unt and aged pine,
that stood like a guard beside its tumbled-down porch.

Mr. Blake seemed to have been struck by the same fact concerning its
loneliness, for hurriedly replacing his pistol in his breast pocket, he
rode slowly forward. I instantly conceived the plan of striking across
the belt of underbrush that separated me from this old dwelling, and by
taking my stand opposite its front, intercept a view of Mr. Blake as
he approached. Hastily dismounting, therefore, I led my horse into the
bushes and tied her to a tree, proceeding to carry out my plan on foot.
I was so far successful as to arrive at the further edge of the wood,
which was thick enough to conceal my presence without being too dense to
obstruct my vision, just as Mr. Blake passed on his way to this solitary
dwelling. He was looking very anxious, but determined. Turning my eyes
from him, I took another glance at the house, which by this movement I
had brought directly before me. It was even more deserted-looking than
I had thought; its unpainted front with its double row of blank windows
meeting your gaze without a response, while the huge old pine with half
its limbs dismantled of foliage, rattled its old bones against its sides
and moaned in its aged fashion like the solitary retainer of a dead
race.

I own I felt the cold shivers creep down my back as that creaking sound
struck my ears, though as the day was chill with an east wind I dare say
it was more the effect of my sudden cessation from exercise, than of
any superstitious awe I felt. Mr. Blake seemed to labor under no such
impressions. Riding up to the front door he knocked without dismounting,
on its dismal panels with his riding whip. No response was heard.
Knitting his brows impatiently, he tried the latch: the door was locked.
Hastily running his eye over the face of the building, he drew rein and
proceeded to ride around the house, which he could easily do owing
to the absence of every obstruction in the way of fence or shrubbery.
Finding no means of entrance he returned again to the front door which
he shook with an impatient hand that however produced no impression
upon the trusty lock, and recognizing, doubtless, the futility of his
endeavors, he drew back, and merely pausing to give one other look at
its deserted front, turned his horse's head, and to my great amazement,
proceeded with sombre mien and clouded brow to retake the road to
Melville.

This old inn or decayed homestead w