"Thought ye'd got game in that," remarks Bengal, measuredly. Ho has
scoured the woods, but found little game of the kind he hunts. "Our
game is of a different species: you, I take it, hunt niggers, I'm in
search of birds."
"Would have no objection to a stray deer or two!" is the reply, as
he passes his horn and flask to Romescos, who helps himself to a
dose of the liquid, which, he says, smacking his lips, is not bad to
take.
"Especially when yer on a hunting excursion!" rejoins Bengal.
"Now," says the gentleman hunter, quietly resuming his cigar, "as
you do not hunt my game, nor I yours, I think I can give you a scent
that may prove profitable."
"Where away?" interrupts Bengal. Romescos respects the stranger-he
has dignity concealed beneath his hunting garb, which the quick eye
recognised as it flashed upon him. He gives Bengal a significant
wink, the meaning of which he instinctively understands-"Don't be
rude,--he belongs to one of the first families!"
The stranger lays his left hand on Romescos' arm, and with the fore
finger of his right hand pointing to the south-west, says, "My
plantation is nine miles in that direction. I left it this morning,
early. In crossing an inlet of the Pedee, I discovered white smoke,
far ahead, curling upward through the trees, and expanding itself in
the clear blue atmosphere. Feeling sure it indicated the haunt of
runaways, I approached it stealthily, and had almost unconsciously
come upon a negro, who, suddenly springing from his hiding-place,
ran to the water's edge, plunged in, and swam to a little island a
few yards in the stream.
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