Rolfe started at the tidings; the scenes in which he seemed destined to act, flitted before him, but suppressing his feelings, he asked, “by whom?” “And who should it be but the Ingens?—I got upon their track right soon, and made a light through one of 'em.” “Shot him?” “Yes, look at the bore of that gun,” passing it to him. “Don't you think 'twould make a light through him? And he don't know to this day who it was that did it, but come, it's getting late, where are you going to camp to night?” “That is more than I can tell,” replied Rolfe, “I did hope to get on as far as Bowling Green.” “Oh! that will never do! 'tis too far; come, draw in your horns, and take the back track. The trail from here to Bowling Green is a bad one, and I do not think you can follow it; moreover, I have a friend a short mile from here, and what little he has, you are as welcome to as a brother. It is right rough living, but with a hearty welcome, and a good appetite, I should think you might get along, come, you can tell us the news from the old settlements.” Rolfe, who was fatigued and weary, accepted the stranger's invitation with as much frankness as it was given; and proceeded with him to the cabin of his friend, where he met with much hospitality, and passed the night in telling them of “their kin[1] in the old country,” or else listening to hunting stories, with the more exciting details of frontier warfare. Several days passed, and still Rolfe remained, charmed by the bold daring, the manly frankness, and lofty independence of his companion. Time wore on, they became inseparable, and the accomplished and talented Rolfe became a hunter of the West. [Footnote 1: See note B.] That he should have become strongly attached to hunting, an occupation so little in unison with his former habits, seems at the first view a strange annunciation, yet such he became, and such, from the nature of his situation, was the pursuit most likely to be followed. Having left home sick at heart, with blighted hopes, and feelings mortified, he arrived in Kentucky at a time when a frontier war was daily apprehended. A hunter's life was the life of a warrior, for he knew not where he might meet an enemy. Rolfe had no plan sketched out for the future, and his sole object was to forget the past. In this situation, the first person with whom he forms an acquaintance, possesses in an eminent degree some of the nobler virtues of our nature; charms him with tales of border warfare, of lofty daring and bold conception, describes to him as a hunter only can, the high, yet pleasing excitement produced by being alone in the wild woods, where danger is known to be abroad. The effect of these things upon the mind of Rolfe may be conceived, when, rather more than a year after this time, the two hunters who are crossing the Ohio, may be identified with the persons we have been describing.