Chapter Twenty Three.

Chapter Twenty Three.I lost no time in dressing after opening my window wide, there being no fear now of Pomp getting at me to have his revenge while I was asleep for the tricks I had played upon him.The boy thrust in his legs with an easy motion, as soon as the window was thrown open, raising himself and dropping gently into a sitting position to watch me wash and dress.“Well, why are you looking on in that contemptuous way?” I said at last, as I noted the play of his face.“Dat not temshus, Mass’ George,” he said. “I only sit and fink what long time you are wash and dress.”“That’s not long,” I said; “why, how long are you?”“No time, Mass’ George. I go bed like am now, and get up like am now, and come on.”“But do you mean to say you haven’t washed this morning?”“How I ’top go to ribber an’ wash, when Mass’ George wait to be called? Hab good ’wim when we get to ribber.”I finished dressing, and took Pomp into Sarah’s kitchen, where we both made a hearty meal, which was interrupted by Pomp insisting upon having the shot and powder pouches buckled on him at once, so that he might make sure of them, and not be defrauded of the honour of carrying them by any tricks on my part.He did not look so pleased at having to carry the wallet which had been well stored ready for our use, but he submitted to have the strap thrown over his head, and passed one arm through. Then full of eagerness I shouldered the gun, and we started off into the forest, passing the clearing where the rattlesnake had been killed, and next passing on to the little river, up whose course we were to make our way, keeping a good look-out for the boat the while.The morning was glorious, the sun piercing the low-lying mist, which rapidly grew more transparent, broke up, and seemed to dissolve away. The birds were piping and screaming in the trees, and as we reached the river, where all was light and sunshine, we started first a great white crane, which rose from the shallows and flew off, then a kingfisher with dazzling coat, and soon after came in sight of a little flock of rosy-winged flamingoes, with their curious, long, snaky, writhing necks, and quaintly-shaped bills, which always looked to me as if they were made to use upside down.“Well, I nebber see!” cried Pomp at last, after stepping back, and preserving the most profound silence time after time.“What’s the matter?”“Why Mass’ George no shoot?”“Because we don’t want the birds. You don’t care to have to carry them, do you?”“No; dis wallet um so dreffle heabby.”We tramped on a little farther, now in the deep shade, now in the golden sunshine when we could get close to the stream, and then Pomp sighed.“Mass’ George like to carry de walletum now?”“No; I’m carrying the gun.”“Pomp carry de gun.”“Oh, no,” I said, “I’ll manage that;” and we went slowly on again. There was no track, and near the river where the light and sunshine played there was plenty of thick undergrowth, while a short distance back in the forest the walking was easy among the trees, where scarcely anything clothed the ground in the deep shadow.Pomp kept trudging away toward the dark, shadowy forest, and I had to stop him again and again, for the boat was not likely to be in there. On the last occasion he said—“Walletum dreffle heabby, Mass’ George. Don’t think better carry um inside?”“What do you mean?”“Mass’ George eat half, and Pomp eat half. Den we hab nuffum to carry.”I naturally enough burst out laughing.“Why, we’ve only just had a good breakfast, and couldn’t eat any more.”“Oh yes, Pomp could, big lots.”“And what are we to have to eat by and by, when we get hungry?”“Mass’ George shoot ducks; Pomp make fire an’ roace um.”“No, no, no,” I cried. “Here, pass me the wallet, and I’ll give you a rest.”“And Pomp carry de gun,” he cried, eagerly.“No, sir. If you can carry the gun, you can carry the wallet. Here, give me hold.”Pomp looked disappointed as he handed over the wallet very slowly, and after slinging it on we once more progressed, looking carefully in all directions in search of the lost boat, but seeing nothing; and I soon had to come to the conclusion that the chances were very greatly against our finding the object of our search.It was slow work, but for some miles the place was familiar, my father having brought me as far exploring, and Pomp and I having several times over boated through the dark forest along that bright, winding highway—the river; generally with some difficulty, on account of the fallen trees, and snags, and dense overgrowth, beneath which we often had to force our way, while at other times we had almost to cut a channel through the lilies and other water plants which choked the stream.It was plain enough to see though, now, how comparatively easy a journey would have been in a boat, for the large flood-waves which had swept up the river had scoured out its bed, throwing vast rotting heaps of the succulent water-growths ashore to rot, fester, and dry in the hot sun.High up too I could see the traces where the flood had reached, well marked by the dry grass hanging among the boughs.But we kept on forcing our way slowly, soon getting into a part of the river that was entirely new, and growing more and more fascinating to me at every step.For there was, in addition to the glorious beauty of the bright, sunny river, with its banks where in places the trees drooped down and dipped their boughs in the smooth water, and the various growths were of the most dazzling green, always something new—bird, quadruped, insect, or fish taking my attention to such a degree that I often forgot the boat and the object of our journey.Pomp was just as excited as I, touching my arm every now and then to point with a black finger at some grey heron standing thigh-deep, watching for the fish that nearly made the waters alive; and perhaps just as we were waiting to see him make the next dart with his beak at some shoal of unfortunate fry, there would be what seemed to be a great curved bar of silver flash out of the water, to plunge in again, giving us just a glimpse of the fierce fish’s glittering scales. Every now and then some big fellow would leap right out, to come down again with a heavy splash, and send a whole shoal of tiny fish, invisible to us before, flying out of the water to avoid their enemy, the river shark.A little farther, and Pomp’s lips would be close to my ear imploring me to shoot as he indicated a bit of sandy or muddy shore where, just clear of the water and looking like a piece of tree-stump, a great alligator would lie basking in the hot sunshine.But I invariably resisted his prayers, and as we went on, the reptile would suddenly hear our coming and scuffle rapidly out of sight, making a great swirl in the water as he disappeared.“No, Pomp,” I would say, “the first ’gator I shoot must be that one in the bathing-pool. Come along.”On we went, with the river winding in and out through the forest, and there was always something fresh to see: humming-birds that were not so big as some of the butterflies and beetles that swarmed in the sunshiny parts; great lagoon-like pools where the running of the stream became invisible, and we could see far down in the deep water where fish were slowly gliding in and out among the roots of the trees, which in many places clothed the bottom with masses of fibre. Now Pomp’s eyes would be ready to start out of his head as we neared a corner, or starting off into the forest to avoid some wild or swampy patch, we crept out to the river’s bank again, to startle a little flock of ducks which had been preening themselves, and sent feathers like tiny boats floating down the stream.“Plenty of time,” I would keep saying. “We don’t want them yet, and I’ll shoot them when we do.”“But ’pose dey not dah to shoot when you want um, Mass’ George. I dreffle hungry now.”“Ah,” I said at last, “our wallet is getting heavy. Let’s pick out a place, and have some lunch.”Pomp pricked up his ears, as he generally did when he heard a new word, and this was one ready for him to adopt.“Iss,” he said, eagerly, “I berry fond o’ lunch. I fought smell um yesday when missie cook um.”“Cook what?” I said.“Dat lunch, Mass’ George.”I laughed, and pressed on to look for a good spot, and soon found one where a great tree, whose roots had been undermined by the river, had fallen diagonally with its branches half in the water, and offering us a good seat just nicely shaded from the burning sun, while we had only to lie out on its great trunk and reach down to be able to fill the tin can I had with the clear water.The gun was leaned up against the tree-roots; we each sat astride facing each other, the bigness of the tree making it rather an uneasy seat; I slung the wallet round and placed it between us, and had just thrust in my hand, while Pomp wrenched himself round to hang the ammunition pouches close to the gun on a ragged root behind him, when, all at once, the boy’s left leg flew over and kicked the wallet out of my hands, and he bounded a couple of yards away to stand grinning angrily and rubbing himself.“Too bad, Mass’ George. What do dat for?”“Do what?” I cried, roaring with laughter, as I stooped down and picked up the wallet, out of which fortunately nothing had fallen.“’Tick um pin in poor lil nigger.”“I didn’t,” I said; “and see what you’ve done.”“Yes, Mass’ George did. Pomp felt um. You wait bit, I serb you out.”“But I tell you I did not, Pomp,” I cried, as I wiped my eyes. “Oh, you ridiculous-looking little chap! Come and sit down.”“No, won’t. You ’tick um pin in poor lil nigger behind leg ’gain.”“I will not, ’pon my honour,” I cried. “Oh, you did look comic.”“Made um feel comic dicklus,” cried Pomp, catching up the two words I had used. “Did hurt.”“Come and sit down.”“You no ’tick um pin in ’gain?”“I haven’t got a pin,” I said.“Den I know; it was um big forn.”“It wasn’t, Pomp. Come and sit down and have some lunch.”“No. Won’t come. Don’t want no lunchum. Hurt poor Pomp dreffle. You alway play um trick.”“I tell you I didn’t do anything, Pomp. There, come along.”He caught sight of the food I brought now from the wallet, and it was irresistible.“You no ’tick pin in nigger ’gain?”“No.”“Nor yet um forn?”“No. Come along, you little unbeliever. Come along.”“I serb you out fo dat, Mass’ George, you see,” he said, sidling back to the tree, watching me cautiously the while.“Oh, very well, I’ll forgive you,” I said, as he retook his place. “I say, Pomp, I am thirsty.”“So ’m I, Mass’ George. Dat lunchum?”“Yes; that’s lunch,” I said, as I laid the neatly-done-up napkin containing provision of some kind on the tree-trunk between us, and taking out the tin can I leaned right back, gripping the tree with both legs, and lowering my hand I dipped the vessel full of water.I was just in the act of rising cautiously and very slowly, when a sharp pain in the fleshy part of my leg made me spring forward in agony, dashing the water in Pomp’s face, knocking the wallet and its contents over sidewise, and in my pain and rage I seized the boy to begin cuffing him, while he wrestled with me to get away, as we hugged and struggled like two fighting men in amêléeon the same horse.“How dare you!” I panted; “that was the point of your knife. I’ll teach you to—Oh, murder!”“Oh, Mass’ George, don’t!Oh! Oh! Oh!”We both made a bound together, went off the trunk sidewise, and Pomp struggled up, tore off his shirt and drawers, and began to beat and shake them, and then peep inside, pausing every moment to have a rub; while I, without going to his extreme, was doing the best I could to rid myself of my pain.“Nas’ lil fing!” cried Pomp, stamping on something in the grass. “Look, look, Mass’ George, make hase; dey eat all de lunchum.”The mystery was out. We had seated ourselves upon the home of a vicious kind of ant, whose nest was under the rotten bark of the tree, and as soon as Pomp realised the truth he danced about with delight.“I fought you ’tick pin in lil nigger. You fought I ’tick um knife in Mass’ George! You catch um, too.”“Yes,” I said, wriggling under my clothes, and rubbing myself. “Oh! Quick! Back of my neck, Pomp, look. Biting.”Pomp sprang to me in an instant.“I got um, Mass’ George. Dah!” he cried, as he placed the vicious little insect between his teeth, and bit it in two. “You no bite young massa ’gain. How you like be bite, sah? Make you feel dicklus, eh? Oh! Ugh! Tiff! Tiff! Tiff! Oh, um do tase nasty.”Pomp spat and shuddered and ended by washing out his mouth by running a little way, lying flat with his head over the bank, and scooping up some water with his hand.Meanwhile I cautiously picked up the provisions, the napkin and wallet, and carefully shook them clear of the vicious little things—no easy job, by the way; after which, stinging and smarting still, I sought another place where we could eat our meal in peace.

I lost no time in dressing after opening my window wide, there being no fear now of Pomp getting at me to have his revenge while I was asleep for the tricks I had played upon him.

The boy thrust in his legs with an easy motion, as soon as the window was thrown open, raising himself and dropping gently into a sitting position to watch me wash and dress.

“Well, why are you looking on in that contemptuous way?” I said at last, as I noted the play of his face.

“Dat not temshus, Mass’ George,” he said. “I only sit and fink what long time you are wash and dress.”

“That’s not long,” I said; “why, how long are you?”

“No time, Mass’ George. I go bed like am now, and get up like am now, and come on.”

“But do you mean to say you haven’t washed this morning?”

“How I ’top go to ribber an’ wash, when Mass’ George wait to be called? Hab good ’wim when we get to ribber.”

I finished dressing, and took Pomp into Sarah’s kitchen, where we both made a hearty meal, which was interrupted by Pomp insisting upon having the shot and powder pouches buckled on him at once, so that he might make sure of them, and not be defrauded of the honour of carrying them by any tricks on my part.

He did not look so pleased at having to carry the wallet which had been well stored ready for our use, but he submitted to have the strap thrown over his head, and passed one arm through. Then full of eagerness I shouldered the gun, and we started off into the forest, passing the clearing where the rattlesnake had been killed, and next passing on to the little river, up whose course we were to make our way, keeping a good look-out for the boat the while.

The morning was glorious, the sun piercing the low-lying mist, which rapidly grew more transparent, broke up, and seemed to dissolve away. The birds were piping and screaming in the trees, and as we reached the river, where all was light and sunshine, we started first a great white crane, which rose from the shallows and flew off, then a kingfisher with dazzling coat, and soon after came in sight of a little flock of rosy-winged flamingoes, with their curious, long, snaky, writhing necks, and quaintly-shaped bills, which always looked to me as if they were made to use upside down.

“Well, I nebber see!” cried Pomp at last, after stepping back, and preserving the most profound silence time after time.

“What’s the matter?”

“Why Mass’ George no shoot?”

“Because we don’t want the birds. You don’t care to have to carry them, do you?”

“No; dis wallet um so dreffle heabby.”

We tramped on a little farther, now in the deep shade, now in the golden sunshine when we could get close to the stream, and then Pomp sighed.

“Mass’ George like to carry de walletum now?”

“No; I’m carrying the gun.”

“Pomp carry de gun.”

“Oh, no,” I said, “I’ll manage that;” and we went slowly on again. There was no track, and near the river where the light and sunshine played there was plenty of thick undergrowth, while a short distance back in the forest the walking was easy among the trees, where scarcely anything clothed the ground in the deep shadow.

Pomp kept trudging away toward the dark, shadowy forest, and I had to stop him again and again, for the boat was not likely to be in there. On the last occasion he said—

“Walletum dreffle heabby, Mass’ George. Don’t think better carry um inside?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mass’ George eat half, and Pomp eat half. Den we hab nuffum to carry.”

I naturally enough burst out laughing.

“Why, we’ve only just had a good breakfast, and couldn’t eat any more.”

“Oh yes, Pomp could, big lots.”

“And what are we to have to eat by and by, when we get hungry?”

“Mass’ George shoot ducks; Pomp make fire an’ roace um.”

“No, no, no,” I cried. “Here, pass me the wallet, and I’ll give you a rest.”

“And Pomp carry de gun,” he cried, eagerly.

“No, sir. If you can carry the gun, you can carry the wallet. Here, give me hold.”

Pomp looked disappointed as he handed over the wallet very slowly, and after slinging it on we once more progressed, looking carefully in all directions in search of the lost boat, but seeing nothing; and I soon had to come to the conclusion that the chances were very greatly against our finding the object of our search.

It was slow work, but for some miles the place was familiar, my father having brought me as far exploring, and Pomp and I having several times over boated through the dark forest along that bright, winding highway—the river; generally with some difficulty, on account of the fallen trees, and snags, and dense overgrowth, beneath which we often had to force our way, while at other times we had almost to cut a channel through the lilies and other water plants which choked the stream.

It was plain enough to see though, now, how comparatively easy a journey would have been in a boat, for the large flood-waves which had swept up the river had scoured out its bed, throwing vast rotting heaps of the succulent water-growths ashore to rot, fester, and dry in the hot sun.

High up too I could see the traces where the flood had reached, well marked by the dry grass hanging among the boughs.

But we kept on forcing our way slowly, soon getting into a part of the river that was entirely new, and growing more and more fascinating to me at every step.

For there was, in addition to the glorious beauty of the bright, sunny river, with its banks where in places the trees drooped down and dipped their boughs in the smooth water, and the various growths were of the most dazzling green, always something new—bird, quadruped, insect, or fish taking my attention to such a degree that I often forgot the boat and the object of our journey.

Pomp was just as excited as I, touching my arm every now and then to point with a black finger at some grey heron standing thigh-deep, watching for the fish that nearly made the waters alive; and perhaps just as we were waiting to see him make the next dart with his beak at some shoal of unfortunate fry, there would be what seemed to be a great curved bar of silver flash out of the water, to plunge in again, giving us just a glimpse of the fierce fish’s glittering scales. Every now and then some big fellow would leap right out, to come down again with a heavy splash, and send a whole shoal of tiny fish, invisible to us before, flying out of the water to avoid their enemy, the river shark.

A little farther, and Pomp’s lips would be close to my ear imploring me to shoot as he indicated a bit of sandy or muddy shore where, just clear of the water and looking like a piece of tree-stump, a great alligator would lie basking in the hot sunshine.

But I invariably resisted his prayers, and as we went on, the reptile would suddenly hear our coming and scuffle rapidly out of sight, making a great swirl in the water as he disappeared.

“No, Pomp,” I would say, “the first ’gator I shoot must be that one in the bathing-pool. Come along.”

On we went, with the river winding in and out through the forest, and there was always something fresh to see: humming-birds that were not so big as some of the butterflies and beetles that swarmed in the sunshiny parts; great lagoon-like pools where the running of the stream became invisible, and we could see far down in the deep water where fish were slowly gliding in and out among the roots of the trees, which in many places clothed the bottom with masses of fibre. Now Pomp’s eyes would be ready to start out of his head as we neared a corner, or starting off into the forest to avoid some wild or swampy patch, we crept out to the river’s bank again, to startle a little flock of ducks which had been preening themselves, and sent feathers like tiny boats floating down the stream.

“Plenty of time,” I would keep saying. “We don’t want them yet, and I’ll shoot them when we do.”

“But ’pose dey not dah to shoot when you want um, Mass’ George. I dreffle hungry now.”

“Ah,” I said at last, “our wallet is getting heavy. Let’s pick out a place, and have some lunch.”

Pomp pricked up his ears, as he generally did when he heard a new word, and this was one ready for him to adopt.

“Iss,” he said, eagerly, “I berry fond o’ lunch. I fought smell um yesday when missie cook um.”

“Cook what?” I said.

“Dat lunch, Mass’ George.”

I laughed, and pressed on to look for a good spot, and soon found one where a great tree, whose roots had been undermined by the river, had fallen diagonally with its branches half in the water, and offering us a good seat just nicely shaded from the burning sun, while we had only to lie out on its great trunk and reach down to be able to fill the tin can I had with the clear water.

The gun was leaned up against the tree-roots; we each sat astride facing each other, the bigness of the tree making it rather an uneasy seat; I slung the wallet round and placed it between us, and had just thrust in my hand, while Pomp wrenched himself round to hang the ammunition pouches close to the gun on a ragged root behind him, when, all at once, the boy’s left leg flew over and kicked the wallet out of my hands, and he bounded a couple of yards away to stand grinning angrily and rubbing himself.

“Too bad, Mass’ George. What do dat for?”

“Do what?” I cried, roaring with laughter, as I stooped down and picked up the wallet, out of which fortunately nothing had fallen.

“’Tick um pin in poor lil nigger.”

“I didn’t,” I said; “and see what you’ve done.”

“Yes, Mass’ George did. Pomp felt um. You wait bit, I serb you out.”

“But I tell you I did not, Pomp,” I cried, as I wiped my eyes. “Oh, you ridiculous-looking little chap! Come and sit down.”

“No, won’t. You ’tick um pin in poor lil nigger behind leg ’gain.”

“I will not, ’pon my honour,” I cried. “Oh, you did look comic.”

“Made um feel comic dicklus,” cried Pomp, catching up the two words I had used. “Did hurt.”

“Come and sit down.”

“You no ’tick um pin in ’gain?”

“I haven’t got a pin,” I said.

“Den I know; it was um big forn.”

“It wasn’t, Pomp. Come and sit down and have some lunch.”

“No. Won’t come. Don’t want no lunchum. Hurt poor Pomp dreffle. You alway play um trick.”

“I tell you I didn’t do anything, Pomp. There, come along.”

He caught sight of the food I brought now from the wallet, and it was irresistible.

“You no ’tick pin in nigger ’gain?”

“No.”

“Nor yet um forn?”

“No. Come along, you little unbeliever. Come along.”

“I serb you out fo dat, Mass’ George, you see,” he said, sidling back to the tree, watching me cautiously the while.

“Oh, very well, I’ll forgive you,” I said, as he retook his place. “I say, Pomp, I am thirsty.”

“So ’m I, Mass’ George. Dat lunchum?”

“Yes; that’s lunch,” I said, as I laid the neatly-done-up napkin containing provision of some kind on the tree-trunk between us, and taking out the tin can I leaned right back, gripping the tree with both legs, and lowering my hand I dipped the vessel full of water.

I was just in the act of rising cautiously and very slowly, when a sharp pain in the fleshy part of my leg made me spring forward in agony, dashing the water in Pomp’s face, knocking the wallet and its contents over sidewise, and in my pain and rage I seized the boy to begin cuffing him, while he wrestled with me to get away, as we hugged and struggled like two fighting men in amêléeon the same horse.

“How dare you!” I panted; “that was the point of your knife. I’ll teach you to—Oh, murder!”

“Oh, Mass’ George, don’t!Oh! Oh! Oh!”

We both made a bound together, went off the trunk sidewise, and Pomp struggled up, tore off his shirt and drawers, and began to beat and shake them, and then peep inside, pausing every moment to have a rub; while I, without going to his extreme, was doing the best I could to rid myself of my pain.

“Nas’ lil fing!” cried Pomp, stamping on something in the grass. “Look, look, Mass’ George, make hase; dey eat all de lunchum.”

The mystery was out. We had seated ourselves upon the home of a vicious kind of ant, whose nest was under the rotten bark of the tree, and as soon as Pomp realised the truth he danced about with delight.

“I fought you ’tick pin in lil nigger. You fought I ’tick um knife in Mass’ George! You catch um, too.”

“Yes,” I said, wriggling under my clothes, and rubbing myself. “Oh! Quick! Back of my neck, Pomp, look. Biting.”

Pomp sprang to me in an instant.

“I got um, Mass’ George. Dah!” he cried, as he placed the vicious little insect between his teeth, and bit it in two. “You no bite young massa ’gain. How you like be bite, sah? Make you feel dicklus, eh? Oh! Ugh! Tiff! Tiff! Tiff! Oh, um do tase nasty.”

Pomp spat and shuddered and ended by washing out his mouth by running a little way, lying flat with his head over the bank, and scooping up some water with his hand.

Meanwhile I cautiously picked up the provisions, the napkin and wallet, and carefully shook them clear of the vicious little things—no easy job, by the way; after which, stinging and smarting still, I sought another place where we could eat our meal in peace.

Chapter Twenty Four.“No, no, Pomp,” I said, after a time, during which we had been thoroughly enjoying our food, “you’ve had quite enough. We shall want to make this last till night.”“Mass’ George no want to finish um all up?”“No.”“So not hav’ to carry walletum.”“Of course not. We shall soon be hungry again.”“Catch fis; shoot de duck; Pomp fine plenty ’tick; and make a fire.”“I wish you’d find the boat,” I said, packing up the remains of the meal the while. “Think it’s any use to go any farther?”“Yes; go right on, Mass’ George; plenty time.”“Yes, we’ll go on,” I said, for I felt refreshed and rested, and as if I should like to go journeying on for days—the beauty of the river and the various things we saw exciting a desire to continue our trip. “I don’t suppose any one ever came here before, but we mustn’t lose our way.”“Couldn’t lose way, Mass’ George. Ony got to keep by ribber, and he show de way back.”“Of course,” I said; “I forgot that.”“No walk back.”“I hope not,” I said. “We are going to find the boat.”Pomp made a grimace and looked round, as if to say, “Not likely.”“No find a boat, put lot ob ’tick togedder and float down de ribber home.”“Ah, well, we’ll see,” I said; and we continued our journey for hour after hour, always finding some fresh beauty to entice me, or living object for Pomp to stalk and beg me to shoot. But though we looked here and there as well as we could, there was no sign of the object of our search; in fact, I soon began to feel that I had embarked upon an enterprise that was almost an impossibility.The river had now grown a little swifter, and though there was plenty of swampy land down by its banks, it seemed as if we were getting into a more elevated region, the margin being higher, and here and there quite precipitous, but it was always more beautiful, and the objects of natural history grew frequent every hour.Now it was a squirrel, of which there seemed to be great numbers; then all at once, as we were threading our way through the low bushes, something sprang up from its lair and went bounding off among the trees, giving me just a glimpse of a pretty head with large eyes and small horns, before it was gone.“Oh, Mass’ George, you ought shoot dat,” said Pomp, reproachfully. “Dat berry good to eat.”“If I had been on the look-out, I could not have hit it,” I said. “But I say, Pomp,” I continued, looking round as we came upon a high sandy bluff through which the river had cut its way, and whose dry, sun-bathed sides offered a pleasant resting-place, “aren’t you tired?”“No,” said the boy, thoughtfully, “Pomp not bit tired, only one leg.”“Well, are you hungry then?”“Dreffle, Mass’ George. You like emp de walletum now?”“Yes, we’ll sit down and have a good meal, and then we shall have to make haste back.”“Top lil bit, Mass’ George,” said the boy, cautiously.“Oh no, there are no pins and forns there to ’tick in us,” I said.“No, Mass’ George, but dat sort o’ place for rattle tailum ’nake. I go look fust.”I felt a shudder run through me at the mention of the noxious creature, and brought the gun to bear as we advanced.“No; no shoot,” whispered the boy. “Big ’tick bess for ’nake.”We advanced very cautiously, with our eyes searching the ground, but there was nothing in sight, and after selecting a comfortable place where the sand had slowly been washed down from the bluff till it lay thick and dry as when it is drifted on the seashore, we sat down, the fine grains feeling delightful to our limbs, and made a hearty meal of the remains left in the wallet.It was wonderfully still there, the trees being quite motionless, and the only sounds heard being the hum of some insect and the ripple of the water a dozen yards away. High above us through the thin tracery of an overhanging tree the sky looked of a brilliant blue, and away to left and right extended the forest.Pomp was lying face downwards, lazily scooping a hole in the sand, and watching it trickle back as fast as he scraped it away, just as if it were so much dry water in grains. I was lying on my back where the sand sloped up to the bank; and as I gazed at the trees, half expecting to see our boat sticking somewhere up among the branches, it seemed to me as if I had never felt so happy and contented before. Perhaps it was the soft, clear atmosphere, or the fact that I was resting, or that I had just partaken of a pleasant meal. I don’t know. All I can say is that everything felt peaceful and restful; even Pomp, who as a rule was like a piece of spring in motion. There was a lovely pale blue haze in the distance, and a warm golden glow nearer at hand; the sun was getting well to the west; and I knew that we must soon start and walk fast, so as to get back, but I did not feel disposed to move for a few minutes.We should be able to walk so much better after a rest, I thought, and we should not stop to look for the boat, or at anything, but keep steadily walking on, so that it would not take us a quarter of the time; and if night did come on, the moon would rise early, and we could easily get to the house.How deliriously faint and blue that looked right away there in the distance, and how still it all was! Even Pomp enjoyed the silence, and I would not disturb him yet, but let him rest too. No fear of any snakes coming if we were there, and in a few minutes I’d jump up, tell Pomp, and we’d go and have a delicious bathe, and dry ourselves in the warm sand; that would make us walk splendidly. But I would not wake him yet—not just yet—I’d wake him presently, for he was so still that he must have gone to sleep. There he lay with his face to the sand, and his fingers half buried in the hole he had been scraping.“What a fellow he is to snooze!” I thought to myself. “Lucky I’m not so ready to go to sleep. How—how long shall I wait before I wake him?—How long—how long—how—”

“No, no, Pomp,” I said, after a time, during which we had been thoroughly enjoying our food, “you’ve had quite enough. We shall want to make this last till night.”

“Mass’ George no want to finish um all up?”

“No.”

“So not hav’ to carry walletum.”

“Of course not. We shall soon be hungry again.”

“Catch fis; shoot de duck; Pomp fine plenty ’tick; and make a fire.”

“I wish you’d find the boat,” I said, packing up the remains of the meal the while. “Think it’s any use to go any farther?”

“Yes; go right on, Mass’ George; plenty time.”

“Yes, we’ll go on,” I said, for I felt refreshed and rested, and as if I should like to go journeying on for days—the beauty of the river and the various things we saw exciting a desire to continue our trip. “I don’t suppose any one ever came here before, but we mustn’t lose our way.”

“Couldn’t lose way, Mass’ George. Ony got to keep by ribber, and he show de way back.”

“Of course,” I said; “I forgot that.”

“No walk back.”

“I hope not,” I said. “We are going to find the boat.”

Pomp made a grimace and looked round, as if to say, “Not likely.”

“No find a boat, put lot ob ’tick togedder and float down de ribber home.”

“Ah, well, we’ll see,” I said; and we continued our journey for hour after hour, always finding some fresh beauty to entice me, or living object for Pomp to stalk and beg me to shoot. But though we looked here and there as well as we could, there was no sign of the object of our search; in fact, I soon began to feel that I had embarked upon an enterprise that was almost an impossibility.

The river had now grown a little swifter, and though there was plenty of swampy land down by its banks, it seemed as if we were getting into a more elevated region, the margin being higher, and here and there quite precipitous, but it was always more beautiful, and the objects of natural history grew frequent every hour.

Now it was a squirrel, of which there seemed to be great numbers; then all at once, as we were threading our way through the low bushes, something sprang up from its lair and went bounding off among the trees, giving me just a glimpse of a pretty head with large eyes and small horns, before it was gone.

“Oh, Mass’ George, you ought shoot dat,” said Pomp, reproachfully. “Dat berry good to eat.”

“If I had been on the look-out, I could not have hit it,” I said. “But I say, Pomp,” I continued, looking round as we came upon a high sandy bluff through which the river had cut its way, and whose dry, sun-bathed sides offered a pleasant resting-place, “aren’t you tired?”

“No,” said the boy, thoughtfully, “Pomp not bit tired, only one leg.”

“Well, are you hungry then?”

“Dreffle, Mass’ George. You like emp de walletum now?”

“Yes, we’ll sit down and have a good meal, and then we shall have to make haste back.”

“Top lil bit, Mass’ George,” said the boy, cautiously.

“Oh no, there are no pins and forns there to ’tick in us,” I said.

“No, Mass’ George, but dat sort o’ place for rattle tailum ’nake. I go look fust.”

I felt a shudder run through me at the mention of the noxious creature, and brought the gun to bear as we advanced.

“No; no shoot,” whispered the boy. “Big ’tick bess for ’nake.”

We advanced very cautiously, with our eyes searching the ground, but there was nothing in sight, and after selecting a comfortable place where the sand had slowly been washed down from the bluff till it lay thick and dry as when it is drifted on the seashore, we sat down, the fine grains feeling delightful to our limbs, and made a hearty meal of the remains left in the wallet.

It was wonderfully still there, the trees being quite motionless, and the only sounds heard being the hum of some insect and the ripple of the water a dozen yards away. High above us through the thin tracery of an overhanging tree the sky looked of a brilliant blue, and away to left and right extended the forest.

Pomp was lying face downwards, lazily scooping a hole in the sand, and watching it trickle back as fast as he scraped it away, just as if it were so much dry water in grains. I was lying on my back where the sand sloped up to the bank; and as I gazed at the trees, half expecting to see our boat sticking somewhere up among the branches, it seemed to me as if I had never felt so happy and contented before. Perhaps it was the soft, clear atmosphere, or the fact that I was resting, or that I had just partaken of a pleasant meal. I don’t know. All I can say is that everything felt peaceful and restful; even Pomp, who as a rule was like a piece of spring in motion. There was a lovely pale blue haze in the distance, and a warm golden glow nearer at hand; the sun was getting well to the west; and I knew that we must soon start and walk fast, so as to get back, but I did not feel disposed to move for a few minutes.

We should be able to walk so much better after a rest, I thought, and we should not stop to look for the boat, or at anything, but keep steadily walking on, so that it would not take us a quarter of the time; and if night did come on, the moon would rise early, and we could easily get to the house.

How deliriously faint and blue that looked right away there in the distance, and how still it all was! Even Pomp enjoyed the silence, and I would not disturb him yet, but let him rest too. No fear of any snakes coming if we were there, and in a few minutes I’d jump up, tell Pomp, and we’d go and have a delicious bathe, and dry ourselves in the warm sand; that would make us walk splendidly. But I would not wake him yet—not just yet—I’d wake him presently, for he was so still that he must have gone to sleep. There he lay with his face to the sand, and his fingers half buried in the hole he had been scraping.

“What a fellow he is to snooze!” I thought to myself. “Lucky I’m not so ready to go to sleep. How—how long shall I wait before I wake him?—How long—how long—how—”

Chapter Twenty Five.A jerk! Then a hasty movement. I must have left the window open, and a fly or a beetle had got in and was tickling my ear. Now it was on my cheek—then on the other cheek—my neck again—my ear—my eyes—and now—“Ertchsshaw—ertchsshaw!” It was right on my nose, and I start up to brush it away, and in the gloom recognise the figure of Pomp, who burst into a roar of laughter.“Mass’ George tiddle lil nigger; now lil nigger tiddle Mass’ George.”“Why, Pomp,” I said, sitting up and staring, “I—I thought I was at home.”“No, Mass’ George. Home long a way. Been sleep, and Pomp been sleep.”I shivered, got up, and stamped about.“Yes, Mass’ George, um dreffle cole.”“Here, get the powder and shot, and let’s go back.”Pomp shook his head.“No good go now. Get ’tuck in de forn, or tumble in de ribber.”“But we must go.”“No see de way; an’ all de big ’gator go out for walk now, Mass’ George.”“What time can it be?”“Dunno, Mass’ George, o’ny know not morrow mornin’ yet.”I looked about me, and tried to make out the forest path by which we should have to go; but all was dark as night could be, except overhead where a faint gleam showed where the moon should have been giving her light, had not the clouds and mist interposed.I did not like the look of it, but on the other hand I was afraid to give up; I knew that my father would be anxious, perhaps setting out in search of me.That last thought fixed me in my determination, and taking up the gun, I said firmly—“Come along.”“Mass’ George go shoot somefin?”“No; let’s get back home.”“No get home now. Too dark.”“But we must get home.”“Mass’ George say muss get home, but de dark night say he no get home.”“Let’s try,” I said.Pomp was obedience itself, and he followed me as I strode back to the edge of the forest, entered the dense thicket close to the river, and had not gone a hundred yards before just in front of me there was a crashing, rustling noise, and a dull sullen plunge.“I yah, ugly ole ’gator. Take care, Mass’ George, he don’t hab you.”I felt my heart beat fast, but I tried to fix it upon my mind in the foremost place that the reptiles fled from me, and were perhaps more alarmed than I was; but as I pressed forward, Pomp suddenly said, piteously—“No got shoe like Mass’ George. Poor Pomp put him foot in ’gator mouf. Oh!”Pomp caught hold of me tightly, for from somewhere in front there came a low snarling roar, which I had never before heard; but report had told of different savage creatures which came down from the hills sometimes, mountain lions, as the settlers called them, and to face one of these creatures in the dark was too much for my nerves.“It’s unlucky,” I said to Pomp; “but we can’t get back to-night. We had better get out from among the trees.”Pomp wanted no second hint; he was behind, and he turned at once, and led the way back to the sandy bluff, where he stood shivering.“What was dat, Mass’ George?”“I don’t know,” I said. “Some kind of great cat, I suppose.”“Pomp tink he know. It great big monkey like in him country. Great big as fader, and big long arm, an um shoutooooor! Like dat.”He uttered as deep-toned a roar as he could, and made a snatch at me directly and held on, for from out of the forest came an answering roar that sounded terrific to us, as we stood there shivering with cold and fear.“Mass’ George! Mass’ George!” whispered Pomp, with his lips close to my ear, “tell um I berry sorry. I no do um no more.”“Hush!” I said, and I stood ready with the gun presented, fully expecting to see a dark shadowy form crawling over the light-coloured sand, and trying to get within range for a spring.But all was still once more, and we waited in expectancy for some minutes before there was a great floundering splash in the water to our right; and then away to the left where the river ran black and mysterious in the night—where all was bright and beautiful by day—there came evidently from three different parts as many bellows, such as must have been given by alligators of great size.“Come ’long, Mass’ George,” whispered Pomp.“No,” I said, “we must wait till day.”“Dey come and hab us bofe, Mass’ George, we ’top here. Come ’long.”“But it is impossible.”“Yes, Mass’ George, um possible; come and get up dat big tree.”The proposition seemed so much in unison with my feelings that I followed my companion at once, and he paused under a great oak a little farther from the river, and beyond the bluff.“Dah, Mass’ George, make base up an’ let me come. I dreffle frighten.”“Then go first.”“No, Mass’ George, you go firs’, you de mas’r.”“Then I order you to go first, Pomp,” I said.“Den we bofe clime up togedder, Mass’ George. You go one way, and Pomp go oder way.”There seemed to be no time for discussion on questions of precedent, so we began to climb together, reaching a great branch about twenty feet from the ground, no easy task for me, encumbered as I was by the gun.“Ha ha!” cried Pomp, who seemed to have recovered his courage as soon as he was up in the tree; “no ’gator catch um up here, Mass’ George. Nebber see ’gator, no, not eben lil ’gator, climb up tree.”“No,” I said in a low tone, which impressed the boy so that he sat speechless for some time; “no, but the panthers can, more easily than we do, Pomp.”I don’t know what sort of a shot I should have made; probably I should have been too nervous to take good aim up there in the dark; but for what seemed a terrible length of time I sat there gun in hand, ready to fire at the first savage creature I could see, and a dozen times over I conjured up something stealthily approaching. But it was not until we had been up there about an hour that I felt quite certain of some great cat-like creature being beneath the tree.It was not creeping forward, but crouched down as if watching us, ready at our first movement to change its waiting attitude into one of offence.Pomp made no sign, but he was so still that I felt sure he could see it too, and I was afraid to call his attention to it, lest it should bring the creature on me so suddenly that it might disorder my aim. So I sat on with the piece directed at the object, my finger on the trigger, hesitating, then determined to fire, when all at once it seemed to me that the animal had grown plainer.This, though I had not detected the movement, must mean that it was getting nearer and about to spring, so casting all hesitancy to the winds, I raised the gun to my shoulder, and then quite started, for Pomp said aloud—“Mass’ George going shoot?”“Yes,” I said, in a husky whisper. “Keep still; do you see it?”“No. Where be um?”“There, there,” I whispered; “down straight before us.”“What, dat?”“Yes. Be still, or you’ll make it leap at us.”“Why, dat lil tree.”There was a tone of such astonishment in the boy’s voice that I bent lower and lower down, knowing how much better Pomp’s eyes were than mine; and as I looked, I saw that the object was clear, and that it was indeed a low patch of shrub getting plainer and plainer rapidly now, for it was morning once more.

A jerk! Then a hasty movement. I must have left the window open, and a fly or a beetle had got in and was tickling my ear. Now it was on my cheek—then on the other cheek—my neck again—my ear—my eyes—and now—

“Ertchsshaw—ertchsshaw!” It was right on my nose, and I start up to brush it away, and in the gloom recognise the figure of Pomp, who burst into a roar of laughter.

“Mass’ George tiddle lil nigger; now lil nigger tiddle Mass’ George.”

“Why, Pomp,” I said, sitting up and staring, “I—I thought I was at home.”

“No, Mass’ George. Home long a way. Been sleep, and Pomp been sleep.”

I shivered, got up, and stamped about.

“Yes, Mass’ George, um dreffle cole.”

“Here, get the powder and shot, and let’s go back.”

Pomp shook his head.

“No good go now. Get ’tuck in de forn, or tumble in de ribber.”

“But we must go.”

“No see de way; an’ all de big ’gator go out for walk now, Mass’ George.”

“What time can it be?”

“Dunno, Mass’ George, o’ny know not morrow mornin’ yet.”

I looked about me, and tried to make out the forest path by which we should have to go; but all was dark as night could be, except overhead where a faint gleam showed where the moon should have been giving her light, had not the clouds and mist interposed.

I did not like the look of it, but on the other hand I was afraid to give up; I knew that my father would be anxious, perhaps setting out in search of me.

That last thought fixed me in my determination, and taking up the gun, I said firmly—

“Come along.”

“Mass’ George go shoot somefin?”

“No; let’s get back home.”

“No get home now. Too dark.”

“But we must get home.”

“Mass’ George say muss get home, but de dark night say he no get home.”

“Let’s try,” I said.

Pomp was obedience itself, and he followed me as I strode back to the edge of the forest, entered the dense thicket close to the river, and had not gone a hundred yards before just in front of me there was a crashing, rustling noise, and a dull sullen plunge.

“I yah, ugly ole ’gator. Take care, Mass’ George, he don’t hab you.”

I felt my heart beat fast, but I tried to fix it upon my mind in the foremost place that the reptiles fled from me, and were perhaps more alarmed than I was; but as I pressed forward, Pomp suddenly said, piteously—

“No got shoe like Mass’ George. Poor Pomp put him foot in ’gator mouf. Oh!”

Pomp caught hold of me tightly, for from somewhere in front there came a low snarling roar, which I had never before heard; but report had told of different savage creatures which came down from the hills sometimes, mountain lions, as the settlers called them, and to face one of these creatures in the dark was too much for my nerves.

“It’s unlucky,” I said to Pomp; “but we can’t get back to-night. We had better get out from among the trees.”

Pomp wanted no second hint; he was behind, and he turned at once, and led the way back to the sandy bluff, where he stood shivering.

“What was dat, Mass’ George?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Some kind of great cat, I suppose.”

“Pomp tink he know. It great big monkey like in him country. Great big as fader, and big long arm, an um shoutooooor! Like dat.”

He uttered as deep-toned a roar as he could, and made a snatch at me directly and held on, for from out of the forest came an answering roar that sounded terrific to us, as we stood there shivering with cold and fear.

“Mass’ George! Mass’ George!” whispered Pomp, with his lips close to my ear, “tell um I berry sorry. I no do um no more.”

“Hush!” I said, and I stood ready with the gun presented, fully expecting to see a dark shadowy form crawling over the light-coloured sand, and trying to get within range for a spring.

But all was still once more, and we waited in expectancy for some minutes before there was a great floundering splash in the water to our right; and then away to the left where the river ran black and mysterious in the night—where all was bright and beautiful by day—there came evidently from three different parts as many bellows, such as must have been given by alligators of great size.

“Come ’long, Mass’ George,” whispered Pomp.

“No,” I said, “we must wait till day.”

“Dey come and hab us bofe, Mass’ George, we ’top here. Come ’long.”

“But it is impossible.”

“Yes, Mass’ George, um possible; come and get up dat big tree.”

The proposition seemed so much in unison with my feelings that I followed my companion at once, and he paused under a great oak a little farther from the river, and beyond the bluff.

“Dah, Mass’ George, make base up an’ let me come. I dreffle frighten.”

“Then go first.”

“No, Mass’ George, you go firs’, you de mas’r.”

“Then I order you to go first, Pomp,” I said.

“Den we bofe clime up togedder, Mass’ George. You go one way, and Pomp go oder way.”

There seemed to be no time for discussion on questions of precedent, so we began to climb together, reaching a great branch about twenty feet from the ground, no easy task for me, encumbered as I was by the gun.

“Ha ha!” cried Pomp, who seemed to have recovered his courage as soon as he was up in the tree; “no ’gator catch um up here, Mass’ George. Nebber see ’gator, no, not eben lil ’gator, climb up tree.”

“No,” I said in a low tone, which impressed the boy so that he sat speechless for some time; “no, but the panthers can, more easily than we do, Pomp.”

I don’t know what sort of a shot I should have made; probably I should have been too nervous to take good aim up there in the dark; but for what seemed a terrible length of time I sat there gun in hand, ready to fire at the first savage creature I could see, and a dozen times over I conjured up something stealthily approaching. But it was not until we had been up there about an hour that I felt quite certain of some great cat-like creature being beneath the tree.

It was not creeping forward, but crouched down as if watching us, ready at our first movement to change its waiting attitude into one of offence.

Pomp made no sign, but he was so still that I felt sure he could see it too, and I was afraid to call his attention to it, lest it should bring the creature on me so suddenly that it might disorder my aim. So I sat on with the piece directed at the object, my finger on the trigger, hesitating, then determined to fire, when all at once it seemed to me that the animal had grown plainer.

This, though I had not detected the movement, must mean that it was getting nearer and about to spring, so casting all hesitancy to the winds, I raised the gun to my shoulder, and then quite started, for Pomp said aloud—

“Mass’ George going shoot?”

“Yes,” I said, in a husky whisper. “Keep still; do you see it?”

“No. Where be um?”

“There, there,” I whispered; “down straight before us.”

“What, dat?”

“Yes. Be still, or you’ll make it leap at us.”

“Why, dat lil tree.”

There was a tone of such astonishment in the boy’s voice that I bent lower and lower down, knowing how much better Pomp’s eyes were than mine; and as I looked, I saw that the object was clear, and that it was indeed a low patch of shrub getting plainer and plainer rapidly now, for it was morning once more.

Chapter Twenty Six.“Now, Mass’ George,” said Pomp, as we stood at the foot of the tree, and stamped about to get rid of the stiffness, and cold brought on by our cramped position on the branch, “de fuss ting am breckfuss. I so dreffle hungry.”“But we ate everything last night,” I said.“Neb mind; plenty duck in de ribber. You go shoot four lil duck, dat two piece, while Pomp make fire to roace um.”“But how are we to get a light?”“You see,” he said, as he busily began to get together all the loose sticks he could find lying about, at the same time showing me a stone and his knife with a little bag full of tinder. “I soon get light, Mass’ George; I get big fire much soon you get de duck.”The proposition was so sensible that I went off with the gun, and following the course of the river beyond the bluff, I was not long before I heard a familiar noise, and creeping forward in the grey dawn, I was soon crouching behind the low growth by a wide pool of the river, where quite a flock of ducks were disporting themselves, preening their feathers, diving, making the bright drops run over their backs like pearls, and ending by flapping and beating the water heavily with their wings, exactly as I had seen them perform in the pond at home.I waited my opportunity, lying flat now on my chest, and at last, after nearly firing three or four times and always waiting for a better chance, I drew trigger upon a knot of the ducks after getting several well in a line. There was a deafening report, a sensation as if my shoulder was broken, and a thick film of smoke hid everything from my sight. But as the shot went echoing along the side of the forest, I could hear the whistling and whirring of wings where the ducks flapped along the water, rose, and swept away over the trees. Then the smoke rose, and to my great delight there lay five of the unfortunate ducks; three perfectly still, and floating slowly to the shallow below the pool, the other two flapping wildly and trying to reach the farther shore.To get the three was easy. I had but to wait and then wade in over the shallow to where I could see the sandy and pebbly bottom quite plain. To get the wounded ducks meant a swim, and perhaps a long hunt.“Better shoot at them again,” I thought, when I shuddered, for something dark appeared behind one; there was a snap, and it disappeared, while almost at the same moment the other, which must have been nearly twenty yards away, was suddenly struck down beneath the water by something which puzzled me at first, but which the next minute I knew to be an alligator’s tail.I turned to my three, now well over the shallows, and hesitated as to whether I dared risk going after them, not knowing but that an alligator might make a rush out of the deep black pool and seize them first, or failing them perhaps seize me.But I was hungry too, and leaping in, I secured all three birds after splashing through the water a bit, and reached the shore again in safety, but not without many an excited look round at the deep place where I knew the monsters were lurking; and as I shook the water from my legs, and stamped about on the bank, I found myself thinking what a pity it was such a lovely country should be marred by dangerous beasts and horrible reptiles like the rattlesnakes and alligators.Then I thought of the ducks, and as I held them all three by their orange legs, and looked down at their beautifully-coloured plumage, all soft browns and chestnuts, and with wing-spots of lovely green, and having a head of the same colour, my conscience smote me, and I found myself wondering what the ducks thought that beautiful morning when they were having their baths and preening themselves ready for a long flight or a good swim. And I seemed to see them all again playing about, and passing their heads over their backs, and rubbing the points of their beaks in the oil-gland to make their plumage keep off the water. And how soft and close it was!“What must they have thought,” I said to myself, “about a monster who came with a horrible, fire-dealing weapon that strikes them down like a flash of lightning? Not much room for me to complain about the alligators!” I exclaimed. “But if I had not killed the ducks they would have killed all kinds of insects and little fishes, and if they did not kill the insects and fishes, the insects and fishes would have killed smaller ones. Everything seems to be killing everything else, and I suppose it’s because we are all hungry, as I am now.”I walked sharply back along the river-bank with the sun now well up, and before long came in sight of a little cloud of smoke rising softly above the trees, and soon after I could hear the crackling of wood, and as I drew near, there was Pomp dodging about in the smoke, piling up pieces of dried stick, and making a roaring fire.The sight of this took away all my feelings of compunction, and in imagination I began to see the brown sides of the well-roasted ducks, to smell their appetising odour, and to taste the juicy, tender bits about the bones.“I heard you shoot um, Mass’ George,” cried Pomp, excitedly. “Got lubbly fire. How many?”“Three,” I said.“Oh!”“What’s the matter?”“On’y got flee. Dat two Mass’ George, and on’y one for Pomp, an’ I so dreffle hungly, I mose eat bit a ’gator.”“There’ll be plenty,” I said. “I shall only eat one.”“Eh? Mass’ George on’y eat one duck-bird?”“That’s all.”“Mass’ George sure?”“Yes. Let’s cook them.”“But is Mass’ George quite sure?”“Yes—yes—yes!”“Oh! Den Mass’ George hab dis bewfler one wid um green head. Dat’s biggess and bess.”“Here, what are you going to do?” I cried, as Pomp suddenly seized the three ducks and threw them into the fire. “That’s not the way to roast ducks.”“Pomp know dat, Mass’ George,” cried the boy, poking the birds about with a long, sharp-pointed stick, one of several which he had cut ready. “Pomp fader show um how to do ober dah.”“Ober dah” evidently meant Africa.“Dat a way to get all de fedder off fuss. Dah, see dat?” he cried, as he turned one out scorched brown. “Now Mass’ George see.”As I watched him, he cleverly ran his sharp-pointed stick through this first duck, stuck the point down into the sand, so that the bird was close in to the glowing embers, and then deftly served the others the same.“Mass’ George shoot um duck, Pomp cook um; same Pomp cook and make de cake at home. Pomp fader nebber cook. Pomp cook de fis, and de yam, and make um hominy. Pomp berry clebber ’deed, Mass’ George. Ah, you try burn you ’tick an’ tummle in de fire, would you, sah? No, you don’t! You ’top dah an’ get rock nice for Mass’ George.”As he spoke he made a snatch at one of the sticks, and turned the bird, as he stuck it afresh in the sand, closer to the glowing embers, for the flame and smoke had nearly gone now, and the ducks were sputtering, browning, and beginning to give forth a tempting odour.As the boy was evidently, as he modestly said, so “clebber,” I did not interfere, but took off my shoes and stockings, wrung the latter well out, and laid them and the shoes in the warm glow to dry, a little rubbing about in the hot dry sand from the bluff soon drying my feet. Then I carefully reloaded the gun, in accordance with Morgan’s instructions, making the ramrod leap well on the powder charge and wad, while Pomp looked on eagerly, his fingers working, his lips moving, and his eyes seeming to devour everything that was done.“Pomp load um gun,” he said all at once.“You go on with your cooking,” I replied; “that one’s ‘burning um ’tick.’”Pomp darted at the wooden spit, and drawing it out replaced it in a better position.“Dat duck lil rarksle,” he said, showing his teeth. “Dat free time try to burn um ’tick and tummle in de fire, rock umself. Dah, you ’tan ’till, will you? Oh, I say, Mass’ George, done um ’mell good?”“Yes; they begin to smell nice.”“Dat de one hab green head. He berry juicy ’deed; dat one for Mass’ George. What Mass’ George going to do?”“Put the gun and powder and shot farther away from the fire.”“What for?”“A spark might set the powder off.”“Oh!” ejaculated Pomp. Then, “What powder do if ’park send um off?”“Blow the fire out and send the ducks into the river.”“What? An’ de ’gator get um? Pomp not cook de duck for ’gator. ’Gator eat de duck raw, and no pick um fedder. Take de gun away.”I was already doing so, and standing it up behind us against a patch of low bushes, I hung the powder and shot pouches by their straps to the iron ramrod. Then going back to my place I sat watching the cooking, as the boy turned and re-turned the birds, which grew browner and more appetising every moment.There were faults in that cooking, no doubt. There was neither plate nor dish, no bread, no salt or pepper, and no table-cloth. But there was something else—young, healthy appetite, as we sat at last in the bright morning sunshine, drawn back now from the fire, Pomp and I, each with a roasting-stick in one hand, his knife in the other, cutting off the juicy brown bits, and eating them with the greatest of gusto, after an incision had been made, and the whole of the hardened interior had been allowed to fall out into the fire.We hardly spoke, but went on eating, Pomp watching me and cutting the bird exactly as I did mine; then picking each bone as it was detached from the stick, and so on and on, till we had each finished his duck. Our hands were not very clean, and we had no table napkins for our lips; but as we ate that meal, I can safely say for myself that it was the most delicious repast I ever had.Then we sat perfectly still, after throwing our sticks into the remains of the fire, reduced now to a few glowing embers.But there is one thing more of which I must speak, that is the third duck, which, certainly the best cooked and least burned of the three, had been served to table; that is to say, its burnt stick had been stuck in the sand between us, and there it was, nicely cooling down, and looking tempting in the extreme.Pomp looked at me, and I looked at Pomp.“I dreffle glad we come an’ ’top out all night,” he said, showing his white teeth. “Mass’ George, go an’ shoot more duck, an’ Pomp cook um.”“We haven’t finished that one,” I said.“No, Mass’ George, no hab finish dat oder duck.”“Well, go on; I’ve had quite enough.”“Pomp had quite nuff too.”“Then we’ll wrap it up in the napkin, and we’ll eat it by and by for lunch.”“Yes; wrap um up an’ eat um bime by.”I drew out the napkin, and Pomp shot the duck off the wooden spit on to the cloth, which, with due care to avoid the addition of sand, was folded up, and then I said—“Now, Pomp, we must find the boat as we go back.”“Mass’ George go back?” he said.“Yes, of course; and get there as soon as we can.”“Yes, Mass’ George,” he said, sadly. “Pomp wouldn’t mind ’top if Mass’ George say ’top here.”“We’ll come again,” I said, laughing. “Let’s find the boat if we can, but we must make haste back.”“Hi! Ohey!” he shouted.“What’s the matter?” I said.“Wha dat all gun?”

“Now, Mass’ George,” said Pomp, as we stood at the foot of the tree, and stamped about to get rid of the stiffness, and cold brought on by our cramped position on the branch, “de fuss ting am breckfuss. I so dreffle hungry.”

“But we ate everything last night,” I said.

“Neb mind; plenty duck in de ribber. You go shoot four lil duck, dat two piece, while Pomp make fire to roace um.”

“But how are we to get a light?”

“You see,” he said, as he busily began to get together all the loose sticks he could find lying about, at the same time showing me a stone and his knife with a little bag full of tinder. “I soon get light, Mass’ George; I get big fire much soon you get de duck.”

The proposition was so sensible that I went off with the gun, and following the course of the river beyond the bluff, I was not long before I heard a familiar noise, and creeping forward in the grey dawn, I was soon crouching behind the low growth by a wide pool of the river, where quite a flock of ducks were disporting themselves, preening their feathers, diving, making the bright drops run over their backs like pearls, and ending by flapping and beating the water heavily with their wings, exactly as I had seen them perform in the pond at home.

I waited my opportunity, lying flat now on my chest, and at last, after nearly firing three or four times and always waiting for a better chance, I drew trigger upon a knot of the ducks after getting several well in a line. There was a deafening report, a sensation as if my shoulder was broken, and a thick film of smoke hid everything from my sight. But as the shot went echoing along the side of the forest, I could hear the whistling and whirring of wings where the ducks flapped along the water, rose, and swept away over the trees. Then the smoke rose, and to my great delight there lay five of the unfortunate ducks; three perfectly still, and floating slowly to the shallow below the pool, the other two flapping wildly and trying to reach the farther shore.

To get the three was easy. I had but to wait and then wade in over the shallow to where I could see the sandy and pebbly bottom quite plain. To get the wounded ducks meant a swim, and perhaps a long hunt.

“Better shoot at them again,” I thought, when I shuddered, for something dark appeared behind one; there was a snap, and it disappeared, while almost at the same moment the other, which must have been nearly twenty yards away, was suddenly struck down beneath the water by something which puzzled me at first, but which the next minute I knew to be an alligator’s tail.

I turned to my three, now well over the shallows, and hesitated as to whether I dared risk going after them, not knowing but that an alligator might make a rush out of the deep black pool and seize them first, or failing them perhaps seize me.

But I was hungry too, and leaping in, I secured all three birds after splashing through the water a bit, and reached the shore again in safety, but not without many an excited look round at the deep place where I knew the monsters were lurking; and as I shook the water from my legs, and stamped about on the bank, I found myself thinking what a pity it was such a lovely country should be marred by dangerous beasts and horrible reptiles like the rattlesnakes and alligators.

Then I thought of the ducks, and as I held them all three by their orange legs, and looked down at their beautifully-coloured plumage, all soft browns and chestnuts, and with wing-spots of lovely green, and having a head of the same colour, my conscience smote me, and I found myself wondering what the ducks thought that beautiful morning when they were having their baths and preening themselves ready for a long flight or a good swim. And I seemed to see them all again playing about, and passing their heads over their backs, and rubbing the points of their beaks in the oil-gland to make their plumage keep off the water. And how soft and close it was!

“What must they have thought,” I said to myself, “about a monster who came with a horrible, fire-dealing weapon that strikes them down like a flash of lightning? Not much room for me to complain about the alligators!” I exclaimed. “But if I had not killed the ducks they would have killed all kinds of insects and little fishes, and if they did not kill the insects and fishes, the insects and fishes would have killed smaller ones. Everything seems to be killing everything else, and I suppose it’s because we are all hungry, as I am now.”

I walked sharply back along the river-bank with the sun now well up, and before long came in sight of a little cloud of smoke rising softly above the trees, and soon after I could hear the crackling of wood, and as I drew near, there was Pomp dodging about in the smoke, piling up pieces of dried stick, and making a roaring fire.

The sight of this took away all my feelings of compunction, and in imagination I began to see the brown sides of the well-roasted ducks, to smell their appetising odour, and to taste the juicy, tender bits about the bones.

“I heard you shoot um, Mass’ George,” cried Pomp, excitedly. “Got lubbly fire. How many?”

“Three,” I said.

“Oh!”

“What’s the matter?”

“On’y got flee. Dat two Mass’ George, and on’y one for Pomp, an’ I so dreffle hungly, I mose eat bit a ’gator.”

“There’ll be plenty,” I said. “I shall only eat one.”

“Eh? Mass’ George on’y eat one duck-bird?”

“That’s all.”

“Mass’ George sure?”

“Yes. Let’s cook them.”

“But is Mass’ George quite sure?”

“Yes—yes—yes!”

“Oh! Den Mass’ George hab dis bewfler one wid um green head. Dat’s biggess and bess.”

“Here, what are you going to do?” I cried, as Pomp suddenly seized the three ducks and threw them into the fire. “That’s not the way to roast ducks.”

“Pomp know dat, Mass’ George,” cried the boy, poking the birds about with a long, sharp-pointed stick, one of several which he had cut ready. “Pomp fader show um how to do ober dah.”

“Ober dah” evidently meant Africa.

“Dat a way to get all de fedder off fuss. Dah, see dat?” he cried, as he turned one out scorched brown. “Now Mass’ George see.”

As I watched him, he cleverly ran his sharp-pointed stick through this first duck, stuck the point down into the sand, so that the bird was close in to the glowing embers, and then deftly served the others the same.

“Mass’ George shoot um duck, Pomp cook um; same Pomp cook and make de cake at home. Pomp fader nebber cook. Pomp cook de fis, and de yam, and make um hominy. Pomp berry clebber ’deed, Mass’ George. Ah, you try burn you ’tick an’ tummle in de fire, would you, sah? No, you don’t! You ’top dah an’ get rock nice for Mass’ George.”

As he spoke he made a snatch at one of the sticks, and turned the bird, as he stuck it afresh in the sand, closer to the glowing embers, for the flame and smoke had nearly gone now, and the ducks were sputtering, browning, and beginning to give forth a tempting odour.

As the boy was evidently, as he modestly said, so “clebber,” I did not interfere, but took off my shoes and stockings, wrung the latter well out, and laid them and the shoes in the warm glow to dry, a little rubbing about in the hot dry sand from the bluff soon drying my feet. Then I carefully reloaded the gun, in accordance with Morgan’s instructions, making the ramrod leap well on the powder charge and wad, while Pomp looked on eagerly, his fingers working, his lips moving, and his eyes seeming to devour everything that was done.

“Pomp load um gun,” he said all at once.

“You go on with your cooking,” I replied; “that one’s ‘burning um ’tick.’”

Pomp darted at the wooden spit, and drawing it out replaced it in a better position.

“Dat duck lil rarksle,” he said, showing his teeth. “Dat free time try to burn um ’tick and tummle in de fire, rock umself. Dah, you ’tan ’till, will you? Oh, I say, Mass’ George, done um ’mell good?”

“Yes; they begin to smell nice.”

“Dat de one hab green head. He berry juicy ’deed; dat one for Mass’ George. What Mass’ George going to do?”

“Put the gun and powder and shot farther away from the fire.”

“What for?”

“A spark might set the powder off.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Pomp. Then, “What powder do if ’park send um off?”

“Blow the fire out and send the ducks into the river.”

“What? An’ de ’gator get um? Pomp not cook de duck for ’gator. ’Gator eat de duck raw, and no pick um fedder. Take de gun away.”

I was already doing so, and standing it up behind us against a patch of low bushes, I hung the powder and shot pouches by their straps to the iron ramrod. Then going back to my place I sat watching the cooking, as the boy turned and re-turned the birds, which grew browner and more appetising every moment.

There were faults in that cooking, no doubt. There was neither plate nor dish, no bread, no salt or pepper, and no table-cloth. But there was something else—young, healthy appetite, as we sat at last in the bright morning sunshine, drawn back now from the fire, Pomp and I, each with a roasting-stick in one hand, his knife in the other, cutting off the juicy brown bits, and eating them with the greatest of gusto, after an incision had been made, and the whole of the hardened interior had been allowed to fall out into the fire.

We hardly spoke, but went on eating, Pomp watching me and cutting the bird exactly as I did mine; then picking each bone as it was detached from the stick, and so on and on, till we had each finished his duck. Our hands were not very clean, and we had no table napkins for our lips; but as we ate that meal, I can safely say for myself that it was the most delicious repast I ever had.

Then we sat perfectly still, after throwing our sticks into the remains of the fire, reduced now to a few glowing embers.

But there is one thing more of which I must speak, that is the third duck, which, certainly the best cooked and least burned of the three, had been served to table; that is to say, its burnt stick had been stuck in the sand between us, and there it was, nicely cooling down, and looking tempting in the extreme.

Pomp looked at me, and I looked at Pomp.

“I dreffle glad we come an’ ’top out all night,” he said, showing his white teeth. “Mass’ George, go an’ shoot more duck, an’ Pomp cook um.”

“We haven’t finished that one,” I said.

“No, Mass’ George, no hab finish dat oder duck.”

“Well, go on; I’ve had quite enough.”

“Pomp had quite nuff too.”

“Then we’ll wrap it up in the napkin, and we’ll eat it by and by for lunch.”

“Yes; wrap um up an’ eat um bime by.”

I drew out the napkin, and Pomp shot the duck off the wooden spit on to the cloth, which, with due care to avoid the addition of sand, was folded up, and then I said—

“Now, Pomp, we must find the boat as we go back.”

“Mass’ George go back?” he said.

“Yes, of course; and get there as soon as we can.”

“Yes, Mass’ George,” he said, sadly. “Pomp wouldn’t mind ’top if Mass’ George say ’top here.”

“We’ll come again,” I said, laughing. “Let’s find the boat if we can, but we must make haste back.”

“Hi! Ohey!” he shouted.

“What’s the matter?” I said.

“Wha dat all gun?”

Chapter Twenty Seven.I looked sharply round at the bush, hardly comprehending my black companion’s remark.“What?” I said, in a confused way.“Wha dat gun?”“I stood it up against that bush,” I said; and then, shaking off the dull stupid feeling which troubled me, darted to the bush, expecting to see that it had slipped down among the little branches.The gun was gone, and I looked round at the other bushes dotted about.“I put it here, didn’t I?”“Yes; Mass’ George put um gun dah. Pomp know,” he cried, running to me, and dropping on his knees as he pointed to the impression left in the dry sand by the butt. “Gun gone down dah.”He began scratching up the sand for a few moments, and I watched him, half hoping and believing that he might be right.But the boy ceased as quickly as he had begun.“I know, Mass’ George,” he cried, starting up and gazing toward the river. “’Gator ’fraid we come shoot um, and come out of de ribber and ’teal a gun.”“Nonsense! An alligator wouldn’t do that.”“Oh, I done know. ’Gator berry wicked ole rarksle.”“Where are the marks then?” I said.“Ah, Pomp find um foots and de mark of de tail.”He looked sharply round, so did I; but as he searched the sand I examined the bushes, feeling that I must be mistaken, and that I must have laid the gun somewhere else.It was very stupid, but I knew people did make such mistakes sometimes; and quite convinced now that this was a lapse of memory, began to cudgel my brains to try and recall the last thing I had done with the gun.Pomp settled that, for he came back to me suddenly, and said—“See Mass’ George put de gun dah!”“You are sure, Pomp?” I said, as he stood pointing his black finger at the bush.“Yes, Pomp ebber so sure.”“Did you find any alligator marks?”“No, Mass’ George, nowhere.”“Then some one must have come and stolen it while we were eating.”“How people come ’teal a gun wif Pomp and Mass’ George eatin’ um breakfast here?”“I don’t know. Come and look for footsteps.”“Did; and de ’gator not been.”“No, but perhaps a man has.”“Man? No man lib here.”“Let’s look,” I whispered—“look for men’s footsteps.”The boy glanced at me wonderingly for a moment or two, then nodded his head and began to search.Where we stood by the bush, saving that the ground had been trampled by my feet, the task would have been easy enough, for everything showed in the soft dry sand; but the bush was at the edge where the sand began running from the foot of the bluff to the river, and everywhere on the other side was dense growth; patches of shrubs, grass, dry reed and rush, where hundreds of feet might have passed, and, save to the carefully-trained eye of an Indian, nothing would have been seen.Certainly nothing was visible to me, but the fact that it was quite possible for a man to have crawled from the forest, keeping the patches of shrubby growth between him and us, till he reached the bushes, through which he could have cautiously stolen, and passing a hand over softly, lifted the gun and its pouches from where I had stood them, and then stolen away as he had come.One thing was evident, we had an enemy not far away; and, unarmed as we were, saving that we had our knives, the sooner we took flight the better.All this was plain to me, but as I gazed in Pomp’s face I found it was not so clear to him; there was a strange look in his eyes, his skin did not seem so black as usual, and he was certainly trembling.“Why, Pomp,” I said, “don’t look like that.” For though I felt a little nervous, I saw no cause for the boy’s abject dread, having yet to learn that anything not comprehensible to the savage mind is set down at once as being the work of some evil spirit.He caught my arm and looked round, the whites of his eyes showing strangely, and his thick lips seemed drawn in as if to make a thin line.“Come ’way,” he whispered. “Run, Mass’ George, run, ’fore um come and cotch us.”“Who? What?” I said, half angrily, though amused.“Hush! Done holler, Mass’ George, fear um hear. Come take us bofe, like um took de gun.”“I have it,” I said suddenly. “Your father has come up the river after us, and he has taken the gun to tease us. Hi! Hannibal—Vanity—Van!”“Oh, Mass’ George! Oh, Mass’ George, done, done holler. Not fader. Oh, no. It somefing dreffle. Let run.”“Why isn’t it your father playing a trick?”“Him couldn’t play um trick if him try. No, Mass’ George, him nebber play trick. It somefing dreffle. Come ’way.”“Well, we were going back,” I said, feeling rather ashamed of my eagerness to get away, and still half uneasy about the gun, as I looked up at the tree where we had slept to see if I had left it there.No; that was impossible, because I had had it to shoot the ducks. But still I might have put it somewhere else, and forgotten what I had done.I turned away unwillingly, and yet glad, if that can be understood, and with Pomp leading first, we began our retreat as nearly as possible over the ground by which we had come.For some little distance we went on in silence, totally forgetting the object of our journey; but as we got more distant from the scene of our last adventure, Pomp left off running into bushes and against trees in spite of my warnings, for he had been progressing with his head screwed round first on one side then on the other to look behind him, doing so much to drive away such terror as I felt by his comical aspect, that I ended by roaring with laughter.“Oh, Mass’ George,” he said, reproachfully, “you great big foolish boy, or you no laugh like dat all. You done know what am after us.”“No,” I said; “but I know we lost one of our guns, and father will be very cross. There, don’t walk quite so fast.”“But Pomp want to run,” he said, pitifully.“And we can’t run, because of the bushes and trees. I don’t think there was anything to be afraid of, after all.”“Oh! Run, Mass’ George, run!” yelled Pomp; and instead of running I stood paralysed for an instant at the scene before me.We were pretty close to the river-bank, and forcing our way through a cane brake which looked just as if it must be the home of alligators, when a man suddenly stood in the boy’s path.Quick as thought the brave little fellow sprang at him, seeing in him an enemy, and called to me to run, which of course I did not do, but, as soon as I recovered from my surprise, ran on to his help. As I did so the path seemed darkened behind me, I heard a quick rustling, my arms were seized, and the next moment I was thrown down and a knee was on my chest.“Oh, Mass’ George, why didn’t you run?”Poor Pomp’s voice rang out from close beside me in despairing tones, and I wrenched my head round, just catching a glimpse of him through the canes. Then I looked up in the stern faces of my captors, thinking that I had seen them before, though no doubt it was only a similarity of aspect that struck me, as I realised that we had fallen into the hands of the Indians once more.They did not give us much time to think, but after taking away our knives twisted up some lithe canes and secured our wrists and arms behind us, two holding each of us upright, while another fastened our hands.Then they drew back from us, and stood round looking at us as if we were two curiosities.“Well, this is a nice game, Pomp,” I said at last.“Yes, dis nice game, Mass’ George. Why you no run away?”“How could I?”“How you could? You ought run, jump in libber and go ’cross. Wish I run and tell de capen an’ Mass’ Morgan.”“Ah!” I ejaculated.“You tie too tight, Mass’ George?”“Yes, but I was thinking of something else. Pomp, those Indians are going to attack our place and the settlement, and no one will know they are coming.”“Pomp hope so,” he said, sulkily, and screwing himself about with the pain caused by his tight bonds.“What?”“Den de capen an’ Mass’ Morgan shoot um, an’ Serb um right.”“But they will take them by surprise.”“Wait bit. We soon get dese off, and go down tell ’em Injum come.”“I’m afraid we shall not have the chance.”Just then a firm brown hand was clapped on my shoulder, and a stalwart Indian signed to me to go on through the canes.I obeyed mechanically, seeing the while that the half-dozen Indians who had captured us had silently increased to over a dozen quietly-moving, stealthy-looking fellows, who passed through the dense thicket, almost without a sound, and with their eyes watchfully turned in every direction, as if they were always on the look-out for danger. And so I walked awkwardly on, feeling, now that my arms were bound behind me, as if at any moment I should stumble and fall.The mystery of the gun’s disappearance was clear enough now, without the proof which came later on. It was quite plain to me that some of these strange, furtive-looking savages had crawled up behind the bush and carried off the piece, after which they had lain in ambush waiting for us to retrace our steps along the track we had broken down the previous day, and then pounced upon us and made us prisoners.At my last encounter they had contented themselves with following us home, but now everything seemed to betoken mischief. They seemed to me to be better armed, and had begun to treat us roughly by binding our arms, and this it struck me could only mean one thing—to keep us from getting away and giving the alarm.I felt too now—for thoughts came quickly—that the report of the gun that morning had guided them to our temporary camp, that and the smoke of the fire; and as I felt how unlucky all this was, I found that we were getting farther and farther from the river, and in a few minutes more we were in an open portion of the wood, where about fifty more Indians were seated about a fire.A shout from our party made them all start to their feet and come to meet us, surrounding and staring at us in a fierce, stolid way that sent a chill through me as the question rose— Would they kill us both?In a dull, despondent way the answer seemed to me—yes; not just then, for we were both placed back against a young tree, and hide ropes being produced, we were tightly bound to the trunks and left, while the Indians all gathered together in a group, squatted down, and sat in silence for a time smoking.Then all at once I saw one jump up, axe in hand, to begin talking loudly, gesticulating, waving his axe, and making quite a long address, to which the others listened attentively, grunting a little now and then, and evidently being a good deal influenced by his words.At last he sat down and another took his place, to dance about, talking volubly the while, and waving his axe too, and evidently saying threatening things, which, as he pointed at us now and then, and also in the direction of the settlement, I felt certain must relate to their expedition.In spite of my anxiety about my fate, I could not help feeling interested in these people, for everything was so new and strange. But other thoughts soon forced themselves upon me. They must, I felt, be going on to the settlement, and it was my duty at any cost to get away, and give the alarm. But how?“Pomp,” I said, after a time, “do you think we could get loose and run back home?”The boy looked at me with his face screwed up.“Pomp done know,” he said.“Could you get the knots undone?”“Pomp ’fraid try. Come and hit um. Going to kill us, Mass’ George?”“Oh, no; I don’t think there’s any fear of that.”“Then why they tie us up?”“Don’t talk so loud. It makes them look round.”“Look dah!”“What at?”“Dah de gun. Dat big ugly Injum got um. Him fief.”“Never mind the gun,” I said. “Let’s think about getting away.”“Yes; dat’s what Pomp do fink about, Mass’ George.”“If they had not taken our knives, I might perhaps have cut ourselves free. Oh, I’d give anything to let them know at home. Look here; if you can get loose, never mind about me; run back home, and warn my father to escape to the settlement.”“You tell um,” said Pomp, shortly.“But I mean if you can get free without me.”“What, you fink Pomp run ’way and leab Mass’ George all ’lone?”“Yes; it is to save those at home.”“Capen flog um for going.”“No, no; he would not.”“Fader knock um down an’ kick um.”“I tell you he would not. Try all you can to get loose and creep away when they are not looking.”“Always looking,” said Pomp, shortly; and it was quite true, for some one or other of the Indians always seemed to be on the watch, and after trying to wrench myself clear, I stood resting my aching legs by hanging a little on the rope, for the hours were slowly gliding by, and afternoon came without relief.At last a couple of the men brought us some water and a piece each of badly-roasted and burned deer-flesh, setting our hands at liberty so that we could eat and drink, but leaving the hide ropes holding us tightly to the trees, and sitting down to watch us, listening intently as we spoke, but evidently not understanding a word.“Well,” I said, after a few minutes, during which I had been eating with very poor appetite, “why don’t you eat, Pomp?”“Done like um. ’Mell nasty.”“It’s only burnt,” I said.“How Mass’ George know what um eat?”“What?” I said, looking curiously at the meat.“Pomp fink it poor lil nigger been kill and cook um.”“Nonsense; it’s deer’s flesh.”“Mass’ George sewer?”“Yes, quite.”“Oh!”That was all the boy said, for he set to work directly and soon finished his portion, taking a good deep drink afterward; and as soon as he had done one of the Indians secured his hands again, a task which necessitated a loosening of the hide rope, Pomp submitting with a very good grace.Then came my turn, and as soon as I was secured, the Indians went slowly back to where the others were grouped, and squatted down to listen to the talking going on.It was a weary, weary time; the sun was getting lower, and birds came and chirped about in the dense branches of the trees to which we were bound, and I felt a strange feeling of envy as I looked up from time to time and thought of their being at liberty to come and go. And all through those painfully long hours the talking went on constantly about the fire, which one or the other of the Indians made up by throwing on some branches of wood.As I watched them, I saw that they kept going and coming in different directions, so that the number in the camp did not vary much, and though the day wore on, there was no cessation of the talking, for there was always a fresh Indian ready to leap to his feet, and begin relating something with the greatest vehemence, to which the rest listened attentively.“They must be going on to the settlement to-night,” I thought; and as I noted their bows, arrows, axes, and knives, I conjured up horrors that I felt would be sure to take place if we could not get free and give the alarm.All sorts of plans occurred to me. The forest would, I felt, be full of the enemy, and if we could get loose there would be no chance of our stealing away without being captured. But could we get across the river in safety, and make our way along the farther bank; or could we swim down? I shuddered as I thought of what would be the consequences of trying such a feat.Then my ponderings were interrupted by the coming of a couple more of the Indians, who examined our fastenings and then went back.“Mass’ George ’leep?” said Pomp suddenly, in a low voice.“Asleep? No. Who could go to sleep like this?”“No, not nice go ’leep ’tanning up,” said Pomp, coolly; and there was a long pause, with the monotonous talking of the Indians still going on.All at once one of the Indians who had last examined our bonds came back, peeping about him inquiringly, examining our ropes, and looking about our feet for some minutes before going back, carefully scanning the ground and bushes as he went, and after a good deal of hesitation reseating himself.By this time I was utterly wearied out, and hung forward from the rope with my head upon my chest, gazing down hopelessly at the thick moss and other growth at our feet.“Mass’ George ’leep?” whispered Pomp again.“No, no,” I said, sadly; “I could not sleep at a time like this.”“’Cause Mass’ George no go to sleep.”I looked at him despondently, and saw that he was amusing himself by picking the moss and leaves with his toes, getting a tuft together, snatching it off, and dropping it again, almost as cleverly as a monkey would have done the same thing.Then I ceased to notice it, for I saw a couple of the Indians get up from the fireside, and come to examine us again. They felt all the knots, and appeared satisfied, going back to the fire as before, while others threw on fresh sticks. Then the smoking and talking went on, and the flames cast their shadows about, and on the trees now in a peculiarly weird way.We were almost in darkness, but they were in what seemed to be a circle or great halo of red light, which shone upon their copper-coloured skins, and from the axes and the hilts of the knives they had stuck in the bands of their deer-skin leggings.“Soon be quite dark now, Mass’ George,” whispered Pomp; “den you see.”“See? See what? Their fire?”“Wait bit—you see.”My heart gave a great throb, and I wanted to speak, but the words in my agitation would not come. It was evident that the boy had some plan afoot, and as I waited for him to speak again, feeling ashamed that this poor black savage lad should be keener of intellect than I, he suddenly began to laugh.“Pomp,” I whispered, “what is it?”“You mose ready, Mass’ George?”“Ready? What for?”“You see dreckerly. You know what dat Injum look about for?”“No.”“Lose um knife.”“Well?”“Pomp got um.”“You have? Where?”“Down dah,” he said, making a sign with one foot toward the loose moss and leaves he had picked.“Why, Pomp,” I whispered, joyfully, “how did you manage that?”“Ciss! Coming.”Two of the Indians had risen again from the fire, and once more approached, feeling the knots, and to my despair, binding us more securely with a couple of fresh ropes of hide.Then I saw their dark figures go half way to the fire, return and pass near us, and out along the banks of the river toward the settlement.Then six more rose and went slowly out of sight among the trees, and I felt that these must be going to form outposts to guard the little camp from attack.“Now, Mass’ George,” whispered Pomp—“ah, look dah.”I was already looking, and saw that about a dozen more left the fireside to go out in different directions, their tall dark figures passing out of sight among the trees.“What are you going to do with the knife?” I whispered softly.“’Top; you see,” said the boy.“But how did you get it?”“You see dat Injum come feel de rope. He ’tuck Pomp head down under um arm while he tie de knot hurt um, so Pomp mean to bite um; but Pomp see de handle ob de knife ’tick up close to um mouf, and um take hold wid um teef, pull um out, and let um fall and put um foot ober um.”“Oh, Pomp!” I said.“Den he gone, Pomp push um out ob sight and put um foot ober um again, and now I juss pick um up wid Pomp toe.”I heard a faint rustle, and then he whispered after a faint grunting sound—“Got um.”I stared sidewise at where he was—only about six feet away—and half fancied that I could see him pick up the knife with his toes, and bend his foot up till he could pass the blade into his hand.“Hff!”“What’s the matter?” I whispered, as I heard a faint ejaculation.“Pomp cut umself.”Then I heard a curious sawing sound, which seemed to be loud enough to reach the Indians’ ears, but as I looked, they were all talking, and I turned my eyes again in the direction of my companion, whose black body and light drawers had stood out plainly in the faint glow of the fire a minute before, and I could only just restrain an exclamation, for he was not there.At the same moment his lips were at my ear—“’Tan ’till.”I obeyed, and felt the tension and loosening as he rapidly cut through the hide rope and the cane bonds which held me; but I was so stiff, and my wrists were so numbed, that the feeling had gone from my hands.“Mass’ George ready?”“No; yes,” I said, as I gazed wildly at the group about the fire, and felt that our movements must be seen. But the Indians made no sign, and Pomp went on—“Injum ebberywhere now. Can’t run away.”“But we must,” I whispered.“Catchum gain, dreckerly. Dis here tree. Mass’ George go up fuss.”“Up the tree!” I faltered.Then grasping the cleverness of the boy’s idea, I stretched out my arms, seized a branch overhead, and in spite of my numbness, swung myself up and stood on it, holding by the branch of the great pine close behind the two small trees to which we had been bound.Pomp was beside me directly. “Up!” he whispered; and as silently as I could, I crept on toward the dense crown, the many horizontal branches giving good foot-hold, and the fire gleaming among the needle-like foliage as I went higher, with Pomp always ready to touch me and try to guide.It was a huge tree, quite a cone of dense foliage, after we were some distance up, and we had just reached the part where great, flat, heavily-laden boughs spread between us and the ground, when Pomp drew himself quickly to my side, and laid his hand on my mouth.It was not necessary, for at the same moment as he I had noted the danger, just catching sight of two black shadows on the ground, which I knew were those of a couple of the Indians approaching our trees from the fire.Then we could see no more, but remained there clinging to the boughs as if part of the tree itself, wondering what was to come.It seemed quite a space of time before from just below I heard a discordant yell which thrilled through me, and actually for the moment made me loose my hold. But I was clinging fast again directly, as the yell was answered by a couple of score of throats; there was the rapid beat of feet, the crunching of dead sticks and crushing of bushes, and I clung there with closed eyes, listening to a confused gabble of excited voices, and waiting for what I seemed to know would come next.For in my excitement I could in fancy picture the Indians examining the cut thongs lying where they had dropped by the trees, and then one great stalwart fellow took a step out from the rest and pointed up to where we two clung forty feet from the ground, and I saw a score of arrows fitted to the bow-strings, and their owners prepare to shoot and bring us down.I cannot attempt to describe the sensation that thrilled through me in what was almost momentary, nor the wild thoughts flashing in my brain. I only know that I wondered whether the arrow which pierced me would hurt much, and thought what a pity it was that the tree we were in did not hang over the stream, so that we might have fallen in the water.But no flight of arrows rattled among the boughs, and all we heard was the gabble of excited voices. Then came yell after yell from a little distance farther away from the settlement, and from the excited questioning which seemed to follow, I knew that a number of the Indians had returned to the camp to talk hurriedly to those beneath the tree.Then there were a couple of yells given in a peculiar tone, and a faint series of sounds reached us, suggesting to me that the whole party had spread out, and were quickly and cautiously creeping along through the forest from the edge of the stream for some distance in, and then all was still.

I looked sharply round at the bush, hardly comprehending my black companion’s remark.

“What?” I said, in a confused way.

“Wha dat gun?”

“I stood it up against that bush,” I said; and then, shaking off the dull stupid feeling which troubled me, darted to the bush, expecting to see that it had slipped down among the little branches.

The gun was gone, and I looked round at the other bushes dotted about.

“I put it here, didn’t I?”

“Yes; Mass’ George put um gun dah. Pomp know,” he cried, running to me, and dropping on his knees as he pointed to the impression left in the dry sand by the butt. “Gun gone down dah.”

He began scratching up the sand for a few moments, and I watched him, half hoping and believing that he might be right.

But the boy ceased as quickly as he had begun.

“I know, Mass’ George,” he cried, starting up and gazing toward the river. “’Gator ’fraid we come shoot um, and come out of de ribber and ’teal a gun.”

“Nonsense! An alligator wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, I done know. ’Gator berry wicked ole rarksle.”

“Where are the marks then?” I said.

“Ah, Pomp find um foots and de mark of de tail.”

He looked sharply round, so did I; but as he searched the sand I examined the bushes, feeling that I must be mistaken, and that I must have laid the gun somewhere else.

It was very stupid, but I knew people did make such mistakes sometimes; and quite convinced now that this was a lapse of memory, began to cudgel my brains to try and recall the last thing I had done with the gun.

Pomp settled that, for he came back to me suddenly, and said—

“See Mass’ George put de gun dah!”

“You are sure, Pomp?” I said, as he stood pointing his black finger at the bush.

“Yes, Pomp ebber so sure.”

“Did you find any alligator marks?”

“No, Mass’ George, nowhere.”

“Then some one must have come and stolen it while we were eating.”

“How people come ’teal a gun wif Pomp and Mass’ George eatin’ um breakfast here?”

“I don’t know. Come and look for footsteps.”

“Did; and de ’gator not been.”

“No, but perhaps a man has.”

“Man? No man lib here.”

“Let’s look,” I whispered—“look for men’s footsteps.”

The boy glanced at me wonderingly for a moment or two, then nodded his head and began to search.

Where we stood by the bush, saving that the ground had been trampled by my feet, the task would have been easy enough, for everything showed in the soft dry sand; but the bush was at the edge where the sand began running from the foot of the bluff to the river, and everywhere on the other side was dense growth; patches of shrubs, grass, dry reed and rush, where hundreds of feet might have passed, and, save to the carefully-trained eye of an Indian, nothing would have been seen.

Certainly nothing was visible to me, but the fact that it was quite possible for a man to have crawled from the forest, keeping the patches of shrubby growth between him and us, till he reached the bushes, through which he could have cautiously stolen, and passing a hand over softly, lifted the gun and its pouches from where I had stood them, and then stolen away as he had come.

One thing was evident, we had an enemy not far away; and, unarmed as we were, saving that we had our knives, the sooner we took flight the better.

All this was plain to me, but as I gazed in Pomp’s face I found it was not so clear to him; there was a strange look in his eyes, his skin did not seem so black as usual, and he was certainly trembling.

“Why, Pomp,” I said, “don’t look like that.” For though I felt a little nervous, I saw no cause for the boy’s abject dread, having yet to learn that anything not comprehensible to the savage mind is set down at once as being the work of some evil spirit.

He caught my arm and looked round, the whites of his eyes showing strangely, and his thick lips seemed drawn in as if to make a thin line.

“Come ’way,” he whispered. “Run, Mass’ George, run, ’fore um come and cotch us.”

“Who? What?” I said, half angrily, though amused.

“Hush! Done holler, Mass’ George, fear um hear. Come take us bofe, like um took de gun.”

“I have it,” I said suddenly. “Your father has come up the river after us, and he has taken the gun to tease us. Hi! Hannibal—Vanity—Van!”

“Oh, Mass’ George! Oh, Mass’ George, done, done holler. Not fader. Oh, no. It somefing dreffle. Let run.”

“Why isn’t it your father playing a trick?”

“Him couldn’t play um trick if him try. No, Mass’ George, him nebber play trick. It somefing dreffle. Come ’way.”

“Well, we were going back,” I said, feeling rather ashamed of my eagerness to get away, and still half uneasy about the gun, as I looked up at the tree where we had slept to see if I had left it there.

No; that was impossible, because I had had it to shoot the ducks. But still I might have put it somewhere else, and forgotten what I had done.

I turned away unwillingly, and yet glad, if that can be understood, and with Pomp leading first, we began our retreat as nearly as possible over the ground by which we had come.

For some little distance we went on in silence, totally forgetting the object of our journey; but as we got more distant from the scene of our last adventure, Pomp left off running into bushes and against trees in spite of my warnings, for he had been progressing with his head screwed round first on one side then on the other to look behind him, doing so much to drive away such terror as I felt by his comical aspect, that I ended by roaring with laughter.

“Oh, Mass’ George,” he said, reproachfully, “you great big foolish boy, or you no laugh like dat all. You done know what am after us.”

“No,” I said; “but I know we lost one of our guns, and father will be very cross. There, don’t walk quite so fast.”

“But Pomp want to run,” he said, pitifully.

“And we can’t run, because of the bushes and trees. I don’t think there was anything to be afraid of, after all.”

“Oh! Run, Mass’ George, run!” yelled Pomp; and instead of running I stood paralysed for an instant at the scene before me.

We were pretty close to the river-bank, and forcing our way through a cane brake which looked just as if it must be the home of alligators, when a man suddenly stood in the boy’s path.

Quick as thought the brave little fellow sprang at him, seeing in him an enemy, and called to me to run, which of course I did not do, but, as soon as I recovered from my surprise, ran on to his help. As I did so the path seemed darkened behind me, I heard a quick rustling, my arms were seized, and the next moment I was thrown down and a knee was on my chest.

“Oh, Mass’ George, why didn’t you run?”

Poor Pomp’s voice rang out from close beside me in despairing tones, and I wrenched my head round, just catching a glimpse of him through the canes. Then I looked up in the stern faces of my captors, thinking that I had seen them before, though no doubt it was only a similarity of aspect that struck me, as I realised that we had fallen into the hands of the Indians once more.

They did not give us much time to think, but after taking away our knives twisted up some lithe canes and secured our wrists and arms behind us, two holding each of us upright, while another fastened our hands.

Then they drew back from us, and stood round looking at us as if we were two curiosities.

“Well, this is a nice game, Pomp,” I said at last.

“Yes, dis nice game, Mass’ George. Why you no run away?”

“How could I?”

“How you could? You ought run, jump in libber and go ’cross. Wish I run and tell de capen an’ Mass’ Morgan.”

“Ah!” I ejaculated.

“You tie too tight, Mass’ George?”

“Yes, but I was thinking of something else. Pomp, those Indians are going to attack our place and the settlement, and no one will know they are coming.”

“Pomp hope so,” he said, sulkily, and screwing himself about with the pain caused by his tight bonds.

“What?”

“Den de capen an’ Mass’ Morgan shoot um, an’ Serb um right.”

“But they will take them by surprise.”

“Wait bit. We soon get dese off, and go down tell ’em Injum come.”

“I’m afraid we shall not have the chance.”

Just then a firm brown hand was clapped on my shoulder, and a stalwart Indian signed to me to go on through the canes.

I obeyed mechanically, seeing the while that the half-dozen Indians who had captured us had silently increased to over a dozen quietly-moving, stealthy-looking fellows, who passed through the dense thicket, almost without a sound, and with their eyes watchfully turned in every direction, as if they were always on the look-out for danger. And so I walked awkwardly on, feeling, now that my arms were bound behind me, as if at any moment I should stumble and fall.

The mystery of the gun’s disappearance was clear enough now, without the proof which came later on. It was quite plain to me that some of these strange, furtive-looking savages had crawled up behind the bush and carried off the piece, after which they had lain in ambush waiting for us to retrace our steps along the track we had broken down the previous day, and then pounced upon us and made us prisoners.

At my last encounter they had contented themselves with following us home, but now everything seemed to betoken mischief. They seemed to me to be better armed, and had begun to treat us roughly by binding our arms, and this it struck me could only mean one thing—to keep us from getting away and giving the alarm.

I felt too now—for thoughts came quickly—that the report of the gun that morning had guided them to our temporary camp, that and the smoke of the fire; and as I felt how unlucky all this was, I found that we were getting farther and farther from the river, and in a few minutes more we were in an open portion of the wood, where about fifty more Indians were seated about a fire.

A shout from our party made them all start to their feet and come to meet us, surrounding and staring at us in a fierce, stolid way that sent a chill through me as the question rose— Would they kill us both?

In a dull, despondent way the answer seemed to me—yes; not just then, for we were both placed back against a young tree, and hide ropes being produced, we were tightly bound to the trunks and left, while the Indians all gathered together in a group, squatted down, and sat in silence for a time smoking.

Then all at once I saw one jump up, axe in hand, to begin talking loudly, gesticulating, waving his axe, and making quite a long address, to which the others listened attentively, grunting a little now and then, and evidently being a good deal influenced by his words.

At last he sat down and another took his place, to dance about, talking volubly the while, and waving his axe too, and evidently saying threatening things, which, as he pointed at us now and then, and also in the direction of the settlement, I felt certain must relate to their expedition.

In spite of my anxiety about my fate, I could not help feeling interested in these people, for everything was so new and strange. But other thoughts soon forced themselves upon me. They must, I felt, be going on to the settlement, and it was my duty at any cost to get away, and give the alarm. But how?

“Pomp,” I said, after a time, “do you think we could get loose and run back home?”

The boy looked at me with his face screwed up.

“Pomp done know,” he said.

“Could you get the knots undone?”

“Pomp ’fraid try. Come and hit um. Going to kill us, Mass’ George?”

“Oh, no; I don’t think there’s any fear of that.”

“Then why they tie us up?”

“Don’t talk so loud. It makes them look round.”

“Look dah!”

“What at?”

“Dah de gun. Dat big ugly Injum got um. Him fief.”

“Never mind the gun,” I said. “Let’s think about getting away.”

“Yes; dat’s what Pomp do fink about, Mass’ George.”

“If they had not taken our knives, I might perhaps have cut ourselves free. Oh, I’d give anything to let them know at home. Look here; if you can get loose, never mind about me; run back home, and warn my father to escape to the settlement.”

“You tell um,” said Pomp, shortly.

“But I mean if you can get free without me.”

“What, you fink Pomp run ’way and leab Mass’ George all ’lone?”

“Yes; it is to save those at home.”

“Capen flog um for going.”

“No, no; he would not.”

“Fader knock um down an’ kick um.”

“I tell you he would not. Try all you can to get loose and creep away when they are not looking.”

“Always looking,” said Pomp, shortly; and it was quite true, for some one or other of the Indians always seemed to be on the watch, and after trying to wrench myself clear, I stood resting my aching legs by hanging a little on the rope, for the hours were slowly gliding by, and afternoon came without relief.

At last a couple of the men brought us some water and a piece each of badly-roasted and burned deer-flesh, setting our hands at liberty so that we could eat and drink, but leaving the hide ropes holding us tightly to the trees, and sitting down to watch us, listening intently as we spoke, but evidently not understanding a word.

“Well,” I said, after a few minutes, during which I had been eating with very poor appetite, “why don’t you eat, Pomp?”

“Done like um. ’Mell nasty.”

“It’s only burnt,” I said.

“How Mass’ George know what um eat?”

“What?” I said, looking curiously at the meat.

“Pomp fink it poor lil nigger been kill and cook um.”

“Nonsense; it’s deer’s flesh.”

“Mass’ George sewer?”

“Yes, quite.”

“Oh!”

That was all the boy said, for he set to work directly and soon finished his portion, taking a good deep drink afterward; and as soon as he had done one of the Indians secured his hands again, a task which necessitated a loosening of the hide rope, Pomp submitting with a very good grace.

Then came my turn, and as soon as I was secured, the Indians went slowly back to where the others were grouped, and squatted down to listen to the talking going on.

It was a weary, weary time; the sun was getting lower, and birds came and chirped about in the dense branches of the trees to which we were bound, and I felt a strange feeling of envy as I looked up from time to time and thought of their being at liberty to come and go. And all through those painfully long hours the talking went on constantly about the fire, which one or the other of the Indians made up by throwing on some branches of wood.

As I watched them, I saw that they kept going and coming in different directions, so that the number in the camp did not vary much, and though the day wore on, there was no cessation of the talking, for there was always a fresh Indian ready to leap to his feet, and begin relating something with the greatest vehemence, to which the rest listened attentively.

“They must be going on to the settlement to-night,” I thought; and as I noted their bows, arrows, axes, and knives, I conjured up horrors that I felt would be sure to take place if we could not get free and give the alarm.

All sorts of plans occurred to me. The forest would, I felt, be full of the enemy, and if we could get loose there would be no chance of our stealing away without being captured. But could we get across the river in safety, and make our way along the farther bank; or could we swim down? I shuddered as I thought of what would be the consequences of trying such a feat.

Then my ponderings were interrupted by the coming of a couple more of the Indians, who examined our fastenings and then went back.

“Mass’ George ’leep?” said Pomp suddenly, in a low voice.

“Asleep? No. Who could go to sleep like this?”

“No, not nice go ’leep ’tanning up,” said Pomp, coolly; and there was a long pause, with the monotonous talking of the Indians still going on.

All at once one of the Indians who had last examined our bonds came back, peeping about him inquiringly, examining our ropes, and looking about our feet for some minutes before going back, carefully scanning the ground and bushes as he went, and after a good deal of hesitation reseating himself.

By this time I was utterly wearied out, and hung forward from the rope with my head upon my chest, gazing down hopelessly at the thick moss and other growth at our feet.

“Mass’ George ’leep?” whispered Pomp again.

“No, no,” I said, sadly; “I could not sleep at a time like this.”

“’Cause Mass’ George no go to sleep.”

I looked at him despondently, and saw that he was amusing himself by picking the moss and leaves with his toes, getting a tuft together, snatching it off, and dropping it again, almost as cleverly as a monkey would have done the same thing.

Then I ceased to notice it, for I saw a couple of the Indians get up from the fireside, and come to examine us again. They felt all the knots, and appeared satisfied, going back to the fire as before, while others threw on fresh sticks. Then the smoking and talking went on, and the flames cast their shadows about, and on the trees now in a peculiarly weird way.

We were almost in darkness, but they were in what seemed to be a circle or great halo of red light, which shone upon their copper-coloured skins, and from the axes and the hilts of the knives they had stuck in the bands of their deer-skin leggings.

“Soon be quite dark now, Mass’ George,” whispered Pomp; “den you see.”

“See? See what? Their fire?”

“Wait bit—you see.”

My heart gave a great throb, and I wanted to speak, but the words in my agitation would not come. It was evident that the boy had some plan afoot, and as I waited for him to speak again, feeling ashamed that this poor black savage lad should be keener of intellect than I, he suddenly began to laugh.

“Pomp,” I whispered, “what is it?”

“You mose ready, Mass’ George?”

“Ready? What for?”

“You see dreckerly. You know what dat Injum look about for?”

“No.”

“Lose um knife.”

“Well?”

“Pomp got um.”

“You have? Where?”

“Down dah,” he said, making a sign with one foot toward the loose moss and leaves he had picked.

“Why, Pomp,” I whispered, joyfully, “how did you manage that?”

“Ciss! Coming.”

Two of the Indians had risen again from the fire, and once more approached, feeling the knots, and to my despair, binding us more securely with a couple of fresh ropes of hide.

Then I saw their dark figures go half way to the fire, return and pass near us, and out along the banks of the river toward the settlement.

Then six more rose and went slowly out of sight among the trees, and I felt that these must be going to form outposts to guard the little camp from attack.

“Now, Mass’ George,” whispered Pomp—“ah, look dah.”

I was already looking, and saw that about a dozen more left the fireside to go out in different directions, their tall dark figures passing out of sight among the trees.

“What are you going to do with the knife?” I whispered softly.

“’Top; you see,” said the boy.

“But how did you get it?”

“You see dat Injum come feel de rope. He ’tuck Pomp head down under um arm while he tie de knot hurt um, so Pomp mean to bite um; but Pomp see de handle ob de knife ’tick up close to um mouf, and um take hold wid um teef, pull um out, and let um fall and put um foot ober um.”

“Oh, Pomp!” I said.

“Den he gone, Pomp push um out ob sight and put um foot ober um again, and now I juss pick um up wid Pomp toe.”

I heard a faint rustle, and then he whispered after a faint grunting sound—

“Got um.”

I stared sidewise at where he was—only about six feet away—and half fancied that I could see him pick up the knife with his toes, and bend his foot up till he could pass the blade into his hand.

“Hff!”

“What’s the matter?” I whispered, as I heard a faint ejaculation.

“Pomp cut umself.”

Then I heard a curious sawing sound, which seemed to be loud enough to reach the Indians’ ears, but as I looked, they were all talking, and I turned my eyes again in the direction of my companion, whose black body and light drawers had stood out plainly in the faint glow of the fire a minute before, and I could only just restrain an exclamation, for he was not there.

At the same moment his lips were at my ear—

“’Tan ’till.”

I obeyed, and felt the tension and loosening as he rapidly cut through the hide rope and the cane bonds which held me; but I was so stiff, and my wrists were so numbed, that the feeling had gone from my hands.

“Mass’ George ready?”

“No; yes,” I said, as I gazed wildly at the group about the fire, and felt that our movements must be seen. But the Indians made no sign, and Pomp went on—

“Injum ebberywhere now. Can’t run away.”

“But we must,” I whispered.

“Catchum gain, dreckerly. Dis here tree. Mass’ George go up fuss.”

“Up the tree!” I faltered.

Then grasping the cleverness of the boy’s idea, I stretched out my arms, seized a branch overhead, and in spite of my numbness, swung myself up and stood on it, holding by the branch of the great pine close behind the two small trees to which we had been bound.

Pomp was beside me directly. “Up!” he whispered; and as silently as I could, I crept on toward the dense crown, the many horizontal branches giving good foot-hold, and the fire gleaming among the needle-like foliage as I went higher, with Pomp always ready to touch me and try to guide.

It was a huge tree, quite a cone of dense foliage, after we were some distance up, and we had just reached the part where great, flat, heavily-laden boughs spread between us and the ground, when Pomp drew himself quickly to my side, and laid his hand on my mouth.

It was not necessary, for at the same moment as he I had noted the danger, just catching sight of two black shadows on the ground, which I knew were those of a couple of the Indians approaching our trees from the fire.

Then we could see no more, but remained there clinging to the boughs as if part of the tree itself, wondering what was to come.

It seemed quite a space of time before from just below I heard a discordant yell which thrilled through me, and actually for the moment made me loose my hold. But I was clinging fast again directly, as the yell was answered by a couple of score of throats; there was the rapid beat of feet, the crunching of dead sticks and crushing of bushes, and I clung there with closed eyes, listening to a confused gabble of excited voices, and waiting for what I seemed to know would come next.

For in my excitement I could in fancy picture the Indians examining the cut thongs lying where they had dropped by the trees, and then one great stalwart fellow took a step out from the rest and pointed up to where we two clung forty feet from the ground, and I saw a score of arrows fitted to the bow-strings, and their owners prepare to shoot and bring us down.

I cannot attempt to describe the sensation that thrilled through me in what was almost momentary, nor the wild thoughts flashing in my brain. I only know that I wondered whether the arrow which pierced me would hurt much, and thought what a pity it was that the tree we were in did not hang over the stream, so that we might have fallen in the water.

But no flight of arrows rattled among the boughs, and all we heard was the gabble of excited voices. Then came yell after yell from a little distance farther away from the settlement, and from the excited questioning which seemed to follow, I knew that a number of the Indians had returned to the camp to talk hurriedly to those beneath the tree.

Then there were a couple of yells given in a peculiar tone, and a faint series of sounds reached us, suggesting to me that the whole party had spread out, and were quickly and cautiously creeping along through the forest from the edge of the stream for some distance in, and then all was still.

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