“Too late!” said the lad hoarsely; and he drew back.
“No, no, sah; plenty time,” whispered the black. “Come ’long.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” growled Tom May. “Sharp’s the word.”
“But we shall be running into their arms, my lad, and lose the powder.”
“Not us, sir. They can’t see us coming, and we mustn’t let ’em hear us.”
“Forward, then,” whispered Murray. “What! there, Caesar?” he continued, for the black had run forward a few steps and then stopped short in a dark alley leading towards the side of the plantation and the quarters of the black servants.
“Yes, massa. Huggins man mus’ come ’long here.”
There was no time for consideration, for the enemy was evidently approaching cautiously, and before any further order could be given Tom May had plumped down the keg he carried, and his companion was about to follow suit with the other, but Murray checked him.
“No, no,” he whispered; “one first. Is the top quite open, Tom?”
“Open it is, sir,” was the reply.