“Are you all safe?” asked Kent, anxiously, as the tall form of Wild Nat appeared from the passageway.
“Safe an’ sound,” responded the trapper, as the others entered.
“What was the trouble?” asked Kent.
“Wal, ye see,” said the trapper, with a sly twinkle, “Scip war walkin’ peaceably ’long, when he war set upon by four of the red niggers. Naterly enough, he didn’t like tew be disturbed in a quiet walk, an’ he—wal, he hollered a few, an’ I ’rived in time tew make the ’quaintance of three on ’em, an’ he finished t’other one.”
“Guess he wished he hadn’t ’sturbed a peaceable nigger,” said Scip, loftily.
“How’d ye come tew be down thar, when I told ye tew wait in the gorge till I come?” asked Wild Nat, gravely.
The negro was taken slightly aback.
“I—wal—ye see—I—I got tired waitin’ fur ye, so I started this way. I went slow, an’ knowed ye’d cotch me ’fore I got here,” stammered the confused darkey.
“Yas. Mought I ask what ye call goin’ fast, ef yer gait was slow? I shouldn’t like tew run a race with ye ef thet’s a slow gait with ye. Why didn’t ye hug thet feller thet ’peared to ye thar in the gorge, ’stead o’ runnin’ like a streak o’ lightnin’?” asked the trapper.
Scip stared. “I didn’t—I—I never run!” he ejaculated at last. “Whar was you?”