"Better keep them back," mutters Bengal; and as Romescos gives the word,—"Come back!" they form a trail behind.
Now white fleecy clouds begin to obscure the sun; then it disappears in a murky haze, and is no longer their guide. After two hours' riding they find a wrong turn has led them far away from their course, and to avoid retracing their steps they make a short cut through the thicket. In another hour they have reached the bank of the stream they sought. Dogs, horses, and men, together drink of its limpid waters, and proceed onward. They have yet several miles of travel before reaching the spot designated by the strange hunter; and seeking their way along the bank is a slow and tedious process. The prize-that human outcast, who has no home where democracy rules,—is the all-absorbing object of their pursuit; money is the god of their hellish purpose.
It is near night-fall, when they, somewhat wearied of the day's ride, halt on a little slope that extends into the river, and from which a long view of its course above opens out. It seems a quiet, inviting spot, and so sequestered that Bengal suggests it be made a resting-place for the night.
"Not a whisper," says Romescos, who, having dismounted, is nervously watching some object in the distance. It is a pretty spot, clothed in softest verdure. How suddenly the quick eye of Romescos discovered the white smoke curling above the green foliage! "See! see!" he whispers again, motioning his hand behind, as Bengal stretches his neck, and looks eagerly in the same direction. "Close dogs-close!" he demands, and the dogs crouch back, and coil their sleek bodies at the horses' feet. There, little more than a mile ahead, the treacherous smoke curls lazily upward, spreading a white haze in the blue atmosphere. Daddy Bob has a rude camp there. A few branches serve for a covering, the bare moss is his bed; the fires of his heart would warm it, were nothing more at hand! Near by is the island on which he seeks refuge when the enemy approaches; and from this lone spot-his home for more than two years-has he sent forth many a fervent prayer, beseeching Almighty God to be his shield and his deliverer. It was but yesterday he saw Jerushe, who shared with him her corn-cakes, which, when she does not meet him at his accustomed spot, she places at the foot of a marked tree. Bob had added a few chips to his night fire, (his defence against tormenting mosquitoes), and made his moss bed. Having tamed an owl and a squirrel, they now make his rude camp their home, and share his crumbs. The squirrel nestles above his head, as the owl, moping about the camp entrance, suddenly hoots a warning and flutters its way into the thicket. Starting to his feet with surprise-the squirrel chirping at the sudden commotion-the tramp of horses breaks fearfully upon the old man's ear; bewildered he bounds from the camp. Two water oaks stand a few feet from its entrance, and through them he descries his pursuers bearing down upon him at full speed, the dogs making the very forest echo with their savage yelps. They are close upon him; the island is his only refuge! Suddenly he leaps to the bank, plunges into the stream, and with death-like struggles gains the opposite shore, where he climbs a cedar, as the dogs, eager with savage pursuit, follow in his wake, and are well nigh seizing his extremities ere they cleared their vicious spring. The two horsemen vault to the spot from whence the old man plunged into the water; and while the dogs make hideous ravings beneath the tree, they sit upon their horses, consulting, as the old man, from the tree top, looks piteously over the scene. Life has few charms for him; death would not be unwelcome.
The tedious journey, and disappointment at seeing the old man's resolution, has excited Romescos' ire. "He's an old rack-not worth much, but he doesn't seem like Kemp's old saw-horse," Romescos remarks to Bengal, as his hawk eye scans the old man perched among the cedar branches. They are not more than forty yards apart, and within speaking distance. Bengal, less excited, thinks it better to secure the old "coon" without letting the dogs taste of him.
"They'll only hold him with a firm grip, when he dismounts, and swim him safe back," grumblingly returns Romescos. "Now! old nig"-Romescos shouts at the top of his voice, directing himself to the old man-"just trot back here-come along!"
The old man shakes his head, and raises his hands, as if pleading for mercy.
"You won't, eh?" returns the angry man, raising his rifle in an attitude of preparation. Bengal reminds Romescos that his horse is not accustomed to firing from the saddle.
"I will larn him, then," is the reply.
"Mas'r," says Bob, putting out his hand and uncovering his bald head, "I can harm no white man. Let me live where 'um is, and die where 'um is."