“I fear you won’t get the broken law to look at it in that light, Ebony.”
“Broken law! what does I care for de broken law? But tell me, massa, hab you make up you’s mind to gib youself up?”
“I have,” returned Rosco sadly.
“Quite sure an’ sartin’?”
“Quite,” returned Rosco, with a faint smile at the poor negro’s persistency.
“Well, den, you come an’ hab a last ride on my back. Surely you no kin refuse so small a favour to dis yar black hoss w’ats carried you so of in, afore you die!”
“Of course not, my poor fellow! but to what purpose—of what use will it be to delay matters? It will only prolong the captain’s search needlessly.”
“Oh! nebber mind. Der’s good lot o’ huts in de place to keep de hipperkrit goin’. Plenty ob time for a last leetil ride. Besides, I want you to see a place I diskiver not long ago—most koorious place—you nebber see.”
“Come along, then,” said Rosco, thinking it right to humour one who had been more like a brother than a servant to him during his long illness, “stoop down. Now, then, heave!”
In a twinkling Rosco was on the back of his “black horse,” which carried him a considerable distance in among the hills.