“Never mind that now, Pete; we have escaped.”
“And without my having a chance to thrash Humpy Dee, and giving Master Zaunders one for his nob.”
“Hist! what’s that?” whispered Nic, as a peculiar sound came through the trees.
“Water!” said Pete excitedly. “The dogs lapping. Come on, zir. My mouth’s as if it was full of dust. The very thing we want.”
The next minute the darkness seemed to be less intense, and in another they were close to a little stream, where the dogs were drinking deeply; but they left the edge as the fugitives came up, shook themselves, and stood by while Pete sought for a place a little higher up.
“Here you are, Master Nic,” he said. “They might ha’ let uz have first go; but I forgive ’em for finding it. Lie down on your face and drink.”
Nic needed no incitement, and Pete followed his example, both enjoying the sweetest, most refreshing draught that had ever passed their lips.
“Hall!” ejaculated Pete as he raised himself into a sitting posture. “Can’t drink any more. Hope we aren’t zwallowed no young ’gators or a snake; but if we have, zir, it’ll be vittles as well as drink, and do uz good.”
“Ugh! don’t talk about it,” said Nic. “But where are the dogs?”
“Eh? Gone on, I s’pose; and we must trot on too. I’m ready for anything now.”