WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



There was no voice or sound, no neigh of horses or bark 

 of dogs, or bleat of sheep. The only living thing there, 

 was a group of buzzards that, heavily gorged, flitted up 

 on the stones that formed the chimney. Looking to 

 where they arose we saw a naked^body, half-eaten and 

 scalped. It was Aunty Blase, the old cook. Her eyes 

 were protruding, her bare teeth were grinning at the 

 spectator, and by her peeled skull, we knew who had 

 been the visitors at Far Away. 



After the first cry of horror that escaped Jackson's 

 lips he turned around to Mike, and his eyes fell on the 

 Indian prisoner, who had taken advantage of the sur- 

 prise of the party to glide away among the trees. 



" Hound of hell !" shouted Jackson, " I know your 

 work," and he levelled his rifle at the Indian, who was 

 bounding away down the glade. A mocking cry 

 answered the shot, and the spy disappeared in the woods. 



" After him !" called Jackson, starting in pursuit. 



" Hold thar, hard 1" exclaimed Mike, springing after 

 the planter and taking him by the shoulder. " You'll 

 lose your own har in thar and won't git his'n. Besides, 

 I'm of the 'pinion that the sooner we get in fightin' trim, 

 the better for us. Them sarpents has made a clean 

 sweep and thar is nothin' more for 'em to do here ; and 

 so I reckon they've gone arter us to the Keys." 



Mike spoke earnestly, and Jackson stopped and 

 returned to the rest of the party that by this time had 

 collected together by the rums. The negroes were 

 moaning and making a noisy lamentation over the 



