“Yes,” said Nic firmly; “but he had no right to detain us as slaves.”
“Humph! S’pose not,” said the planter, glancing sharply from one to the other. “So you’re both runaways?”
“We are trying for our liberty,” replied Nic, who was well upon his guard; but the man’s reply disarmed him.
“Well, it’s quite nat’ral,” said the planter, with a chuckle. “Hot work hoeing the rows, eh? Took the boat, I s’pose, and rowed down?”
“Yes,” said Pete gruffly.
“Hungry too, eh?”
“Yes,” said Pete again.
“Course you would be. Quite nat’ral. They’ve give you a bit to eat, I see. Well, then, you’d better come and sit down out o’ the sun and eat it, and then be off, for your overseer won’t be long before he’s down here after you. He’s a sharp un, Master Saunders, aren’t he?”
“Yes; he’s sharp enough,” said Pete quietly.
“He’ll be down after you with his dogs, and then, if he catches you, there’ll be a big row and a fight, and I don’t want nothing o’ that sort, my lads. Come on, and bring your bread and meat in here.—Ann, my gal, get ’em a pitcher o’ cool, fresh water.”