“Run long wid yer, old gal.”
Under his breath he said:
“I am afraid we are too late!”
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE FUGITIVES’ FLIGHT.
“Hold on there, you black imps; where are you going?” thundered the soldier.
Mara’s heart almost stopped its beating.
“To de sp’ing, massa,” answered the scout, coolly.
“Seems to me you go mighty often.”
“De watah done git roominated wid bad taste, massa. ’Sides Dinah done spill sum un dat las bucket.”
“Go along; and see that you don’t waste any time.”