“George!” cried Betty, a world of relief in her tones.
“Whoa, you!” and George reined in his horses with a jerk. “Who's dar?” he asked, bending forward on the box as he sought to pierce the darkness with his glance.
“George—”
“Oh, it you, Missy?”
“Yes, I wish you to drive me into Raleigh,” said Betty, and she and Hannibal entered the carriage.
“All right, Missy. Yo'-all ready fo' me to go along out o' here?”
“Yes—drive fast, George!” urged Betty.
“It's right dark fo' fas' drivin' Missy, with the road jes' aimin' fo' to bus' yo' springs with chuckholes!” He had turned his horses' heads in the direction of Raleigh while he was speaking. “It's scandalous black in these heah woods, Missy I 'clar' I never seen it no blacker!”
The carriage swung forward for perhaps a hundred yards, then suddenly the horses came to a dead stop.
“Go along on, dar!” cried George, and struck them with his whip, but the horses only reared and plunged.