In a minute afterwards I perceived a man coming up the hill at a swift pace, directly towards me. As he approached I could almost swear that it was Vincent, the negro captain; but when within ten yards of me, I perceived, him turn round and flourish his sabre in the air, while, at the same time, three large bloodhounds sprang at him. One fell by the blow of his sabre, but the other two flew at his throat, and fastened on him, tearing him to the around, and holding him in spite of all his struggling and his immense strength.
I recollected my pistols: I cocked them, ran up, and putting one to the head of the nearest dog, blew out its brains. I was equally successful with the other—they both lay dead by his side, and Vincent was released. He started up.
“It is me, Cato,” said I.
“Cato!” replied he; “but there is not a moment to be lost. I understand it all.”
He seized me by the arm, and dragged me with him to the narrow entrance of the pass, and as soon as we came in he rolled three large rocks, which had evidently been used for such purpose before, so as completely to block up the entrance.
“There,” said he, leaning back quite exhausted; “be quiet, Cato. We are safe now; they will be on the top of the hill directly.”
We remained where we were about ten minutes, when we heard voices not very far from us. They were the pursuers of the negro captain who were evidently baffled. After a time the sounds receded from us, and we heard them no more. Vincent then spoke:—
“You were escaping, Cato.”
“I had escaped,” replied I: “I told you that I would.”
“Strange that you should have discovered the path; did any one betray it to you?”