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Zeb
had
not
long
to
wait
for
the
gratification
of
his
wish
.
As
the
trail
was
fresh
,
the
strange
horseman
could
take
it
up
at
a
trot
--
in
which
pace
he
was
approaching
.
He
was
soon
within
identifying
distance
.
"
Gee
--
hosophat
!
"
muttered
the
backwoodsman
;
"
I
mout
a
know
'd
it
wud
be
him
;
an
ef
I
'm
not
mistook
about
it
,
hyurs
goin
'
to
be
a
other
chapter
out
o
'
the
same
book
--
a
other
link
as
'll
help
me
to
kumplete
the
chain
o
'
evydince
I
'm
in
sarch
for
.
Lay
clost
,
ye
critter
!
Ef
ye
make
ere
a
stir
--
even
to
the
shakin
'
o
'
them
long
lugs
o
'
yourn
--
I
'll
cut
yur
darned
throat
.
"
The
last
speech
was
an
apostrophe
to
the
"
maar
"
--
after
which
Zeb
waxed
silent
,
with
his
head
among
the
spray
of
the
acacias
,
and
his
eyes
peering
through
the
branches
in
acute
scrutiny
of
him
who
was
coming
along
.
This
was
a
man
,
who
,
once
seen
,
was
not
likely
to
be
soon
forgotten
.
Scarce
thirty
years
old
,
he
showed
a
countenance
,
scathed
,
less
with
care
than
the
play
of
evil
passions
.
But
there
was
care
upon
it
now
--
a
care
that
seemed
to
speak
of
apprehension
--
keen
,
prolonged
,
yet
looking
forward
with
a
hope
of
being
relieved
from
it
.
Withal
it
was
a
handsome
face
:
such
as
a
gentleman
need
not
have
been
ashamed
of
,
but
for
that
sinister
expression
that
told
of
its
belonging
to
a
blackguard
.
The
dress
--
but
why
need
we
describe
it
?
The
blue
cloth
frock
of
semi-military
cut
--
the
forage
cap
--
the
belt
sustaining
a
bowie-knife
,
with
a
brace
of
revolving
pistols
--
all
have
been
mentioned
before
as
enveloping
and
equipping
the
person
of
Captain
Cassius
Calhoun
.
It
was
he
.
It
was
not
the
batterie
of
small
arms
that
kept
Zeb
Stump
from
showing
himself
.
He
had
no
dread
of
an
encounter
with
the
ex-officer
of
Volunteers
.
Though
he
instinctively
felt
hostility
,
he
had
as
yet
given
no
reason
to
the
latter
for
regarding
him
as
an
enemy
.
He
remained
in
shadow
,
to
have
a
better
view
of
what
was
passing
under
the
sunlight
.
