“Come back, ye blazin’ fools! Come back!”
We ran wildly up the street until it ended in a thick thorn hedge, into which I foolishly plunged, getting badly scratched for my pains. The impetus of the run sent me through and into a ditch beyond, followed by Tim, who plunged through the opening my body had made. He landed heavily upon me, knocking the breath out of my body, and for awhile I lay there unable to rise. Then Mr. Henry’s voice, cursing a couple of fools, sounded unpleasantly near, and I started up, resolved to make a fight if necessary.
The little mate, however, refused to seize us, even though he could easily have done so, as he reached the bank of the ditch before we could get clear. He tried to argue the question, preferring words to blows in the darkness, doubtless fearing the knife in such an encounter.
“What’s the meanin’ of it, anyways?” he asked. “What yer runnin’ fer?”
“Go on, Henry,” said I. “Go get the men, but don’t try to get me back aboard the slaver, or there’ll be trouble.”
“Well, where ye a-goin’? What’s the sense o’ playin’ the fool when you have to be a man, anyways. I ain’t goin’ to te’ch you, but I’ll say right here you’ll probably get irons for tryin’ this fool trick.”
“When I’m aboard, we’ll discuss the irons. Now stand clear, or there’ll be trouble.”
Tim and I started across the clearing, heading for a light we saw in the distance. Henry declined to follow, and we left him swearing at our stupidity. Going on, we came to a pathway which led toward the house, and we had hardly struck into it when there was a rush of feet on the coral, followed by a deep growling.
“Keep clear of the houses. Cut for the cover back of the town,” said Tim, hoarsely.
As I sheered off, a huge animal sprang upon me and knocked me down, fastening its teeth in my neck and shoulder. I heard Tim cry out, “Bloodhound,” and then he flung himself upon the beast, while I tried my best to pull out my knife and get the animal in front of me.