"Death to the dam kidnappers!"
"Yah-hah! Cut their dam throats!"
Cries like these, interspersed with frightful howls, filled the place.
The Bloodhound moaned pitifully; and Harry, with the suffocating gripe of old Royal on his throat, and his back yet raw from the lashes of the previous night, could not repress a groan of agony.
It was a critical moment.
"Do you know, massa Harry,"—and old Royal bent his face down until Harry felt his breath upon his cheek—"Do you know, massa Harry, dat you are not berry far from glory? Kingdom-come am right afore, ole boy—and you am booked—hah! yah!—wid a through ticket."
Old Royal, (who had laid down his pistol,) took a knife from one of the negroes, and, tightening his gripe and pressing his knee more firmly on Harry's breast, he passed the glittering blade before his eyes.
"Oh!" groaned Royalton. The groan was wrung from him by intolerable agony.
"Let me up—a-h!" cried Bloodhound, in a smothered voice, as his face was pressed against the hard boards.
"Death to the dam kidnappers!"