"Dey will do anyt'ing for Uncle Moses," he replied.
"Then let us get away into the forest again as soon as we can, and
take them with us. How far is the swamp now?"
"'Bout a mile, Massa."
"Come, then; we may have time to get to it before the men can
overtake us. They cannot get their horses over the tree."
And we made off, the dogs accompanying us willingly, in spite of
the cries and calls of the baffled horsemen on the other side of
the tree. Issuing from the gorge, we struck into the forest, and
heard our pursuers cursing us and the dogs as they tried to follow
us. By the help of my arm Uncle Moses managed to struggle along,
and after about a quarter of an hour we came to the edge of the
swamp.
Then he took from his back, where they had been strapped, two pairs
of shoes in shape similar to those which our trappers in America
adopted from the Indians for marching over snow, but slighter and
shorter. These we donned, the negro showing me how to fasten mine,
and then we stepped on to the morass, the oozy red soil squelching
beneath our feet. The hounds came with us for a few yards, but, the
ground becoming softer the farther we went from the edge, they
halted, whined as though loath to part from friends, and then ran
back to meet Vetch and one of his buccaneers, who stood helpless at
the brink. They fired at us, but we were already out of range, and
with the sound of their execrations still in our ears we trudged
slowly but steadily towards the other side of the swamp.
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