Raising a large stone, he kicked at the dirt underneath, then suddenly ceased his operations and listened.
Then in the dim light his face became ashen, turning a scar upon his cheek white, and his heart thumped like a drum. He let the rock fall back upon the treasure, and motioned to Pap and Mustard to follow, leading them four times around the walls and crisscross through the center and then back to the entrance.
“Listen, niggers!” Mobile chattered. “My Gawd, listen!”
Far across the swamp they could hear distinctly a steady repetition of three short sounds followed by a long, lowing bellow like a bull: “Ow, ow, ow! Oo-oo-oo-o!”
“Whut’s dat?” Mustard asked.
“Nigger dogs!” Mobile cried with a voice like a sob. “Bloodhounds!”
An uncontrollable sobbing seized the negro and his fright was pitiable. Mustard and Pap, having no experience with such dogs, looked at him uncomprehendingly.
Finally, Mobile dropped to the ground and listened. Then rising, he announced:
“A whole pack, niggers—dogs an’ men! We’ll never git outen dis swamp alive—dem dam’ dogs’ll gnaw our bones! Come on, less see kin we make it to de Massacre Bayou!”
They started on a straight line, running side by side.