“South is out that way, isn’t it?” she asked again, pointing off to the left.
“Look here,” said the spy, with a look that was humorous, but not only humorous.
“What?”
“Two or three times last night, and now ag’in, you gimme a sort o’ sneakin’ notion you don’t trust me,” said he.
“Oh!” exclaimed she, “I do! Only I’m so anxious to be going south.”
“Jess so,” said the man. “Well, we’re goin’ sort o’ due west right now. You see we dassent take this railroad anywheres about here,”—they were even then crossing the track of the Mobile and Ohio Railway—“because that’s jess where they sho to be on the lookout fur us. And I can’t take you straight south on the dirt roads, because I don’t know the country down that way. But this way I know it like your hand knows the way to your mouth, as the felleh says. Learned it most all sence the war broke out, too. And so the whole thing is we got to jess keep straight across the country here till we strike the Mississippi Central.”
“What time will that be?”
“Time! You don’t mean time o’ day, do you?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Mary, smiling.
“Why, we’ll be lucky to make it in two whole days. Won’t we, Alice!” The child had waked, and was staring into her mother’s face. Mary caressed her. The spy looked at them silently. The mother looked up, as if to speak, but was silent.