onel had just returned
from one of his hunting trips and the tramping of horses mingled
with the rough voices of the negro slaves sounded without. When
Colonel Zane entered the house he was greeted affectionately by his
wife and sister. The latter, at the death of her aunt in
Philadelphia, had come west to live with her brother, and had been
there since late in the preceding autumn. It was a welcome sight for
the eyes of a tired and weary hunter. The tender kiss of his comely
wife, the cries of the delighted children, and the crackling of the
fire warmed his heart and made him feel how good it was to be home
again after a three days' march in the woods. Placing his rifle in a
corner and throwing aside his wet hunting coat, he turned and stood
with his back to the bright blaze. Still young and vigorous, Colonel
Zane was a handsome man. Tall, though not heavy, his frame denoted
great strength and endurance. His face was smooth, his heavy
eyebrows met in a straight line; his eyes were dark and now beamed
with a kindly light; his jaw was square and massive; his mouth
resolute; in fact, his whole face was strikingly expressive of
courage and geniality. A great wolf dog had followed him in and,
tired from travel, had stretched himself out before the fireplace,
laying his noble head on the paws he had extended toward the warm
blaze.

"Well! Well! I am nearly starved and mighty glad to get back," said
the Colonel, with a smile of satisfaction at the steaming dishes a
negro servant was bringing from the kitchen.

"We are glad you have returned," answered his wife, whose glowing
face testified to the pleasure she felt. "Supper is ready--Annie,
bring in some cream--yes, indeed, I am happy that you are home. I
never have a moment's peace when you are away, especially when you
are accompanied by Lewis Wetzel."

"Our hunt was a failure," said the Colonel, after he had helped
himself to a plate full of roast wild turkey. "The bears have just
come out of their winter's sleep and are unusually wary at this
time. We saw many signs of their work, tearing rotten logs to pieces
in search of grubs and bees' nests. Wetzel killed a deer and we
baited a likely place where we had discovered many bear tracks. We
stayed up all night in a drizzling rain, hoping to get a shot. I am
tired out. So is Tige. Wetzel did not mind the weather or the ill
luck, and when we ran across some Indian sign he went off on one of
his lonely tramps, leaving me t