"Mass' George take off um shoes," he whispered. "Carry um. Injum no
see footmarks a-morrow."
I hurriedly did as he suggested, for there was wisdom in what he said,
and I hoped that the print of my stockinged feet, if our trail was found
and followed, might pass for the impressions made by moccasins.
I did not know much then about such matters, but still I had heard a
good deal of talk about the skill of the Indians in tracking, and
naturally felt nervous as I immediately began magnifying their powers,
and fancied that as soon as it was day they would take up our trail like
a pack of hounds, and follow it step by step, first my clumsy
shoe-prints, then Pomp's bare feet, with the great toe spreading wide
out from the others, which all seemed long and loose, as I had often
noticed and laughed at when I had seen them in the mud or sand. In
fact, I had more than once followed him by his footprints, and as I
recalled all this, I seemed to see the fierce-looking savages coming on
swiftly, and urged Pomp to make haste, though my heart sank as I felt
that every step took us farther into the wilderness, and with the
exception of the knife the boy had secured, we were without arms.
"Can't go no fasser, Mass' George," he said; "so dark. But done you be
'fraid. Dem on'y 'tupid savage. Pomp too clebber let um cotch him
'gain."
In spite of my anxiety I could not help smiling at my companion's
conceit, and his reference to "'tupid" savages. Pomp's connection with
civilisation was making its mark upon him in other ways beside the rapid
manner in which he had acquired our tongue.
And so we tramped on hour after hour, going, as I knew by the stars
whenever we got a glimpse of them, nearly due west, and trying to avoid
breaking branch or trampling down thick patches of growth by making a
detour.
Of course this hindered us a good deal, but still it was the surest way
of avoiding recapture; and at last, after our long, weary walk, whose
monotony I had relieved by softly chafing my arms and wrists to get rid
of the remains of the numbness produced by the bonds, there came a
familiar note or two from the trees overhead, and I knew that in a very
short time it would be light.
"Tired, Pomp?" I said.
"No, Mass' George, but I dreffle hungly 'gain. Oh! Dem ugly tief 'teal
de gun. No get duck for breakfass, eh?"
"Let's think about escaping and getting back to the house before these
savages.--Ah, it's getting light."
I remember how eagerly I said this, as I saw the pale grey appearing
through the leaves, and making the tall, gloomy-looking trunks stand up
like great columns in all directions.
"Now," I said, "where do you think the river is?"
"Ober dah," said Pomp, without a moment's hesitation; and he pointed to
the left.
"Is it far?"
"No, not far."
"Let's get to it at once then."
We struck off again, bearing to the left, and just at sunrise found that
we were at the edge of the forest once more, with a well-defined track,
showing where the river ran. Where we stood we were under the shade of
the great trees, where scarcely anything grew beneath the spreading,
tangled branches, while just beyond them there was a dense thicket of
succulent growth glittering in the sunshine, where the leaves were still
moist with dew, and some hundred or a hundred and fifty yards away there
once more was the other edge of the forest, rising up over a rich band
of growth similar to that which was close to where we stood.
The river lay between, I knew, though invisible from where we stood; and
for the moment I felt more hopeful, for, after the long, dark tramp
through the wilderness, we seemed to be now on the broad high-road which
led straight past home.
Then my heart sank again, as I felt that perhaps the Indians were
already on our track, and that even if they were not, they were between
us and safety.