The song of the woodman ceased as he discovered the body.  With an exclamation, he stooped down to examine it, and his hands were suffused with the blood which had found its way through the garments.  He saw that life was not extinct, and readily supposing the stupor the consequence of loss of blood rather than of vital injury, he paused a few moments as in seeming meditation, then turning from the master to his unreluctant steed, he threw himself upon his back, and was quickly out of sight.  He soon returned, bringing with him a wagon and team, such as all farmers possess in that region, and lifting the inanimate form into the rude vehicle with a tender caution that indicated a true humanity, walking slowly beside the horses, and carefully avoiding all such obstructions in the road, as by disordering the motion would have given pain to the sufferer, he carried him safely, and after the delay of a few hours, into the frontier, and then almost unknown, village of Chestatee.

It was well for the youth that he had fallen into such hands.  There were few persons in that part of the world like Mark Forrester.  A better heart, or more honorable spirit, lived not; and in spite of an erring and neglected education—­of evil associations, and sometimes evil pursuits—­he was still a worthy specimen of manhood.  We may as well here describe him, as he appears to us; for at this period the youth was still insensible—­unconscious of his deliverance as he was of his deliverer.

Mark Forrester was a stout, strongly-built, yet active person, some six feet in height, square and broad-shouldered—­exhibiting an outline, wanting, perhaps, in some of the more rounded graces of form, yet at the same time far from symmetrical deficiency.  There was, also, not a little of ease and agility, together with a rude gracefulness in his action, the result equally of the well-combined organization of his animal man and of the hardy habits of his woodland life.  His appearance was youthful, and the passing glance would perhaps have rated him at little more than six or seven-and-twenty.  His broad, full chest, heaving strongly with a consciousness of might—­together with the generally athletic muscularity of his whole person—­indicated correctly the possession of prodigious strength.  His face was finely southern.  His features were frank and fearless—­moderately intelligent, and well marked—­the tout ensemble showing an active vitality, strong, and usually just feelings, and a good-natured freedom of character, which enlisted confidence, and seemed likely to acknowledge few restraints of a merely conventional kind.  Nor, in any of these particulars, did the outward falsely interpret the inward man.  With the possession of a giant’s powers, he was seldom so far borne forward by his impulses, whether of pride or of passion, as to permit of their wanton or improper use.  His eye, too, had a not unpleasing twinkle, promising more of good-fellowship and a heart at ease than may