The sun was perhaps an hour above the mountain tops, when a solitary hunter, in the direction of the cane-brake, might have been seen shaping his course toward the hill whereon Algernon and Ella had so lately paused to contemplate the dawning day. Upon his shoulder rested a long rifle, and a dog of the Newfoundland species followed in his steps or trotted along by his side. In a few minutes he reached the place referred to; when the snuffling of his canine companion causing him to look down, his attention instantly became fixed upon the foot-prints of the horses which had passed there the day before, and particularly on the two that had repassed there so lately.
"What is it, Cæsar?" said he, addressing the brute. "Nothing wrong here, I reckon." Cæsar, as if conscious of his master's language, raised his head, and looking down into the ravine, appeared to snuff the air; then darting forward, he was quickly lost among the branching cedars. Scarcely thirty seconds elapsed, ere a long, low howl came up from the valley; and starting like one suddenly surprised by some disagreeable occurrence, the hunter, with a cheek slightly blanched, hurried down the crooked path, muttering as he went, "Thar's something wrong, for sartin—for Cæsar never lies."
In less than a minute the hunter came in sight of his dog, which he found standing with his hind feet on the ground and his fore-paws resting on the carcass of a horse, that had apparently been dead but a short time. As Cæsar perceived his master approach, he uttered another of those peculiar, long, low, mournful howls, which the superstitious not unfrequently interpret as omens of evil.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed the hunter, as he came up; "thar's been foul play here, Cæsar—foul play, for sartin. D'ye think, dog, it war Indians as done it?"
The brute looked up into the speaker's face, with one of those expressions of intelligence or sagacity, which seem to speak what the tongue has not power to utter, and then wagging his tail, gave a sharp, fierce bark.
"Right, dog!" continued the other, as, stooping to the ground, he began to examine with great care the prints left there by human feet. "Right, dog, they're the rale varmints, and no mistake. Ef all folks war as sensible and knowing as you, thar would'nt be many fools about, I reckon."
Having finished his examination of the ground, the hunter again turned to look at the carcass of the horse, which was lying on its left side, some two feet from the path, and had apparently fallen dead from a shot in the forehead, between the eyes. An old saddle, devoid of straps, lay just concealed under the branching cedars. The ground around was trodden as if from a scuffle, and the limbs of the trees were broken in many places—while in two or three others could be seen spots of blood, not even yet dry—none of which informants of the recent struggle escaped the keen observation of the woodsman. Suddenly the dog, which had been watching his master's motions intently, put his nose to the ground, darted along the path further into the ravine, and presently resounded another of those mournful howls.
"Ha! another diskivery!" exclaimed the hunter, as he started after his companion.
About thirty yards further on, he came upon the carcass of another horse, which had been killed by a ball in the right side, and the blow of some weapon, probably a tomahawk, on the head. By its side also lay a lady's saddle, stripped like the former of its trappings. This the woodsman now proceeded to examine attentively, for something like a minute, during which time a troubled expression rested on his dark, sunburnt features.
"I'm either mightily mistaken," said he at length, with a grave look, "or that thar horse and saddle is the property of Ben Younker; and I reckon it's the same critter as is rid by Ella Barnwell. Heaven forbid, sweet lady, that it be thou as met with this terrible misfortune!—but ef it be, by the Power that made me, I swar to follow on thy trail; and ef I meet any of thy captors, then, Betsey, I'll just call on you for a backwoods sentiment."
As he concluded, the hunter turned with a look of affection towards his rifle, which he firmly grasped with a nervous motion. At this moment, the dog, which had been busying himself by running to and fro with his nose to the ground, suddenly paused, and laying back his ears, uttered a low, fierce growl. The hunter cast toward him a quick glance; and dropping upon his knees, applied his ear to the earth, where he remained some fifteen seconds; then rising to his feet, he made a motion with his hand, and together with Cæsar withdrew into the thicket. (43 - 44)

In the course of conversation that followed, it was asked of Boone how he chanced to be in the vicinity, and learned of the calamity that had befallen Algernon and Ella, before any of the others; to which he replied, by stating that he was on his way from Boonesborough to Bryan's Station, and coming into the path just above the ravine, had been indebted to his noble brute companion for the discovery—a circumstance which raised Cæsar in the estimation of the whole party to a wonderful degree. Nor was this estimation lessened by the conduct of Cæsar himself in the present instance; for true to his training, instinct, and great sagacity, he led them forward at a rapid pace, and seemed possessed of reasoning powers that would have done no discredit to an intelligent human being. One instance in point is worthy of note. In passing through a dense thicket on the Indian trail, the noble brute discovered a small fragment of ribbon, which he instantly seized in his mouth, and, turning back to his master, came up to him, wagging his tail, with a look expressive of joy, and dropped it at his feet. On examination it was recognized as a detached portion of a ribbon worn by Ella; and this little incident gave great animation and encouragement to the party—as it proved that she at least was yet alive, and had a hope of being followed by friends.
. . . .
At the river's bank, the sagacious Cæsar discovered another piece of ribbon—dropped there as the reader knows by Ella—which he carried in triumph to his master, and received in turn a few fond caresses.
. . . .
Dividing his party again as before, Boone proceeded with them to examine closely both banks of the stream for the other trail. Commencing where they had left off on the announcement of Isaac, they moved slowly downward, taking due note of every bush, leaf and blade as they went along—often pausing and bending on their knees, to observe some spot more minutely, where it seemed probable their enemies had withdrawn from the water. Cæsar, too, apparently comprehending the object of their search, ran to and fro, snuffing at every thing he saw, sometimes with his nose to the ground and sometimes elevated in the air. At length he gave a peculiar whine, at a spot about twenty yards below that which had been reached by his master, on the side opposite Isaac's discovery; and hastening to him, Boone immediately communicated to the others the cheering intelligence that the trail had been found.
. . . .
All now pressed forward with renewed energy; and having gained the summit of the hill, which here rose to the height of eighty feet, they were enabled, by the aid of Cæsar, to come quickly upon the trail of the Indians, who, doubtless supposing themselves now safe from pursuit, had taken little or no pains to conceal their course.
. . . .
Boone sat by the fire, apparently in deep contemplation, until a few embers only remained; then pointing Cæsar to his place near the entrance, he threw himself at length upon the ground, and was soon imitating the example of his young comrades.
. . . .
About three hours past noon the storm began to show signs of abatement—the wind blew less hard, and had veered several points to the north—an event which the old hunter noted with great satisfaction. They had now gained a point within ten miles of the beautiful Ohio; when the dog—which, since he had had no trail to guide him, ran where he chose—commenced barking spiritedly, some fifty paces to the left of the party, who immediately set off at a brisk gait to learn the cause.
"I'll wager what you dare, lads, the pup's found the trail," said Boone.
The event proved him in the right; for on coming up, the footsteps of both captors and captives, who had evidently passed there not over three hours before, could be distinctly traced in the soft earth.
. . . .
Scarcely had they succeeded, after several attempts, in effecting a bright, ruddy blaze—which threw from their forms, dark, fantastic shadows, against the earth, trees and neighboring bushes—when Cæsar uttered a low, deep growl; and Boone, grasping his rifle tightly, motioned his companions to follow him in silence into an adjoining thicket. Here, after cautioning them to remain perfectly quiet, unless they heard some alarm, he carefully parted the bushes, and glided noiselessly away, saying, in a low tone, as he departed:
"I rather 'spect it's Isaac; but I'd like to be sartin on't, afore I commit myself."
For some five or ten minutes after the old hunter disappeared, all was silent, save the crackling of the fire, the rustling of the leaves, the sighing of the wind among the trees, and the rippling of the now swollen and muddy waters of the Ohio. At length the sound of a voice was heard some fifty paces distant, followed immediately by another in a louder tone.
On hearing this, our friends in the thicket rushed forward, and were soon engaged in shaking the hands of Isaac and his comrades, with a heartiness on both sides that showed the pleasure of meeting was earnest, and unalloyed.