“I don’t know that,” said the overseer; “but we shall soon know. Hadn’t we better deal with them as they deal with us? Hark! the dogs are quiet now. They’ve got their prisoners, and, if I’m not wrong, in a few minutes we shall have taken ours.”
“Heah dat, Zerk?” whispered Samson.
There was a grunt.
“You an’ me’s gwan to have de arm-ache to-morrow morn’ wid all dat lot to flog.”
“Iss,” whispered Xerxes; “and den got to go and bury dem oder one bones.”
Chapter Thirty One.
A Night’s Muddle.
On went the dogs, apparently following the track of some animal; and, as they seemed to be leading the fugitives farther and farther away from the plantation, nothing Nic felt, could be better.