its route to the wayfarer. It had never
been much travelled, and from the free use at the present time of other
and more direct courses, it was left almost totally unemployed, save by
those living immediately in its neighborhood. It had, therefore, become,
at the time of which we speak, what, in backwood phrase, is known as a
_blind-path_.

Such being the case, it is not difficult to imagine that, when able to
restrain his horse, Ralph, as he feared, found himself entirely out of
its guidance--wandering without direction among the old trees of the
forest. Still, as for the night, now nearly over, he could have no
distinct point in view, and saw just as little reason to go back as
forward, he gave himself but little time for scruple or hesitation.
Resolutely, though with a cautious motion, he pricked his steed forward
through the woods, accommodating his philosophy, as well as he could, to
the various interruptions which the future, as if to rival the past,
seemed to have treasured up in store for him.

He had not proceeded far in this manner when he caught the dim rays of a
distant fire, flickering and ascending among the trees to the left of
the direction he was taking. The blaze had something in it excessively
cheering, and, changing his course, he went forward under its guidance.
In this effort, he stumbled upon something like a path, which, pursuing,
brought him at length to a small and turbid creek, into which he plunged
fearlessly, and soon found himself in swimming water. The ford had been
little used, and the banks were steep, so that he got out with
difficulty upon the opposite side. Having done so, his eye was enabled
to take a full view of the friendly fire which had just attracted his
regard, and which he soon made out to proceed from the encampment of a
wagoner, such as may be seen every day, or every night, in the wild
woods of the southern country.

He was emigrating, with all his goods and gods, to that wonderfully
winning region, in the estimation of this people, the valley of the
Mississippi. The emigrant was a stout, burly, bluff old fellow, with
full round cheeks, a quick, twinkling eye, and limbs rather Herculean
than human. He might have been fifty-five years or so; and his two sons,
one of them a man grown, the other a tall and goodly youth of eighteen,
promised well to be just such vigorous and healthy-looking personages as
their father. The old woman, by whom we mean--in the manner of speech