utes two or three horsemen ride up, carrying
long rifles over their shoulders, with powder-horns and bullet-pouches
strapped across their breasts. Those already on the ground are
similarly armed, and accoutred.

The cause of this warlike muster is understood by all. Some hours
before, a report has spread throughout the plantations that Charles
Clancy is missing from his home, under circumstances to justify
suspicion of foul play having befallen him. His mother has sent
messengers to and fro; hence the gathering around her house.

In the South-Western States, on occasions of this kind, it does not do
for any one to show indifference, whatever his station in life. The
wealthiest, as well as the poorest, is expected to take part in the
administration of backwoods' justice--at times not strictly _en regle_
with the laws of the land.

For this reason Mrs Clancy's neighbours, far and near, summoned or not
summoned, come to her cottage. Among them Ephraim Darke, and his son
Richard.

Archibald Armstrong is not there, nor looked for. Most know of his
having moved away that same morning. The track of his waggon wheels has
been seen upon the road; and, if the boat he is to take passage by,
start at the advertised hour, he should now be nigh fifty miles from the
spot, and still further departing. No one is thinking of him, or his;
since no one dreams of the deposed planter, or his family, having ought
to do with the business that brings them together.

This is to search for Charles Clancy, still absent from his home. The
mother's story has been already told, and only the late comers have to
hear it again.

In detail she narrates what occurred on the preceding night; how the
hound came home wet, and wounded. Confirmatory of her speech, the
animal is before their eyes, still in the condition spoken of. They can
all see it has been shot--the tear of the bullet being visible on its
back, having just cut through the skin. Coupled with its master's
absence, this circumstance strengthens the suspicion of something amiss.

Another, of less serious suggestion, is a piece of cord knotted around
the dog's neck--the loose end looking as though gnawed by teeth, and
then broken off with a pluck; as if the animal had been tied up, and
succeeded in setting itself free.

But why tied? And why has it been shot? These are questions that not
anybody can answer.

Strange, too, in the hound having reached home at the hour it di