ittle further on, the path began to ascend. We had passed out of the
bottom-lands, and were crossing a ridge, which forms the _divide_
between Mud Creek and the Obion River. The soil was now a dry gravel,
with less signs of fertility, and covered with a pine-forest. The trees
were of slender growth; and at intervals their trunks stood far apart,
giving us an opportunity to ride side by side. This was exactly what I
wanted: as I was longing for a conversation with my new acquaintance.

Up to this time, he had observed a profound silence; but for all that, I
fancied he was not disinclined to a little _causerie_. His reserve
seemed to spring from a sense of modest delicacy--as if he did not
desire to take the initiative. I relieved him from this embarrassment,
by opening the dialogue:--"What sort of a gentleman is this Mr Holt?"

"Gentleman!"

"Yes--what sort of _person_ is he?"

"Oh, what sort o' person. Well, stranger, he's what we, in these parts,
call a rough customer."

"Indeed?"

"Rayther, I shed say."

"Is he what you call a poor man?"

"All that I reckon. He hain't got nothin', as I knows on, 'ceptin' his
old critter o' a hoss, an' his clarin' o' a couple o' acres or
thereabout; besides, he only _squats_ upon that."

"He's only a squatter, then?"

"That's all, stranger; tho' I reckon he considers the clarin' as much
his own as I do my bit o' ground, that's been bought an' paid for."

"Indeed?"

"Yes--I shedn't like to be the party that would buy it over his head."

The speaker accompanied these words with a significant glance, which
seemed to say, "I wonder if that's _his_ business here."

"Has he any family?"

"Thar's one--a young critter o' a girl."

"That all?" I asked--seeing that my companion hesitated, as if he had
something more to say, but was backward about declaring it.

"No, stranger--thar war another girl--older than this 'un."

"And she?"

"She--she's gone away."

"Married, I suppose?"

"That's what nobody 'bout here can tell nor whar she's gone, neyther."

The tone in which the young fellow spoke had suddenly altered from gay
to grave; and, by a glimpse of the moonlight, I could perceive that his
countenance was shadowed and sombre. I could have but little doubt as
to the cause of this transformation. It was to be found in the subject
of our conversation--the absent daughter of the squatter. From motives
of delicacy I refrained from pushing my inquiries farther;