But they could not keep anywhere near the Man, and finally abandoned it. With baffled yells they returned and disappeared in the pass.
“Golly, dat am a berry bad fing for Marse Frank an’ de oders,” muttered Pomp. “Dey will neber be anticipating de comin’ ob dem rapscallions, an’ dat will make tings berry bad, indeed.”
The darky at once began to wax anxious as to the fate of his friends.
He began to feel as if it was very much his duty to enter the hills and render what assistance he could.
But what was to be done with the Steam Man?
Pomp reflected that he might take it with him if he could only find some way of doing so.
To attempt to traverse the rocky Pass was out of the question.
The darky was in a quandary.
Soon he heard the sounds of firing. The battle was on, and at no great distance, either.
Pomp could hardly contain himself. He walked up and down in the cage like a prisoner in his cell.