FATE OF THE PAXTHER-HUNTER. 123 



meat on a stick. Next morning I skinned her, and we 

 stretched the skin on two poles and laid on it all was left 

 of the best hunter from Lockhaven to the mouth of the 

 Sinnemahoning, a man as true as the rifle he carried, 

 never missed fire or took the back track of friend or foe. 

 We followed the branch to where it jined Shintown run, 

 and then crossed the pints and over the edge of the 

 mountain home. The bad news spread quick, and afore 

 long the whole settlement was at my house. I took the 

 painter-skin for a shroud, wrappin him in it and puttin 

 him in the coffin, laid his rifle and huntin' knife on the 

 top of it, and buried him under the big tree on the bank 

 of the river. I had no more heart for huntin' that fall, 

 though the bar war very thick, but just tinkered round 

 the mill an' helped the boys get out lumber. But lots o' 

 times since, when lying in the woods alone, I have seen 

 Sam hanging so limber like in the big white-oak." 



Every one was still at the conclusion of this story, and 

 nothing was heard but the dash of the waters and the 

 murmurs of the tree-tops. Having no inclination to sleep, 

 I refilled and lit my pipe, listening to the music of the 

 water and the song of the wind drawing through the ra- 

 vine, making .ZEolian harps of the twigs, and singing 

 a grander requiem for Sam Kurtz than ever echoed 

 through vaulted cathedral for mighty conqueror or re- 

 nowned statesman. 



PRECEPTOR. I should not have slept any sounder for 

 being in the neighborhood of such lurking " varmints." 

 As there are a couple of hours before we revisit the barn, 

 we will adjourn to the piazza, and I will listen to your 

 continuation of the breeding farm. I will have to retract 

 my promise of giving you so much of my history as re- 

 lates to my adopting the profession of driving trotters, 

 postponing it to a future period, as I am not at present 

 in the humor. You can rejoice over escaping the in- 



