paces along the dark route. In many places the marks on the trees
were the only indications of a road, with perhaps an occasional
remnant of a pine that, by being cut close to the earth, so as to
leave nothing visible but its base of roots, spreading for twenty feet
in every direction, was apparently placed there as a beacon to warn
the traveller that it was the centre of a highway.

Into one of these roads the active sheriff led the way, first striking
out of the foot-path, by which they had descended from the sugar-bush,
across a little bridge, formed of round logs laid loosely on sleepers
of pine, in which large openings of a formidable width were frequent.
The nag of Richard, when it reached one of these gaps, laid its nose
along the logs and stepped across the difficult passage with the
sagacity of a man; but the blooded filly which Miss Temple rode
disdained so humble a movement. She made a step or two with an
unusual caution, and then, on reaching the broadest opening, obedient
to the curt and whip of her fearless mistress, she bounded across the
dangerous pass with the activity of a squirrel.

“Gently, gently, my child,” said Marmaduke, who was following in the
manner of Richard; “this is not a country for equestrian feats. Much
prudence is requisite to journey through our rough paths with safety.
Thou mayst practise thy skill in horsemanship on the plains of New
Jersey with safety; but in the hills of Otsego they may be suspended
for a time.”

“I may as well then relinquish my saddle at once, dear sir,” returned
his daughter; “for if it is to be laid aside until this wild country
be improved, old age will overtake me, and put an end to what you term
my equestrian feats.”