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“Stranger, when I looked down from the hills of Paint creek, and saw the block house scattered over the bottom, and not a cabin standin’ or a livin’ cre’ter to be seen in the settlement of Chillicothe, my heart left me; I become a woman at once, and sot down and cry’d as if I’d been whipped to death.” The old man’s voice grew husky, and the tears suffused his eyes, but after a few sighs and a tear, he proceeded:

“Well, you see, stranger, a man cannot always be a child, nor a woman, either; my crying spell appeared to ease my heart amazin’ly. I shouldered old kit here, and down I went to examine things. The hurricane had scattered every thing; the fire had been at work too, but, great God! the bloody wolf had been thar, the settlement was kivered with the bloody bones of my own family and friends; if any had escaped the hurricane, the fire or wolf, the Ingins finished ’em, for I never seen ’em afterwards; I couldn’t bear to stay about the place, I’d no home, friend, or kindred. I took to the woods, and swore eternal death to the red skins and my nat’ral inimy, the wolf! I’ve been true to my word, stranger; that cabin is lined with skelps and ornamented with Ingin top-knots! Look in, ha! ha! see there! they may well call old Chris the Wolf Slayer! “

The drover regaled his eyes on the trophies of the old forlorn hunter, and then visited the perch, which was situated close by a “deer lick,” where wolves resorted to fall upon their victims. And from this perch old Wolf Slayer had made fearful work upon his nat’ral inimy the night previous. The old hunter assisted, during the day, to collect such of the scattered drove as yet were alive or to be found; the men came with another of their companions, and the small drove and men left the scene of terror and disaster, wishing a God-speed to the Wolf Slayer.