“Don't know that, either. It didn't sound to me like Don's voice, but it sounded like his whistle, and if it was him, I wish he'd come and call the dogs off. I am willing to give up now, Lester. Luck is always on his side, and if he will let us go home without making any fuss about it, I'll promise to leave him alone in future.”
Lester could not find fault with his companion for losing his courage and talking in this strain, for he was frightened half to death himself, and he would have made all sorts of promises if he could only have climbed down from that roof and sneaked off to bed without being seen by anybody. Don did not show himself, although they called his name as loudly as they dared, and neither did the hounds grow tired and go away, as Lester hoped they would. They were much too well trained for that. It not unfrequently happened while Don and Bert were hunting 'coons and 'possums at night, that the game took refuge in a tree much too large to be cut down in any reasonable time by such choppers as they were. In that case Don would order the hounds to watch the tree, and he and Bert would go home, knowing that when daylight came they would find the dogs still on duty and the game closely guarded. The animals seemed to be perfectly satisfied when they found that Lester and Bob had taken refuge on the top of the cabin. They walked around the building two or three times, as if to make sure that there was no way of escape, and then laid down on the ground and prepared to take matters very easily until their master should come out to them in the morning. When Bob saw that, he lost all heart.
“If we never were in a scrape before, we're in one now,” said he. “We may as well make up our minds to stay here all night.”
“O, we can't do that,” replied Lester, greatly alarmed. “Some one will certainly see us.”
“Of course they will. How can we help it?”
“I should never dare show my face in the settlement again, if this night's work should become known,” continued Lester, who was almost ready to cry with vexation. “It would ruin me completely, and you, too. Don and Bert would ask no better fun than to spread it all over, and your chances of carrying the mail would be knocked higher than a kite. Let's pull off some of these shingles and throw them at the dogs. Perhaps we can drive them away.”
“You don't know them as well as I do. They'll not drive worth a cent. We're here, and here we must stay until somebody comes and calls them away. We'll hail the first nigger we see in the morning, and perhaps we can hire him to help us and keep his mouth shut.”
This was poor consolation for Lester, but it was the best Bob had to offer. Things turned out just as he said they would. They sat there on the ridge pole for more than four hours, Lester racking his brain, in the hope of conjuring up some plan for driving the dogs away, and Bob grumbling lustily over the ill luck which met him at every turn.
At last, when they had grown so cold that they could scarcely talk, and Lester began to be really afraid that he should freeze to death, the gray streaks of dawn appeared in the east. Shortly afterward the door of the nearest cabin opened, and a negro came out and stood on the steps, stretching his arms and yawning.
“It's the luckiest thing that ever happened to us,” said Bob, speaking only after a great effort. “That's the hostler. He knows me and will help us if anybody will. Say, Sam,” he added, raising his voice. “Sam!”