Along the trail which wound along the banks of the Yadkin, in North Carolina, rode a tall, sinewy man; he had a bronzed, resolute face, wore the hunting shirt, leggins and moccasins of the backwoods, and had hanging from one shoulder a long flint-locked rifle. A small buck, which this unerring weapon of the hunter had lately brought down, lay across his saddle bow. Away along the trail, at a place where the river bent sharply, a cloud of dust arose in the trail; and as the hunter rode forward he kept his keen eyes upon this.

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