Having already some general idea of the whereabouts of
the fugitive, and the directions given by Munro having been of the most
specific character, they found little difficulty, after a moderate ride
of some four or five miles, in striking upon the path directly leading
to the Wolf's Neck.
At this time, fortunately for their object, they were encountered
suddenly by--our old acquaintance, Chub Williams, whom, but little
before, we have seen separating from the individual in whose pursuit
they were now engaged. The deformed quietly rode along with the party,
but without seeming to recognise their existence--singing all the while
a strange woodland melody of the time and region--probably the
production of some village wit:--
"Her frock it was a _yaller_,
And she was _mighty sprigh_
And she bounced at many a _feller_
Who came _a-fighting shy_.
"Her eye was like a _sarpent's eye_.
Her cheek was like a flower,
But her tongue was like a pedler's clock,
'Twas a-striking every hour.
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