through the thick underwood. As the dog drew near, she saw that he
galloped heavily, and carried in his mouth some large, dark creature.
Her brain reeled; she felt a cold and sickly shudder dart through her
limbs. But Susan was a hunter's daughter, and, all her life, had been
accustomed to witness scenes of danger and of horror, and in this school
had learned to subdue the natural timidity of her character. With a
powerful effort, she recovered herself, just as Nero dropped at her feet
a little Indian child, apparently between three and four years old. She
bent down over him; but there was no sound or motion: she placed her
hand on his little, naked chest; the heart within had ceased to beat: he
was dead! The deep marks of the dog's fangs were visible on the neck;
but the body was untorn. Old Nero stood, with his large, bright eyes
fixed on the face of his mistress, fawning on her, as if he expected to
be praised for what he had done, and seemed to wonder why she looked so
terrified. But Susan spurned him from her; and the fierce animal, who
would have pulled down an Indian as he would a deer, crouched humbly at
the young woman's feet. Susan carried the little body gently in her arms
to the hut, and laid it on her own bed. Her first impulse was to seize
the loaded rifle that hung over the fire-place, and shoot the hound; and
yet she felt she could not do it, for, in the lone life she led, the
faithful animal seemed like a dear and valued friend, who loved and
watched over her, as if aware of the precious charge intrusted to him.
She thought, also, of what her husband would say, when, on his return,
he should find his old companion dead. Susan had never seen Tom roused.
To her he had ever shown nothing but kindness; yet she feared as well as
loved him, for there was a fire in those dark eyes which told of deep,
wild passions hidden in his breast, and she knew that the lives of a
whole tribe of Indians would be light in the balance against that of his
favorite hound.