The thought flashed into Jake's mind that this was probably filled with the much-vaunted peach-brandy of that section; and as ardent sprits were one of his weaknesses, the temptation to stop and pick up the canteen was very strong, but he conquered it and hurried on after his prey.

Next followed the fugitive's belt, loaded down with an antique cartridge-box, a savage knife made from a rasp and handled with buckhorn, and a fierce-looking horse-pistol with a flint-lock.
"I seemed to be bustin' up a moosyum o' revolutionary relics," said Jake afterward, in describing the incident.

"The feller dropped keepsakes from his forefathers like a bird moltin' its feathers on a windy day.

I begun to think that if I kep up the chase purty soon he'd begin to shed Continental money and knee-britches." The fugitive turned off to the right into a narrow path that wound through the laurel thickets.

Jake followed with all the energy that remained in him, confident that a short distance more would bring him so close to his game that he could force his surrender by a threat of bayoneting.