Catching
a branch that seemed strong enough to bear me, I dropped with a
jerk. There was a movement of the trunk, and I heard a wrenching
sound below, but the roots still held fast. I climbed up again with
the quickness I had learned at sea, and again threw myself down.
This time I produced the effect I desired; the roots gave way, and
in a moment I found myself on the ground, somewhat scratched and
bruised, but sound of bone and limb. The fallen tree lay full
across the gorge, its foliage completely filling the space, save
for a narrow gap between it and the ground, through which a man or
a dog might crawl, but not a horse.
I ran back to Uncle Moses, lifted him to his feet, and, assisting
him with one hand, the muskets clasped in the other, I led him up
the gorge with what haste I might. We had gone but a little way
when I heard the shouts of men mingled with the baying of the
hounds, and immediately afterwards these latter forced their way
beneath the tree and ran with lolling tongues towards us. Knowing
nothing of the ways of bloodhounds, I expected the two dogs would
fly at our throats like foxhounds at a fox, and I loosed the
negro's arm and stood with musket upraised to defend myself and
him. But to my surprise Uncle Moses called to them by name, and
they answered him with a bark and fawned on him.
"Dey won't hurt us," he said. "Dey hab done their work; dey lub po'
Uncle Moses."
"Will they come with us?" I asked, with wondering delight.
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