horses? what of them? They could not have gone off in the
canoe?"

"I war just thinkin' o' them. The one you seed with Stebbins must a
been hired, I reck'n; an' from Kipp's stables. Belike enuf, the skunk
tuk him back the same night, and then come agin 'ithout him; or Kipp
might a sent a nigger to fetch him?"

"But Holt's own horse--the old `critter,' as you call him?"

"That _diz_ need explainin'. He _must_ a left him ahind. He culdn't a
tuk _him_ in the _dug-out_; besides, he wan't worth takin' along. The
old thing war clean wore out, an' wuldn't a sold for his weight in
corn-shucks. Now, what ked they a done wi' him?"

The speaker cast a glance around, as if seeking for an answer. "Heigh!"
he exclaimed, pointing to some object, on which he had fixed his glance.
"Yonder we'll find him! See the buzzarts! The old hoss's past prayin'
for, I'll be boun'."

It was as the hunter had conjectured. A little outside the enclosure,
several vultures were seen upon the trees, perched upon the lowest
branches, and evidently collected there by some object on the ground.
On approaching the spot, the birds flew off with reluctance; and the old
horse was seen lying among the weeds, under the shadow of a gigantic
sycamore. He was quite dead, though still wearing his skin; and a broad
red disc in the dust, opposite a gaping wound in the animal's throat,
showed that he had been slaughtered where he lay!

"He's killed the crittur!" musingly remarked my companion as he pointed
to the gash; "jest like what he'd do! He might a left the old thing to
some o' his neighbours, for all he war worth; but it wudn't a been Hick
Holt to a did it. He wan't partickler friendly wi' any o' us, an' least
o' all wi' myself--tho' I niver knew the adzact reezun o't, 'ceptin'
that I beat him once shootin', at a _barbecue_. He war mighty proud a'
his shootin', an' that riled him, I reck'n: he's been ugly wi' me iver
since."

I scarcely heeded what the young hunter was saying--my attention being
occupied with a process of analytical reasoning. In the dead horse, I
had found a key to the time of Holt's departure. The ground for some
distance around where the carcass lay was quite dry: the rain having
been screened off by a large spreading branch of the sycamore, that
extended its leafy protection over the spot. Thus sheltered, the body
lay just as it had fallen; and the crimson rivulet, with its terminating
"pool," had only been slightly