account of the assault made
upon him in the wood, and of his escape; all of which, already known to
the reader, will call for no additional details. In reply to the
unscrupulous inquiry of Forrester, the youth, with as little hesitation,
declared himself to be a native of the neighboring state of South
Carolina, born in one of its middle districts, and now on his way to
Tennessee. He concluded with giving his name.

"Colleton, Colleton," repeated the other, as if reviving some
recollection of old time--"why, 'squire, I once knew a whole family of
that name in Carolina. I'm from Carolina myself, you must know. There
was an old codger--a fine, hearty buck--old Ralph Colleton--Colonel
Ralph, as they used to call him. He did have a power of money, and a
smart chance of lands and field-niggers; but they did say he was going
behindhand, for he didn't know how to keep what he had. He was always
buying, and living large; but that can't last for ever. I saw him first
at a muster. I was then just eighteen, and went out with the rest, for
the first time. Maybe, 'squire, I didn't take the rag off the bush that
day. I belonged to Captain Williams's troop, called the 'Bush-Whackers.'
We were all fine-looking fellows, though I say it myself. I was no
chicken, I tell you. From that day, Mark Forrester wrote himself down
'_man_' And well he might, 'squire, and no small one neither. Six feet
in stocking-foot, sound in wind and limb--could outrun, outjump,
outwrestle, outfight, and outdo anyhow, any lad of my inches in the
whole district. There was Tom Foster, that for five long years counted
himself cock of the walk, and crowed like a chicken whenever he came out
upon the ground. You never saw Tom, I reckon, for he went off to
Mississippi after I sowed him up. He couldn't stand it any longer, since
it was no use, I licked him in sich short order: he wasn't a mouthful.
After that, the whole ground was mine; nobody could stand before me,
'squire; though now the case may be different, for Sumter's a destrict,
'squire, that a'n't slow at raising game chickens."

At the close of this rambling harangue, Mark Forrester, as we may now be
permitted to call him, looked down upon his own person with no small
share of complacency. He was still, doubtless, all the man he boasted
himself to have been; his person, as we have already briefly described
it, offering, as well from its bulk and well-distributed muscle as from
its perfect symmetry, a fine m