CHAPTER XV.
OTHERS DECIDE OTHERWISE
After following the street for a time, we concluded that our presence would be noted by the natives, and we turned into a broad, poorly lighted avenue, whose pavement shone white in the darkness. Here the houses seemed of the better class, and, as the avenue stretched away back inland to the southward, we decided to get across to the other side of the island, and trust to getting a sponger or fisherman to take us to some of the deserted cays until we could make good our escape.
“If you didn’t leave such a confounded trail,” said Tim, “the dogs couldn’t follow us. But you must be mighty nigh as smelly as a nigger, for they never even slowed down after they hit it fair.”
I was about to make a rather warm retort to this remark, but at that instant the door of a large house across the street opened, and a boy appeared upon the threshold. He was joined instantly by a large woman, whose strong face in profile showed plainly against the light inside.
Tim halted and seized my arm. Then he swore softly, and stood gazing at them while they came out into the street. The door was closed with a bang by the woman, but not before I had time to note her figure. She was huge. Almost as tall as myself, and her shoulders were those of a prize-fighter.
“Georgie, you dear,” she said, “if you run off this time, you’ll be sorry.” And her voice was peculiarly gentle and soft, almost absurdly so for a person of her size. She locked the door, and they came toward us until we started to turn aside to pass.
“Mary!” said Tim, in a low tone.
The woman stopped as if turned to stone.
“Who is it?” she asked, sweetly, and I saw her face clearly as she looked full at me. She was handsome. It was dark, but her eyes shone, and I could see the firm sweep of her chin and the well-cut nose and lips. She was not young, but she had all the colour and vigour of a girl.
“It’s me,” said Tim, shortly.