A rope with a wide noose at one end came whirling out of the sky and fell over the robber’s head, resting for an instant in a neat coil on his shoulders!
He clutched his weapons closer and looked up. Then the line tightened about his muscular neck until his feet left the deck and his face grew red with the blood of strangulation, then grew white. The revolvers clattered to the floor, and the man’s figure toppled and fell as the rope slacked.
When this strange thing happened, Alex. and Gregg were bending their heads down to permit the negroes to clamber over them. Still they saw the rope fall, saw the man gasp as it closed about his neck, and felt the negroes springing back in dismay.
Then they arose with their heavy oars in their hands and struck slashing, crunching blows at the heads below them! One negro lifted an arm to shoot, but it fell with the bones of the shoulder crushed to pulp. One by one they dropped out of the boat, some with broken arms, some with broken heads. After they had all disappeared, either under the surface of the lagoon or into the darkness of the swamp, a shrill voice came from the tree where Mose had taken refuge from the snakes and the alligators:
“Go on, white folks,” it said, “Ah goin’ hang dis immitation coon up on dis tree!”
[CHAPTER XXI—DODGING A POLICE BOAT]
“You little coon!” Clay gasped.
“Hurrah for Mose!” cried Alex.
“If you’ll come down here I’ll hug you!” shouted Gregg.
“How did you ever think of it?” Case called out.