Part 3 (2/2)

”It looks unpromising, at the best,” said Harold; ”I think it would be prudent to return.”

Suddenly, little Phil, who had been lying at ease, with his head against the thwarts, arose on his elbow and cried out:

”Wha'dat?”

”What is what, Phil?” asked Oriana. ”Why, Phil, you have been dreaming,”

she added, observing the lad's confusion at having spoken so vehemently.

”Miss Orany, dar's a boat out yonder. I heard 'em pulling, sure.”

”Nonsense, Phil! you've been asleep.”

”By Gol! I heard 'em, sure. What a boat doing round here dis time o'

night? Dem's some n.i.g.g.e.rs arter chickens, sure.”

And little Phil, satisfied that he had fathomed the mystery, lay down again in a fit of silent indignation. The boat was put about, but the wind had died away, and the sail flapped idly against the mast. Harold, glad of the opportunity for a little exercise, s.h.i.+pped the sculls and bent to his work.

”Miss Oriana, put her head for the bank if you please. We shall have less current to pull against in-sh.o.r.e.”

The boat glided along under the shadow of the bank, and no sound was heard but the regular thugging and splas.h.i.+ng of the oars and the voices of insects on the sh.o.r.e. They approached a curve in the river where the bank was thickly wooded, and dense shrubbery projected over the stream.

”Wha' dat?” shouted Phil again, starting up in the bow and peering into the darkness. A boat shot out from the shadow of the foliage, and her course was checked directly in their path. The movement was so sudden that, before Harold could check his headway, the two boats fouled. A boathook was thrust into the thwarts; Arthur sprang to the bows to cast it off.

”Don't touch that,” shouted a hoa.r.s.e voice; and he felt the muzzle of a pistol thrust into his breast.

”None of that, Seth,” cried another; and the speaker laid hold of his comrade's arm. ”We must have no shooting, you know.”

Arthur had thrown off the boathook, but some half-dozen armed men had already leaped into the frail vessel, crowding it to such an extent that a struggle, even had it not been madness against such odds, would have occasioned great personal danger to Oriana. Both Arthur and Harold seemed instinctively to comprehend this, and therefore offered no opposition. Their boat was taken in tow, and in a few moments the entire party, with one exception, were landed upon the adjacent bank. That exception was little Phil. In the confusion that ensued upon the collision of the two boats, the lad had quietly slipped overboard, and swam ground to the stern where his mistress sat. ”Miss Orany, hist! Miss Orany!”

The bewildered girl turned and beheld the black face peering over the gunwale.

”Miss Orany, here I is. O Lor'! Miss Orany, what we gwine to do?”

She bowed her head toward him and whispered hurriedly, but calmly:

”Mind what I tell you, Phil. You watch where they take us to, and then run home and tell Master Beverly. Do you understand me, Phil?”

”Yes, I does, Miss Orany;” and the little fellow struck out silently for the sh.o.r.e, and crept among the bushes.

Oriana betrayed no sign, of fear as she stood with her two companions on the bank a few paces from their captors. The latter, in a low but earnest tone, were disputing with one who seemed to act as their leader.

”You didn't tell us nothing about the lady,” said a brawny, rugged-looking fellow, angrily. ”Now, look here, Seth Rawbon, this ain't a goin' to do. I'd cut your heart out, before I'd let any harm come to Squire Weems's sister.”

”You lied to us, you long-headed Yankee turncoat,” muttered another.

”What in thunder do you mean bringing us down here for kidnapping a lady?”

”Ain't I worried about it as much as you?” answered Rawbon. ”Can't you understand it's all a mistake?”

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