Mad Anthony's Scouts; or, the Rangers of Kentucky

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

A tall, spare specimen of the backwoodsman, who was sitting by a smouldering camp-fire, had arisen and grasped the hand of a genial-faced Irishman, who was also clad in the habiliments of the forest.

"My name is Smith, Hezekiah Smith," said the former, "What is yours?"

"Pat Mulroony, lately from Tipperary, Ireland, may it plase yer honor."

"Haow did you—how was it you came to find me, if I may be allowed to inquire?" asked Smith, peering round in his face.

"I was jist thraveling through the forest, when I spied the shmoke of fire, and says I to meself, says I, 'There's ayther some graan youngster, or a band of haythen, as doesn't care who saas their camp-fire,' and with that, I pokes around in the wood till I spies you cookin' your legs over the blaze, when I knows by the swate expression of yer countenance, that ye was a gintleman, and, bedad, I finds I was right."

"What might you be doing? What's your business?" pursued Smith, laboring under a great curiosity.

"Faith, I'm an adventoorer, as the convict said. I've been wanderin' in these parts for siveral wakes, without catchin' glimpse of a white skin, till I came upon you."

"That ain't what I mean. What brought you out here in the first place?"

"Me legs," replied the Irishman, decidedly.

"Just so, just so; if you've no objection, I'd like to know your motive, not meaning any offence at all."