For the first time that evening a nervous sense of apprehension passed over Courtland.The impending of some unknown danger is always more terrible to a brave man than the most overwhelming odds that he can see and realize.He felt instinctively that they had uttered no vague bravado to cover up their defeat; there was still some advantage on which they confidently reckoned--but what? Was it only a reference to the other party tracking them through the woods on which their enemies now solely relied? He regained Cato quickly; the white teeth of the foolishly confident negro were already flashing his imagined triumph to his employer.Courtland's heart grew sick as he saw it.
"We're not out of the woods yet, Cato," he said dryly; "nor are they.Keep your eyes and ears open, and attend to me.How long can we keep in the cover of these woods, and still push on in the direction of the quarters?""There's a way roun' de edge o' de swamp, sah, but we'd have to go back a spell to find it.""Go on!"
"And dar's moccasins and copperheads lying round here in de trail!
Dey don't go for us ginerally--but," be hesitated, "white men don't stand much show.""Good! Then it is as bad for those who are chasing us as for me.
That will do.Lead on."
They retraced their steps cautiously, until the negro turned into a lighter by-way.A strange mephitic odor seemed to come from sodden leaves and mosses that began to ooze under their feet.They had picked their way in silence for some minutes; the stunted willows and cypress standing farther and farther apart, and the openings with clumps of sedge were frequent.Courtland was beginning to fear this exposure of his follower, and had moved up beside him, when suddenly the negro caught his arm, and trembled violently.
His lips were parted over his teeth, the whites of his eyes glistened, he seemed gasping and speechless with fear.
"What's the matter, Cato?" said Courtland glancing instinctively at the ground beneath."Speak, man!--have you been bitten?"The word seemed to wring an agonized cry from the miserable man.
"Bitten! No; but don't you hear 'em coming, sah! God Almighty!
don't you hear dat?"
"What?"
"De dogs! de houns!--DE BLOODHOUNS! Dey've set 'em loose on me!"It was true! A faint baying in the distance was now distinctly audible to Courtland.He knew now plainly the full, cruel purport of the leader's speech,--those who could go anywhere were tracking their game!
Every trace of manhood had vanished from the negro's cowering frame.Courtland laid his hand assuringly, appealingly, and then savagely on his shoulder.
"Come! Enough of this! I am here, and will stand by you, whatever comes.These dogs are no more to be feared than the others.Rouse yourself, man, and at least help ME make a fight of it.""No! no!" screamed the terrified man."Lemme go! Lemme go back to de Massas! Tell 'em I'll come! Tell 'em to call de houns off me, and I'll go quiet! Lemme go!" He struggled violently in his companion's grasp.
In all Courtland's self-control, habits of coolness, and discipline, it is to be feared there was still something of the old Berserker temper.His face was white, his eyes blazed in the darkness; only his voice kept that level distinctness which made it for a moment more terrible than even the baying of the tracking hounds to the negro's ear."Cato," he said, "attempt to run now, and, by God! I'll save the dogs the trouble of grappling your living carcass! Come here! Up that tree with you!" pointing to a swamp magnolia."Don't move as long as I can stand here, and when I'm down--but not till then--save yourself--the best you can."He half helped, half dragged, the now passive African to the solitary tree; as the bay of a single hound came nearer, the negro convulsively scrambled from Courtland's knee and shoulder to the fork of branches a dozen feet from the ground.Courtland drew his revolver, and, stepping back a few yards into the open, awaited the attack.
It came unexpectedly from behind.A sudden yelp of panting cruelty and frenzied anticipation at Courtland's back caused him to change front quickly, and the dripping fangs and snaky boa-like neck of a gray weird shadow passed him.With an awful supernaturalness of instinct, it kept on in an unerring line to the fateful tree.But that dread directness of scent was Courtland's opportunity.His revolver flashed out in an aim as unerring.The brute, pierced through neck and brain, dashed on against the tree in his impetus, and then rolled over against it in a quivering bulk.Again another bay coming from the same direction told Courtland that his pursuers had outflanked him, and the whole pack were crossing the swamp.