Through woods and across fields, over fences and streams, down by-paths and
old roads, they followed the little dogs.
"We're makin' straight for the next county," the sheriff said.
"We're makin' straight for the old Powis settlement," was answered.
"Nothin' but niggers have lived there since the war, an' that nigger's
there, I'll bet."
"That's so," the sheriff said. "About how many niggers live there now?"
"There ain't more than half a dozen cabins left now. We can easy manage
that many."
It was a long rough ride, and in spite of their rapid pace it was some time
after midnight before they saw the clearing where clustered the few cabins
left of the plantation quarters of a well-known place, which in its day had
yielded wealth to its owners. The moon was very bright, and, save for the
sound of the horses' feet, the silence was intense.
"Look sharp," the sheriff said; "that nigger ain't sleepin' much if he's
here, and he might try to slip off."
The dogs were going faster now, and yelping a little.
"Keep up, boys!" and the sheriff spurred his horse.
In a few minutes they thundered into the little settlement, where the dogs
were already barking and leaping against a close-shut door.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171