“George?” he repeated, still bending above him. This time an inarticulate murmur answered him. At the same instant the woolly head of the negro came under his fingers and he discovered the reason of his silence. He was as securely gagged as he was bound.
“Listen, George—it's Carrington—I am going to take off this gag, but don't speak above a whisper—they may hear us!” And he cut the cords that held the gag in place.
“How yo' get here, Mas'r Ca'ington?” asked the negro guardedly, as the gag fell away.
“Around the head of the bayou.”
“Lawd!” exclaimed George, in a tone of wonder.
“Where's Miss Betty?”
“She's in the cabin yonder—fo' the love of God, cut these here other ropes with yo' knife, Mas'r Ca'ington—I'm perishin' with 'em!” Carrington did as he asked, and groaning, George sat erect. “I'm like I was gone to sleep all over,” he said.
“You'll feel better in a moment. Tell me about Miss Malroy?”
“They done fetched us here last night. I was drivin' Missy into Raleigh—her and young Mas'r Hazard—when fo' men stop us in the road.”
“Who were they, do you know?” asked Carrington.