“But we must get home.”
“Mass’ George say muss get home, but de dark night say he no get home.”
“Let’s try,” I said.
Pomp was obedience itself, and he followed me as I strode back to the edge of the forest, entered the dense thicket close to the river, and had not gone a hundred yards before just in front of me there was a crashing, rustling noise, and a dull sullen plunge.
“I yah, ugly ole ’gator. Take care, Mass’ George, he don’t hab you.”
I felt my heart beat fast, but I tried to fix it upon my mind in the foremost place that the reptiles fled from me, and were perhaps more alarmed than I was; but as I pressed forward, Pomp suddenly said, piteously—
“No got shoe like Mass’ George. Poor Pomp put him foot in ’gator mouf. Oh!”
Pomp caught hold of me tightly, for from somewhere in front there came a low snarling roar, which I had never before heard; but report had told of different savage creatures which came down from the hills sometimes, mountain lions, as the settlers called them, and to face one of these creatures in the dark was too much for my nerves.
“It’s unlucky,” I said to Pomp; “but we can’t get back to-night. We had better get out from among the trees.”
Pomp wanted no second hint; he was behind, and he turned at once, and led the way back to the sandy bluff, where he stood shivering.