Past the perils of the auction-block, the lash, and the bloodhounds, a vast emigration of blacks were smuggled through Cincinnati—the Cumberland Gap of their race—and, guided by that celestial scout, the north star, won their way to Canada and to freedom.
Doby was vastly relieved about his lyric tenor. Still, he asked, "How will he know which way to go?"
Simon Kenton sang softly,
"He wave hes tail,
Hes sma', wee tail,
At no'th star in de sky."
Then Doby smiled happily, "And he won't mind cold and hunger and he can't be captured while he has such faith in the luck that a boy—almost red-headed—gave him; and he wears in his kinks the left hind foot of a stolen rabbit!"