Fulano neighed and beat the ground with eager hoofs as I buckled the bridle.
“Can’t we show fight?” said Biddulph.
“There’ll be a dozen on the hunt. It is one of the entertainments hereabouts. Besides, they would raise the posse upon us. You forget we’re in a Slave State, an enemy’s country.”
I led Fulano to the brink. He stood motionless, eying me, just as he eyed me in that terrible pause in Luggernel Alley.
“Here, Ham, up with you! Put across the slough. He swims like an alligator. Then make for the north star, and leave the horse for Mr. Richard Wade, at the Tremont House, Chicago. Treat him like a brother, Ham!”
“Lor bress you, Massa! I will dat.”
He vaulted up, like “a sprightly nigger, one of the raal ambitious sort.”
The baying came nearer, nearer, ringing sweetly through the golden quiet of noon.
I launched Fulano with an urgent whisper.
Two hundred yards to swim! and then all clear to Freedom!