“From Massissippy ’tate—de ole plantashun ain’t berry fur from de town o’ Vickburg, on de big ribba.”
This was about all the information the negro lad could give.
It was sufficient for the time. On obtaining it, the trapper threw up his hands, and gave utterance to a loud “Phew;” while his companion stood silent, as if suddenly struck dumb!
Chapter Eight.
Planning a Rescue.
“What’s best to be dud? What d’ye say, Ned?”
“Let us go straight to the place, and see what has happened. Oh, heavens! If Clara has been killed!”
“Go straight to the place! Yur a dreamin’, young ’un! Supposin’ it be Yellur Chief an’ his crowd o’ cut-throats? We’d both o’ us get sculped to a sartinty.”