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Lynde, Francis, 1856-1930

"The Master of Appleby A Novel Tale Concerning Itself in Part with the Great Struggle in the Two Carolinas; but Chiefly with the Adventures Therein of Two Gentlemen Who Loved One and the Same Lady"

Down the bank to the river!--quick, man, and
cautious! If they smell us out now, we're no better than buzzard-meat!"
And when we reached the water's edge: "You taught me how to paddle a
pirogue, Jack; I hope you haven't lost the knack of it yourself."
"No," said I; and the three of us slid the hollowed log into the stream.
We were afloat in shortest order, holding the canoe against the current
by clinging to the overhanging trees that fringed the bank; yet with
paddles poised for a second dash for freedom should the need arise. I
should have dipped forthwith to save the precious minutes, but Jennifer
stayed me.
"Hist!" he whispered. "Hold steady and listen. They can not see us from
above; mayhap we've thrown them off the scent."
I thought it most unlikely; but his guess was right and mine was wrong.
Though any of these savages could lift a trail in daylight, following it
at top speed like a trained blood-hound, yet now the darkness baffled
them.
So there was some running to and fro in the road above our heads, and
then the troopers galloped down. Followed hastily a labored confab
through the linguister, broken in the midst by a fury of hot oaths from
Falconnet; and then the chase swept on toward the plantations, and we
were left to make their losing of us sure by whatsoever means we chose.
We paddled slowly up stream in silence, keeping well within the blacker
shadow of the tree fringe. When we came opposite the glowing ruins of
the hunting lodge, Jennifer backed upon his paddle.


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