home, but lived like the beasts he hunted--wandering from one part of
the country to another, in pursuit of game. All who knew Tom were much
surprised when he came, with a pretty young wife, to settle within three
miles of a planter's farm. Many pitied the poor young creature, who
would have to lead such a solitary life; while others said, "If she was
fool enough to marry him, it was her own look-out." For nearly four
months Tom remained at home, and employed his time in making the old hut
he had fixed on for their residence more comfortable. He cleared and
tilled a small spot of land around it, and Susan began to hope that, for
her sake, he would settle down quietly as a squatter. But these visions
of happiness were soon dispelled, for, as soon as this work was
finished, he recommenced his old erratic mode of life, and was often
absent for weeks together, leaving his wife alone, yet not unprotected,
for, since his marriage, old Nero, a favorite hound, was always left at
home as her guardian. He was a noble dog--a cross between the old
Scottish deerhound and the bloodhound, and would hunt an Indian as well
as a deer or bear, which, Tom said, "was a proof they Injins was a sort
o' warmint, or why should the brute beast take to hunt 'em, nat'ral
like--him that took no notice of white men?"

One clear, cold morning, about two years after their marriage, Susan was
awakened by a loud crash, immediately succeeded by Nero's deep baying.
She recollected that she had shut him in the house, as usual, the night
before. Supposing he had winded some solitary wolf or bear prowling
around the hut, and effected his escape, she took little notice of the
circumstance; but a few moments after came a shrill, wild cry, which
made her blood run cold. To spring from her bed, throw on her clothes,
and rush from the hut, was the work of a minute. She no longer doubted
what the hound was in pursuit of. Fearful thoughts shot through her
brain; she called wildly on Nero, and, to her joy, he came dashing