We were in the midst of a strip of woods, and went bumping the tree-columns on our way-through it. We had come into an open field when we heard our pursuers shouting, back where the horse fell. We ran like frightened sheep, and slowed our pace beyond the top of a hill and began to walk. We tramped for an hour in silence. The sky was clearing, and we could discern the rocks and stones and fences.
“I am not going any farther,” I said, stopping suddenly.
“Well, go back, then,” said Bony Squares. “You've gone and got me into a nice scrape,” I declared.
“Better git sore on me—ye saphead!” said Bony, with contempt. “As if I expected to do anything but give ye a dollar an' a good time.”
“I didn't have anything to do with your smuggling,” I said. “If I'd known you were in that kind of business I wouldn't have been with you.”
“Go on, ye cry-baby! Wasn't ye in the wagon?”
“Yes—but—”
“Well, that's enough—the goods was in the wagon, an' so was you an' so was me. All they have to do is to ketch ye with the goods. If ye didn't know what I was up to, what did ye run for?”
Between tears and perspiration I felt as if I were melting and running down at the top like a tallow-candle. But I held myself up manfully, and not a whimper came out of me. I had become a fugitive in spite of myself.
“Guess they wouldn't do much to us if we did go home,” I said, tentatively.