ff immediately in search of her husband. It was in vain they told her
of the uselessness of going at that time--of the impossibility of
following a trail in the dark. She said she would go herself: she felt
sure of finding him; and, at last, they were obliged to use force to
prevent her leaving the house.

The next morning at daybreak, Wilton and his two sons were mounted, and
ready to set out, intending to take Nero with them; but nothing could
induce him to leave his mistress: he resisted passively for some time,
until one of the young men attempted to pass a rope round his neck, to
drag him away: then his forbearance vanished, and he sprang upon his
tormentor, threw him down, and would have strangled him, if Susan had
not been present. Finding it impossible to make Nero accompany them,
they left without him, but had not proceeded many miles before he and
his mistress were at their side. They begged Susan to return; told her
of the inconvenience she would be to them. It was no avail; she had but
one answer,--"I am a hunter's daughter, and a hunter's wife." She told
them that, knowing how useful Nero would be to them in their search,
she had secretly taken a horse and followed them.

The party rode first to Tom Cooper's hut, and there, having dismounted,
leading their horses through the forest, followed the trail, as only men
long accustomed to savage life can do. At night they lay on the ground,
covered with their thick, bear-skin cloaks: for Susan only, they heaped
a bed of dried leaves; but she refused to occupy it, saying, it was her
duty to bear the same hardships they did. Ever since their departure,
she had shown no sign of sorrow. Although slight and delicately formed,
she never appeared fatigued: her whole soul was absorbed in one longing
desire--to find her husband's body; for, from the first, she had
abandoned the hope of ever again seeing him in life. This desire
supported her through everything. Early the next morning they were on
the trail. About noon, as they were crossing a small brook, the hound
suddenly dashed away from them, and was lost in the thicket. At first
they fancied they might have crossed the track of a deer or wolf; but a
long, mournful howl soon told the sad truth, for, not far from the
brook, lay the faithful dog on the dead body of his master, which was
pierced to the heart by an Indian arrow.

The murderer had apparently been afraid to approach on account of the
dogs, for the body wa