Behold, then, the burly knight and his dusky and not over-valiant squire setting forth in quest of adventure—the one mounted on his tall gray, the other astraddle of Ned. It appears incredible that any man in his senses would take two such ani-malson such an expedition, but there never was but one Blount. Beverly carried the gun, his chief the torch, consisting of “lightwood” knots blazing in the bowl of a long-handled frying pan. The handle, resting on the right shoulder, was held somewhat depressed, so that the light should shine above the head of the huntsman, illumining the woods in his front. The sportsman, slowly waving the handle to and fro, peers intently into the darkness in quest of the gleaming eyes of some staring buck.
Presently a dismal howl from far away to the right came stealing through the silence. And presently an answering cry from the left, and much nearer. And another, and another! Ugh! what was that? A rabbit had darted under Ned, across the rattling leaves. Beverly, shivering, dug his heels into Ned's ribs. Ned pressed forward till his nose touched the ticklish flank of the gray. The gray let fly with whizzing hoof. Ned shut his eyes, unwilling to witness the enormity of an aged mule being kicked at by torchlight.
“Beverly! Beverly!” breathed the knight eagerly, “gimme the gun! gimme the gun! I see a pair of eyes as big as saucers!”
“M—M—Marse B—B—Billy——————”
“Quick! gimme the gun! What the devil is the matter with you?”
“De wolves, Marse Billy! 'Sposin' arter de gun done empty dey splunge in upon us? I bound a whole nation un 'em watchin' us dis minute!”
Blount wrested the gun from the reluctant Beverly, whose knee now trembled against his. Pressing down the pan handle so as to throw the light well in front, he cocked the gun, adjusted it to his shoulder, took aim, and pulled the trigger.
Blount, in reply to the warning of his friends, had urged that it might very well be that a horse that shied by day at a gun would act differently at night. And he was right. By daylight the gray was in the habit of making one or two violent plunges when his rider fired. But tonight, when that terrible roar broke the stillness and that fierce blaze flashed into his eyes——
Immediately after the sound of the gun reached us we heard the anxious, jolting bray of a trotting mule. The disjointed, semi-asinine song came nearer, and presently Ned hurried past the fire to his place by his tethered mate, with a low equine chuckle of satisfaction. In his wake rushed Beverly, panting, wide eyed. It was a full minute before he could speak.
“Lord, mahsters, don't ax me nothin'; I don't know nothin' 'bout it. I 'most don't know whether I here or no arter de way dem revengious varmints whoop me through dem woods, a-yelpin' an' a-gnash-in' o' deir teeth. B'fo' Gaud, I thought every minute was gwine to be my next! When Marse Billy shoot, though I beg him not to, seein' dat de whole woods was a-bilin' wid wolves, dat fool of a horse o' hisn jess riz on his hind legs an' splunge right over me an' Ned, jess like we warn't nothin't all. Dem lightwood knots flew right up, same as one o' dem blaze o' glories I see when I got religion. I lit on my head. Ned he went oneway; Marse Billy horse anudder. But seein' as I done knowed Ned de longest, I followed him—an' he fotch me home. Run? No, twarnt runnin', twas flyin'; an' every jump de varmints was a-reachin' for me. I hear deir teeth, jess as plain, clashin' like sheep shears. Umgh-umgh! Beverly hump heself he did. Jess look at my clothes! I left de rest of 'em on de bushes. Whar Marse Billy? Lord a-mussy, I dunno! I mighty 'fraid de wolves done got him, leastwise ef he didn't set hard on dat dere fool gray.