“‘What be the matter with your ’orse, sir? He be so lame he can ’ardly walk?’
“‘The matter with my horse!’ I repeated; ‘there was nothing the matter with him when I gave him into your charge;’ and, in no amiable mood, I started for the stable.
“My horse, which was the gift of a deceased friend, was one of the finest animals I ever saw. I had owned him for more than six years, during which he had been my almost constant companion; and as I had neither wife nor child to love, it is no wonder that my affections clustered around him. I found that he was indeed lame; one of his legs was swollen to twice its usual size, and it was with great difficulty that he could move. I was for some time entirely at a loss how to account for it, and felt very much like giving the hostler, who stood at a little distance, eyeing me as though he expected a kicking, a piece of my mind, when I happened to remember that, as I was that afternoon descending a steep hill, my horse had stepped upon a rolling stone, and almost thrown me from the saddle; and I noticed that he limped a little afterward; but I thought it was nothing serious, and had almost forgotten the circumstance. This I explained, in a few words, to the hostler, who drew a long breath, as if a mighty load had been removed from his breast. After rubbing the animal’s leg with some liniment, which I had brought with me, I saw him plentifully fed and bedded down, and returned to the tavern. After spending an hour listening to the ‘yarns’ of the occupants of the bar-room, I went up to bed, and was soon fast asleep. Near the middle of the night, I was aroused by loud voices under my window; and, as soon as I was fairly awake, I found that something unusual was going on. The shrill, frightened voices of the females mingled with the hoarse ejaculations of the men, and every thing appeared to be in the greatest confusion. I sprang out of bed, and after hastily drawing on my clothes, ran down into the bar-room.
“‘What’s the matter, landlord?’ I inquired of my host, as he hurried by me, pale and almost breathless with excitement.
“‘Matter!’ he repeated. ‘Come and see. Giles Barlow has been around again, and there is one poor fellow less in the world, I’m afraid.’
“He led the way to a small bed-room, which opened off the bar-room, where I found several persons crowded around a bed, on which lay the form of a man, and a surgeon was engaged in bandaging an ugly-looking wound, which he had received in his breast. As soon as the operation was completed, he informed us, in reply to an inquiry of one of the bystanders, that the wound was dangerous, but that by careful nursing the man might recover; and ended by requesting us to leave the room, as much depended on his being kept quiet. We moved back into the bar-room, and I inquired of one of the men who Giles Barlow was.
“‘Why, don’t you know?’ he asked, in surprise. ‘I thought everybody had heard of him! I guess you are a stranger in these parts, ain’t you?’
“I replied in the affirmative.
“‘You must live a good piece from here,’ said the man, ‘or you would certainly have heard of Giles Barlow. He is a highwayman, that has been about here for almost ten years, murdering folks and stealing their money. He goes on the principle that “dead men tell no tales.”’
“‘Why haven’t you arrested him before this time?’ I inquired.
“’O, yes,’ answered the man, ‘that’s all easy enough to talk about. Haven’t we tried that game? We’ve hunted him with rifles, and tracked him with blood-hounds, but you might as well try to catch a will-o’-the-wisp.’
“‘What sort of a looking man is he?’ I asked.
“‘He’s a small man,’ answered my informant, ‘and looks like a dried-up mullen-stalk. But, the Lord love you, he’s quick as lightning, and he’s got an eye that can look right through a common man. And such hair! It is long and curly, and looks like snakes stuck on his head. I’ve seen him once, and I never want to meet him alone in the woods, now, I tell you.’
“I felt some curiosity to know something more of this noted robber, but before I could ask another question the man had walked away, shrugging his shoulders, and joined a group of his companions, who stood in one corner of the room, talking over the matter.
“After the exciting scenes through which I had just passed, sleep was of course out of the question; and I stretched myself out on a bench by the fireplace, and waited impatiently for the morning. It came at length, and, as was my usual custom, I hurried out to the stable to look after my horse. I found him much better, but his leg was still swollen, and I knew that he would not be in good traveling condition for at least a week.
“‘Landlord,’ I exclaimed, as I entered the bar-room, ‘where can I hire a horse for two or three days? I must be in Bennington by day after to-morrow, and my horse is too lame to travel.’
“‘Well,’ said the landlord, ‘you are in a nice fix. I don’t believe there is a horse about here you can get.’
“‘I must have one,’ I answered, ‘for I must be in Bennington as soon as possible.’
“‘Well, I’ll see what I can do for you,’ said the landlord, and, going to the door, he shouted to the hostler, who stood in the stable, rubbing down my horse, ‘Tom, go over to Bill Parker’s and see if you can get his mare. Tell him there’s a gentleman here who wants to hire her for two or three days.’
“Tom started off immediately, but soon returned with the information that Mr. Parker had gone off into the country to buy cattle, and would not return in less than a week.
“What should I do? I had an important case to attend to in Bennington, and must be there in time. I was about making up my mind that I would start off on foot, when the landlord suddenly exclaimed:
“‘I’ll tell you what you can do. This creek’ (pointing to a wide, deep stream which flowed by a little distance from the tavern) ‘runs within half a mile of where you want to go; and I guess you might hire Jim Hilton’s boat.’
“Mr. Hilton’s dwelling was pointed out to me, and, in a few moments, I found my man chopping wood in the yard. I made known my wants. After rolling his quid about in his mouth, he concluded to let me have the boat, or rather dugout, provided I would ‘do the fair thing’ by him. To this I readily agreed. After giving emphatic directions as to the treatment of my horse, I stepped into the canoe, and was soon out of sight of the tavern. I used my paddle with a will, and made good headway. When I became weary, I would cease paddling, and allow the canoe to glide along with the current, giving only an occasional stroke to direct its course.
“About noon, I began to grow hungry, and turned the canoe’s head toward the shore, to eat my dinner and rest myself, for I had become very tired from the cramped position in which I was obliged to sit. In about an hour I made preparations to continue my journey, and was about pushing the canoe from the shore, when a strong, cheery voice called out:
“‘Hallo, friend! whither bound?’
“I looked up, and saw a man, dressed in the garb of a hunter, standing on the bank above me, leaning on his rifle.
“‘I am going to Bennington,’ I replied.
“‘Are you? That’s lucky. I am traveling in the same direction. Would you have any objections to good company?’
“‘No sir,’ I replied. ‘Come on.’
“The hunter came down the bank; depositing his rifle and knapsack carefully in the bow of the canoe, he took up one of the paddles, and we pulled from the shore. As soon as we got out into the current, I turned, with some casual remark, to take a nearer look at my passenger. Merciful Heaven! how I started! He was a small man, considerably below the medium hight, very slim, but well formed, and wiry as an eel, and the enormous muscles on his limbs showed plainly with every motion he made. But his eye! How it flashed! and when he turned it on me I felt as though he were reading my very thoughts. And then there were the long ‘snaky’ ringlets, which the man at the tavern