It should be added regarding Alden and Jethro that, having spent their lives on what might be called the frontier, they had used every privilege which came within their reach. Both were fine horsemen, and Alden had no superior among the young men in the neighborhood as a hunter and marksman. The two spent every hour they could command in roaming through the forests, some of which were miles distant. While the colored youth did well when all the circumstances are remembered, he was by no means the equal of his young master in courage or in skill with the rifle.
Alden, accompanied by Jethro, walked into St. Joe and joined the spectators who were waiting to see Carlyle start on his ride of a hundred and thirty miles westward. They had known of his intention for several days. The enterprise bore so close a relation to their own plans that they felt peculiar interest in it.
“Gorry! ain’t it queer, Al?” asked his companion, after the gaily bedecked rider had dashed by on his way to the ferry.
“Isn’t what queer?” inquired his companion, in turn.
“Why, dat Alec Carlyle am gwine ober de
