rey flying before them; but ere long their ravenous
instinct gained the upper hand, and with a unanimous bark they all
rushed in pursuit of the unfortunate negro. Had the wolves caught up
to old Dick in this moment of fury, he might have appealed in vain to
his fiddle. By running he had destroyed the charm, and the coyotes
would not have stopped to listen to him even had he played like
Orpheus in the olden times, or Ole Bull in ours.

Fortunately, the old man reached the cabin at the moment when the
coyotes were at his heels. With a hand rendered doubly vigorous by the
imminence of the danger, he shut the door of the protecting cabin, and
secured it with a beam he found within reach. Then he hoisted himself,
not without sundry lacerations of his garments, on the ruined roof,
the beams of which alone remained, supported on blocks of wood at the
four corners of the walls.

Old Dick found himself comparatively out of danger; but the coyotes
displayed a fury which threatened to become terrible. Several of them
had entered the cabin, and conjointly with those outside they leaped
at the legs of the minstrel, whom rapid movements and repeated kicks
scarce protected from numerous bites.

Old Dick, in spite of his agony, had not forgotten his fiddle, which
had saved his life in the forest. Seizing his bow with a firm hand, he
drew from the instrument a shrill note, which overpowered the
deafening barks of the coyotes, and silenced them as if by
enchantment. This silence henceforth continued, only interrupted by
the hysterical sounds which the fiddle produced under the
fear-stiffened fingers of the old negro performer.

This inharmonious music could not satisfy the starving animals for
long, and from the efforts which they soon made to reach their prey,
old Dick comprehended that noise was not sufficient to enchant the
wolves. They dashed forward more furiously than ever to escalade the
wall. He considered himself lost, especially when he noticed, scarce
half a yard from his trembling legs, the enormous head of a coyote,
whose large, open eyes seemed to flash fire and gleam.

"The Lord ha' mussy on all!" he cried; "I am an eaten man!"

And without knowing what he was about, he let his trembling fingers
stray over the fiddle, and began playing the famous air of "Yankee
Doodle." It was the chant of the swan singing its requiem in the hour
of death.

But suddenly--O, miracle of harmony!--a calm set in round the negro
minstr