Guy Rivers | Page 5

any prospect of success remained, he circled about until equally
hopeless and fatigued; then, remounted his steed, and throwing the
bridle upon his neck, with something of the indifference of despair, he
plied his spurs, suffering the animal to adopt his own course, which we
shall see was nevertheless interrupted by the appearance of another
party upon the scene, whose introduction we reserve for another
chapter.
CHAPTER II.
THE ENCOUNTER--THE CHEVALIER D'INDUSTRIE.
Thus left to himself, the good steed of our traveller set off, without
hesitation, and with a free step, that promised, at least, to overcome
space hurriedly, if it attained not the desired destination. The rider did
not suffer any of his own doubts to mar a progress so confidently begun;
and a few minutes carried the twain, horse and man, deeply, as it were,
into the very bowels of the forest. The path taken by the steed grew
every moment more and more intricate and difficult of access, and, but
for the interruption already referred to, it is not impossible that a
continued course in the same direction, would have brought the rider to
a full stop from the sheer inaccessibleness of the forest.

The route thus taken lay in a valley which was necessarily more fertile,
more densely packed with thicket, than the higher road which our rider
had been pursuing all the day. The branches grew more and more close;
and, what with the fallen trees, the spreading boughs, the undergrowth,
and broken character of the plain, our horseman was fain to leave the
horse to himself, finding quite enough to do in saving his eyes, and
keeping his head from awkward contact with overhanging timber. The
pace of the beast necessarily sunk into a walk. The question with his
rider was, in what direction to turn, to extricate himself from the mazes
into which he had so rashly ridden? While he mused this question,
Blucher started suddenly with evidently some new and exciting
consciousness. His ears were suddenly lifted--his eyes were strained
upon the copse in front--he halted, as if reluctant to proceed. It was
evident that his senses had taken in some sights, or sounds, which were
unusual.
Of course, our traveller was by no means heedless of this behavior on
the part of the beast. He well knew the superior keenness of the brute
senses, over those of the man; and his own faculties were keenly
enlisted in the scrutiny. There might be wolves along the track--the
country was not wanting in them; or, more to be feared, there might be
a panther lurking along some great overhanging forest bough. There
was need to be vigilant. Either of these savages would make his
propinquity known, at a short distance, to the senses of an animal so
timid as the horse. Or, it might be, that a worse beast still--always worst
of all when he emulates the nature of the beast--man!--might be lurking
upon the track! If so, the nature of the peril was perhaps greater still, to
the rider if not the steed. The section of the wild world in which our
traveller journeyed was of doubtful character; but sparingly supplied
with good citizens; and most certainly infested with many with whom
the world had quarrelled--whom it had driven forth in shame and terror.
The youth thought of all these things. But they did not overcome his
will, or lessen his courage. Preparing himself, as well as he might, for
all chances, he renewed his efforts to extricate himself from his thick
harborage; pressing his steed firmly, in a direction which seemed to
open fairly, the sky appearing more distinctly through the opening of

the trees above. Meanwhile, he kept his eyes busy, watching right and
left. Still, he could see nothing, hear nothing, but the slight footfall of
his own steed. And yet the animal continued uneasy, his ears pricked
up, his head turning, this way and that, with evident curiosity; his feet
set down hesitatingly, as if uncertain whether to proceed.
Curious and anxious, our traveller patted the neck of the beast
affectionately, and, in low tones, endeavored to soothe his
apprehensions:
"Quietly, Blucher, quietly? What do you see, old fellow, to make you
uneasy? Is it the snug stall, and the dry fodder, and the thirty ears, for
which you long. I'faith, old fellow, the chance is that both of us will
seek shelter and supper in vain to-night."
Blucher pricked up his ears at the tones, however subdued, of his rider's
voice, which he well knew; but his uneasiness continued; and, just
when our young traveller, began to feel some impatience at his
restiffness and coyness, a shrill whistle which rang through the forest,
from the copse in front, seemed at once to determine the correctness of
sense in the