We soon reached the forests that lay at the foot of the mountain, and while it was yet somewhat dark, we began to climb up the ledges. As we were passing through a small copse of tall trees without underwood, I heard the step of something near by, and immediately discovered a dark object passing slowly on before me. I drew up my piece, and was on the point of firing, when Bill struck down the barrel of my gun, and exclaimed, “For Heaven’s sake, don’t fire!--it’s Old Sarah!” This was said and done in season to prevent my shooting the object at which I aimed, but not to stop the discharge of my firelock. The shot struck the ground at the very feet of my companion, thus coming very near taking his life. The noise of my gun aroused the attention of the singular old woman, whom, with the ardor of a youthful hunter, I had taken for a wild-cat or a wolf. She turned round, and began to speak in a warning voice. “Go back!” said she, at the pitch of her lungs, “go back! for the snow is already falling, and you will both get lost in the woods. In one hour the paths will be covered, and then you cannot find your way among the mountains!” Bill and I both laughed at all this, and I am sorry to say that we returned the kind anxiety of the old woman for our safety, with jeers and gibes. “Take care of yourself! and we will take care of ourselves,” said I. “Keep your breath to cool your porridge,” said Bill. With this and similar impertinence, we passed up the acclivity, leaving the decrepit old woman to climb the mountain as she might. I had seen this personage before, and had heard something of her story; but I was now curious to know more. Accordingly, I asked Bill about her, and he proceeded to tell me all that was known of her character and history. She was a native of Long Island, and during the war of the Revolution had become attached to a British officer, who was stationed there. He wronged her cruelly, and then deserted her. With a mind somewhat bewildered, she wandered into the country, and took up her abode in a cave of the very mountain we were now ascending. Here she had lived for years, visiting the villages in the vicinity in the open seasons, but retiring to her den and subsisting on nuts and roots, during the winter. Many wild stories were told of her. It was said that she had lived so long in the mountain, that the foxes had become familiar with her, and would come and lick her hands. It was said the crows would sit on her head, and the rattlesnakes coil in her lap. Beside all these tales, it was said that “Old Sarah,” as she was called, was a witch, and many persons declared that they had seen her just at dark, or before a thunder-storm, flying through the air on a broomstick.