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And
soon
did
he
pass
it
,
going
at
such
a
gait
,
and
with
such
a
wild
abstracted
air
,
that
Zeb
would
scarce
have
been
perceived
had
he
been
standing
uncovered
in
the
avenue
!
"
Geehosophat
!
"
mentally
ejaculated
the
backwoodsman
,
as
the
passion-scathed
countenance
came
near
enough
to
be
scrutinised
.
"
If
hell
ai
n't
arter
,
it
's
inside
o
'
him
!
Durn
me
,
ef
thet
face
ai
n't
the
ugliest
picter
this
coon
ever
clapped
eyes
on
.
I
shed
pity
the
wife
as
gets
him
.
Poor
Miss
Peintdexter
!
I
hope
she
'll
be
able
to
steer
clur
o
'
havin
'
sech
a
cut-throat
as
him
to
be
her
lord
an
master
.
"
What
's
up
anyhow
?
Thar
do
n't
'
pear
to
be
anythin
'
arter
him
?
An
'
he
still
keeps
on
!
Whar
's
he
boun
'
for
now
?
I
must
foller
an
see
.
"
To
hum
agin
!
"
exclaimed
the
hunter
,
after
going
on
to
the
edge
of
the
chapparal
,
and
observed
Calhoun
still
going
at
a
gallop
,
with
head
turned
homeward
.
"
Hum
agin
,
for
sartin
!
"
Now
,
ole
gurl
!
"
he
continued
,
having
remained
silent
till
the
grey
horse
was
nearly
out
of
sight
,
"
You
an
me
goes
t
'
other
way
.
We
must
find
out
what
thet
shot
wur
fired
for
.
"
*
*
*
In
ten
minutes
after
,
Zeb
had
alighted
from
his
mare
,
and
lifted
up
from
the
ground
an
object
,
the
stoutest
heart
might
have
felt
horror
in
taking
hold
of
--
disgust
,
even
,
in
touching
!
Not
so
the
old
hunter
.
In
that
object
he
beheld
the
lineaments
of
a
face
well
known
to
him
--
despite
the
shrivelling
of
the
skin
,
and
the
blood
streaks
that
so
fearfully
falsified
its
expression
--
still
dear
to
him
,
despite
death
and
a
merciless
mutilation
.
He
had
loved
that
face
,
when
it
belonged
to
a
boy
;
he
now
cherished
it
,
belonging
not
to
anybody
!
