Cole held out his hand; the gesture was more eloquent than any words could have been; it spoke of the friendship and love that existed between master and man, of the affection that began in childhood and would only end in death. Tom’s eyes filled with tears; he grasped the outstretched hand tightly.
“Forgive me, Cole,” said he, “for not thinking of it first. We are going into danger, and either of us, or both, may not come out of it alive. If this should prove the case: good-bye.”
Then they separated; Cole stole away toward the back of the house, keeping his huge frame well concealed behind the tree trunks and thick bush. The barn was a large structure, not a great distance from the house, and as he came in view of the big doors Cole saw a man standing, leaning upon the muzzle of a rifle and staring toward the mansion.
Tom set about his work as cautiously as the slave; he crept along behind the bush and a stone fence until he reached a spot almost directly in line with the old apple tree which Dogberry had mentioned. It stood almost in the centre of the lawn; a few rustic seats were at the foot, for it formed a delightful place for a rest upon a hot afternoon.
“And there are the Tories’ rifles, sure enough,” muttered the lad. “No one seems left to watch over them; so I’d best make the move quickly, for there will hardly be a better opportunity.”
After a long, last look about to see that no one was observing him, Tom broke from cover and boldly stepped out across the lawn toward the tree where the guns were standing. He deemed it best to attempt the thing boldly; for as it was broad day cunning would be thrown away. The rifles were of the variety provided by the king to his loyal subjects in North America, and were rather heavy. Tom took up the entire nine, however, having left his own light fowling-piece behind in the bush; it was rather a heavy load, but the lad was strong and toughened by constant outdoor exercise, so he managed to carry them off back along the track by which he had approached, and concealed them in a safe place.
Not a sound was to be heard anywhere save the low, moaning chant of some slaves at work in a far-off field, and an occasional outburst of rude laughter from the mansion. There was no sign of Cole; Tom stole to a position from which he could view the barn. He, too, saw the man with a rifle, on guard before the big door.
“A man on the watch, as I supposed there would be,” muttered the boy. “I don’t think Cole will be able to approach him unseen. But, I wonder——”
He paused suddenly, for the guard at the barn door had moved slightly and afforded a clearer view of his face.
“It’s Cole!” breathed Tom, excitedly. “Good for him!”