She bent toward him, looking straight into his eyes. “Are you just running away from slavery? Have you done anything wrong?”
He held her gaze unflinchingly as he answered: “I’ve done nothing wrong—nothing but try to get my freedom—but that’s the worst of crimes, south of the Ohio River.”
“Then I’ll help you. I know where you can hide.” He assisted her to dismount and she gathered up her long riding skirt and began to climb the rail fence. “There’s a cave over here a little ways,” she went on. “I haven’t been there for years, but I think I can find it. Yes, here’s the path.”
“We must hurry,” he cautioned. “They’re coming after me, and they’re not far behind. If they turn off on that other road back there—I’ll be safe—this time.”
She led the way and they walked on rapidly through the straggling bushes and timber. The hill was steeper here and the path sidled and zigzagged toward its summit, for some distance in view of the road. Halfway up the hillside it made a sharp turn around a huge boulder and plunged into a thicker growth of shrubs and young trees. As the man, several paces in the rear, reached this point he cast a quick glance at the road and saw a horseman come into view across the top of the rise.
He sprang forward, exclaiming in a shrill whisper, “Hurry! My master is coming! I saw him cross the hill!”
She drew her skirts higher and broke into a run. “Did he see you?” she threw back at him, and her swift glance caught sight of a pistol in his hand.
“I don’t know. Show me the cave, and then you must get out of the way!”
“You won’t shoot him?” she demanded, turning sharply round.
“I will if I have to. I’m not going back into slavery!” was his answer in a dogged voice.