with an expression of disappointment. The individual
before him was so different from what he expected, that a fuller notice
of him is necessary, especially as he now takes his place as one of the
_dramatis personae_ of this tale.

He appeared to be an awkward countryman, cowardly, ignorant of
wood-craft, and completely bewildered by the dangers that beset him.
His dress was half-savage and half-civilized, torn and disfigured, as
if he had been running at the top of his speed through a thicket of
briers and brambles. The only weapon he carried was a large knife
firmly grasped in his hand. His face was blank and expressionless, save
that it bore the impress of great animal fear, now mingled with
surprise at confronting our two friends so unexpectedly. His head was
round, bullet-like, with sandy hair, while the face seemed stained and
begrimed with dirt and perspiration. He stood a moment with both hands
stretched stiffly downward, his mouth wide open, apparently unable to
find words to express his astonishment.

"Well, young man, good-day to you," said Dernor, advancing toward him.

"Good-day--good-day; fine weather for corn," he repeated, as if anxious
to gain the good opinion of the hunter.

"How came you in these parts, my friend?"

"Heaven save you, I _run_ here. The Injins have been after me."

"They didn't catch you?"

"No, sir," replied the young man, bursting into a loud guffaw. "I run
too fast."

"What might be your name?"

"Zeke Hunt, but I'm derned 'fraid it won't be any name at all if I stay
in these parts much longer. Oh, dear," whined the young man, "I wish I
was back in Pennsylvany, on the farm."

"What made you leave it?"

"The old man whipped me, and I run away."

"Why don't you go back?"

"I'd rather meet all the painted Injins in the woods than him. He'd
whip me all through the town."

"No doubt you deserve it."

"Boo-hoo! you ain't going to lick me too, are you?" plead the man,
gouging one eye with his finger.

"No, no; don't make a fool of yourself. What would I wish to hurt you
for?"

"I don't