Abel’s face grew more ghastly as he gazed at Bart, who remained cool and controlled him.
“Bart,” whispered Abel, with the sweat rolling off his face in beads, “what shall we do?”
“Wait,” said the rough fellow shortly; and he hoed away, with his fetters clinking, and his eyes taking in every movement of the two men; while involuntarily Abel followed his action in every respect, as they once more drew nearer to their task-master and his guard.
“There’s a something yonder, sor,” said the soldier at last.
“Alligator!” said the overseer, lazily; and Abel’s heart rose so that he seemed as if he could not breathe.
“I can’t see what it is, sor; but it’s a something, for the little burrud kapes darting down at it and floying up again. I belayve it is one of they crockidills. Shall I shute the divil?”
“How can you shoot it if you can’t see it, you fool?” said the overseer.
“Sure, sor, they say that every bullet has its billet, and if I let the little blue pill out of the mouth o’ the mushket, faix, it’s a strange thing if it don’t find its way into that ugly scaly baste.”
The overseer took his cigar from his lips and laughed; but to the intense relief of the young men, perhaps to the saving of his own life, he shook his head.
“No, Dinny,” he said, “it would alarm the station. They’d think someone was escaping. Let it be.”