Then shouting loud they called the negroes, swore,
And charged him with the maiden’s death or worse.
“She’s lost! O God,[405] she’s lost! Come, follow me!”
Cried Clair; then, struck with cruel spur, his horse
In terror bore him up[406] the winding path.
“I come!” shrieked out his rival, Dale; “I come!”
And off he dashed,[407] his livid face drawn grim
With jealous rage. Then followed Lysle, and then
The throng of blacks, like hounds unleashed.
A cry!