off again, we set on our dog, who was trem- bling with eagerness for the chase. Off went Gunner, for that was the dog's name, and we soon heard him at full bay. Who should be up first was then the question to be decided. Jump and jump we went, side by side, till my strength and long wind prevailed, and I ran up first. But in running through the bushes, some snow having fallen on the lock of my gun, wet the powder, and it would not fire. Here we were, with no means of helping poor Gun- ner, or of keeping him from being injured by the buck's sharp horns. At length, while the faithful dog was hold- ing the buck by the nose, I drew my hunting-knife from my belt and made a desperate pitch at the heart of the infuriated beast, which laid him out dead in the creek, where he had expected to be able to defend himself in the water.
My friend and myself were both wet to the knees, and the evening being very cold, it became necessary for us, a.s soon as possible, to make for the nearest house. With all possible haste we skinned the buck and secured the
3*
30 FORTY-FOUR YEARS OF
meat, when we started for the place of safety, which was about four miles. On we strode, with long steps, made in as quick succession as possible, until my friend began to complain that his feet were freezing. He swore they would be frozen oft' to his ancles before we could reach any house. I found mine were freezing too, and I waded all the little streams we crossed; but he would not go into any water, for he said he had been in too much already; so on we went, until we came to the house we had aimed for. As soon as the man of the house saw our condition, he brought some fresh spring-water, and put our feet and legs in it for at least an hour, when the frost was drawn out.
We lodged there that night, and found next morning that our feet were swelled and very sore; but from my frequently wetting mine in the little streams, they were not so much injured as his were.
From this time, I visited all my friends, and got ready for my journey west. The night before the appointed Thursday I was bent on spending, at any rate, within sight of little Mary. I determined to commence talk- ing with her in the presence of the whole family. Accord- ingly, I went to the house, and spoke to the old man as respectfully as I knew how; and in a little while he said to me, in a friendly tone. "So, Meshach, you are going to leave us, I heard.
"Yes, sir," was my answer.
"How long do you intend staving ? "
"Perhaps I shall no' return for years, and it may be that I may not come at all."
"Ah! when you get among strangers, you will soon be homesick, and back you will come."
"Well, Mr. McMullen, this is not impossible; but, sir, I assure" you 1 do not think Allegany county will see me soon again."
A HUNTER'S LIFE. 31
I said this in this in the presence of Mary, whom I had pro- mised that I should return again some time or other. I did not mean exactly what I said; but I knew it was what he wished for, and, that in hopes of this being; the last visit I would pay to his house, he would not object to my having a last talk with Mary.
While I talked to the old man, I saw that Mary listened with attention, and I knew what she had in her mind about what I had told her. I watched the old man closely, and presently he began to ask questions of the boys about the horses and the stable, when he took his hat and went out to the barn. This was my time: I whispered to Mary, and informed her I had told her father such a tale, and that I did it in hopes the old man would not be so bad as to prevent me from having an evening talk with her, which I had much desired since I saw her last. I asked her if she would venture to undertake it in the presence of her father? After a little hesitation, she said she could only try it, and if he cut any capers, I must stop short, and wait till another opportunity to see her. This being agreed on, I went to the barn, and helped to feed the stock. It was quite night, dark, and very cold. Well, thought I, let what may come, I will try my luck. So, when I thought the right time had come, with trembling limbs and beating heart, I drew up my chair by the side of Mary, as she sat knitting. I was half-choked with fear;
of the old man, and so much embarrassed, that it was some minutes before I could speak a single word; but to my great satisfaction, the old man went off to bed.
"Stand still, boy," Mary said, with a sweet smile; "what is the matter with you? I believe you are speech- less."
"No, no, Mary," said I; "but I was afraid that your father would turn me out this cold night, and that I would have no chance to see you again before I started to the
32 FORTY-FOUR YEARS OF
West. It seemed to me that if he had spoken crossly to me I should have fainted on the floor."
This caused her to laugh heartily at my expense, which seemed to make her still more dear to me than she was before. By this time I had got my nerves quieted; and an interesting discourse sprang up concerning our school pastimes, and the great probability of our never enjoying the like pleasures again. By this I fancied I could bring her to an acknowledgment of what I thought I had seen before in her countenance; but, firm to herself, she would not gratify me with any admission of her affection.
However, we spent a very pleasant evening together, and promised to see each other for a parting farewell the next morning. At, or rather before it was light, the old man left home without saying a word to Mary or I. This was pleasing to us both; and I believe the whole family were glad that he was gone, as it gave us time to finish any little thing we had left unsaid the evening before. After breakfast I began to get ready for a start, all the time watching every motion Mary made; but she kept firm till the old lady had made me a present of a fine pair of socks and a beautiful pair of woolen gloves. She told me that she had knit the socks herself, and that Mary had knit the gloves for me; but that she was too bashful to give them to me. Mary was not present when the old lady handed over the very welcome gifts; but she soon appeared again, and helped to stow away my small stock of clothing. This done, I bade good-bye to all but Mary, who said she would accompany me as far as the bars. Off we started for the bars, which were only a few steps from the door, and here we had another long talk, though we both kept off from the subject of marriage; for I really did not intend to return. In our discourse, I told her it would perhaps be a long time before I should be back to
A HUNTER'S LIFE. 33
see her again; and then I expected to see her a married lady.
"No, no," said she; "when you come, if ever you do return, you will find me as you now leave me."
'' Will you promise me that in good earnest ? " said I.
"If you come in five or six years, you shall find me as I am now in every respect."
"Well, Mary," said I, "if something unexpected does not happen to me, I will see you again before the half of that time."
I looked at her, and saw a tear ready to roll from her clear blue eye, and I was compelled to take her hand as quick as possible, to hide my own emotion from her. I grasped her hand, drew her to my bosom, and kissed her: then wheeled from her, and was soon out of sight.
34 FORTY-FOUR YEARS OF
CHAPTER II.
Starts for Wheeling, and reaches his Uncle James Spurgin's—Good Advice by Uncle, suited to all Young Men—Determines to be guided by it—Continues his Journey—Reaches Union Town—Meets with his Grandfather, and also his Mo- ther—Affecting Interview—Relates the bad usage of his Aunt—Spends
