No notice was taken of my appeals. The negro did not even turn his head, but ran on, floundering through the mud.
“Stop!” I repeated, as loudly as my exhausted breath would permit. “Stop, man! why do you run from me? I mean you no harm.”
Neither did this speech produce any effect. No reply was given. If anything, I fancied that he increased his speed; or rather, perhaps, he had got through the quagmire, and was running upon firm ground while I was just entering upon the former.
I fancied that the distance between us was again widening; and began to fear he might still elude me. I felt that my life was on the result. Without him to guide me from the forest, I would miserably perish. He must guide me. Willing or unwilling, I should force him to the office.
“Stop,” I again cried out; “halt, or I fire!”
I had raised my gun. Both barrels were loaded. I had spoken in all seriousness. I should in reality have fired—not to kill, but to detain him. The shot might injure him, but I could not help it. I had no choice—no other means of saving my own life.
I repeated the awful summons:—
“Stop—or I fire!”
This time my tone was earnest. It left no doubt of my intention; and this seemed to be the impression it produced upon the black; for, suddenly halting in his tracks, he wheeled about, and stood facing me.
“Fire! and be dam!” cried he; “have a care, white man—don’t you miss. By Gor-amighty! if ya do, your life’s mine. See dis knife! fire now and be dam!”