“What’s that?” he asked. “Some animal?”
Watson gave a grim, unpleasant laugh. “It’s a hound,” he answered. “Come on; we don’t want that sort of gentleman after us. He’d be a rougher animal to handle than Waggie.”
George redoubled his pace. But his steps began to lag; his brain was in a whirl; he began to feel as if he was acting a part in some horrible dream. Nothing about him seemed real; it was as if his sensations were those of another person.
“Anything wrong?” asked Watson, as he saw that the lad was falling behind him.
“Nothing; I’m coming,” was the plucky answer. But fatigue and hunger, and exposure to the rain, had done their work. George tottered, clutched at the air, and then sank on the hillside, inert and unconscious. In a moment Waggie was licking his face, with a pathetic expression of inquiry in his little brown eyes, and Watson was bending over him. Again came the bay from the hound and the distant cry from a human voice.
CHAPTER VIII
TWO WEARY WANDERERS
“Poor boy,” muttered Watson. “He is done out.” He saw that George’s collapse was due to a fainting spell, which in itself was nothing dangerous. But when he heard the distant baying of the dog, and heard, too, the voices of men—no doubt some of the armed Southerners from the pursuing train—he saw the peril that encompassed both himself and the boy. Here they were almost on top of a hill, near the enemy, and with no means of escape should they be unfortunate enough to be seen by the Southerners or tracked by the hound. If George could be gotten at once to the other side of the hill he would be screened from view—otherwise he and Watson would soon——But the soldier did not stop to think what might happen. He jumped quickly to his feet, seized the unconscious George, and ran with him, as one might have run with some helpless infant, to the top of the hill, and then down on the other side. Waggie came barking after them; he seemed to ask why it was that his master had gone to sleep in this sudden fashion. Watson paused for a few seconds at the bottom of the hill, and placed his burden on the wet grass. There was as yet no sign of returning life. Once more came that uncanny bay. The man again took George in his arms.