As he fell forward he managed to twist himself around so that he lay almost on his back. This enabled him to look up into the face of the man who was pinioning him down so fiercely to the earth.
"George!" he exclaimed.
It was the same fugitive black who had visited their camp on the preceding night. He stared hard at the face of the one he was holding down.
"Gorry! Am it you, young marse?" he exclaimed, as he released his savage clutch, and even attempted to help Will up.
"Yes. I'm lost, you see. Tried to do too much. Taking pictures in the swamp, and kind of got a little mixed. But I'm glad to meet you again, George. Is this the place where you hold out?"
The negro was breathing hard. He had evidently been greatly excited, under the belief that the creeping form had been one of his enemies, bent on effecting his capture, with the idea of furnishing sport for the idlers at the river town, through the medium of a little "tar and feathers party," so popular in some sections of the Southern backwoods.
"I heerd a sound like it wor a gun bein' cocked. Dat must 'a' been de black box heah, suh. Gorry! but I's glad it wan't dem white trash from de town. I's jest a-gittin' ready tuh vamoose outen heah right smart now. I's gwine tuh Chattanooga, tuh jine my darter. An' dat grub yuh guv me'll kerry me part o' the way."
"That's all right, George. Suppose you just take the time to paddle me back to our camp. I'll promise you a lot more provisions, and some money in the bargain. This is a serious scrape for me, and while my life may not amount to much, it does seem a pity to waste all the fine views I've taken in this old swamp. Will you go?"
"'Deed an' I will, right peart, suh. You-all hev bin mighty good tuh me, an' I ain't gwine tuh forgit dat you sed as how I mightn't be just as bad as dey paint me. Git into de leetle boat, young mars, an' I'll paddle yuh home," said the old negro, with alacrity.
"Hold on a minute, George! I want to shoot you first," observed Will.