Bert Gordon was not like his brother in anything except his appearance. His features resembled Don’s, but instead of the latter’s tough, wiry body, he had a slender little figure that could endure but trifling exposure and hardship, and a delicate constitution that had been badly shattered by the plague of that south-western region--the fever and ague. He took but little interest in the violent sports of which his brother was so fond; and if he had consulted his own inclinations, he would any day have chosen an easy-chair and a good book in preference to a morning’s gallop. But the doctor insisted on daily exercise, and that was one reason why General Gordon had purchased the “speckled ponies” which were so obnoxious to Godfrey Evans and his son Dan. The ponies were beauties, and Dan called them “circus hosses” because their color was piebald, like that of a performing steed he had once seen in a small show that stopped for a day at Rochdale, as the steamboat-landing three miles distant was called. Their long, wavy manes reached to their knees, their tails swept the ground as they walked, and their favorite gait was an easy amble which scarcely moved their riders in the saddles. They were not fiery or swift enough to suit Don, who always went at a high-pressure rate, but they suited Bert very well. They would stand fire like old cavalry horses, and many a fine bunch of quails and squirrels had their owners shot from their backs. As the boys came ambling along, talking and laughing with each other as though they felt at peace with themselves and all the world, the inmates of the cabin turned to look at them. “Another dog,” growled Godfrey, as his eyes rested on a splendid young pointer that trotted along behind Don’s horse. “They’ve got a new dog every day. What it takes to keep them wuthless curs would make me rich!” “They are not worthless curs,” said David, in a low tone. “They are fine hunting dogs, and the general has one that cost him a hundred dollars!” “An’ the Gordons hain’t got no money, I think I heared ye say,” sneered his father. “How then can they buy dogs with a hundred dollars, I’d like to know?” “Don’t talk so loud,” interrupted David. “You don’t want them to hear you, do you?” “I don’t keer who hears me when I say----” Just then there was a clatter of hoofs in front of the cabin, which ceased suddenly as the new-comers drew rein before the open door. “Is David at--O, I beg pardon,” exclaimed a cheery voice. “We did not know you were at dinner. We will wait, as we are in no hurry.” “I’m here, and ready to serve you any way I can,” said David, rising from the block of wood which served him for a chair. “I have finished my dinner.”