"No, no, they would discover you directly, and it would be surrender or die. Ah, see! there's a little log cabin behind those bushes, and who knows but we may find help there. Courage, and hope, my boy;" and almost carrying Harold, Duncan hurried to the door of the hut.
Pushing it open, and seeing an old negro inside, "Cato, Cæsar——"
"Uncle Scip, sah," grinned the negro.
"Well, no matter for the name; will you help us? We're Federal soldiers just escaped from Andersonville, and they're after us with bloodhounds. Can you tell us of anything that will put the savage brutes off the scent?"
"Sah?"
"Something that will stop the hounds from following us—quick, quick! if you know anything."
The negro sprang up, reached a bottle from a shelf, and handing it to Harry, said, "Turpentine, sah; rub um on your feet, gen'lemen, an' de hounds won't follah you no moah. But please, sahs, go little ways off into the woods fo' you use um, so de rebs not tink dis chile gib um to ye."
Harry clutched the bottle, throwing down a ten-dollar bill (all the money he had about him) at Uncle Scip's feet, and dragging Harold some hundred yards farther into the depths of the wood, seated him on a log, applied the turpentine plentifully to his feet, and then to his own.
All this time the baying of the hounds came nearer and nearer, till it seemed that the next moment would bring them into sight.
"Up!" cried Harry, flinging away the empty bottle, "one more tug for life and liberty, or we are lost!"