the right or left. Every mile we advanced
the country became more and more familiar. At noon we camped, lighted a
fire, and cooked the venison. We calculated that by this time we had
done about twelve miles, so Dan thought, but I was not quite sure of
that. There was no means of ascertaining which was right. "At all
events, we must not spend much time here," I exclaimed, as we finished
the last of our venison, and jumping up I buckled on my knapsack, and
took my rifle in my hand. Dan was in no hurry to start. Seeing that I
was determined to go, he got up, and we trudged on together at the same
speed as before. We had not got far when, as we reached the brow of a
hill, we caught sight of two men on horseback passing along the valley
at our feet. We instinctively drew back, hoping that we had not been
seen, but their voices reached our ears hailing us.

"Hulloa! youngsters, have you seen a nigger-boy running in this
direction?" asked one of the men as we drew near.

"We have seen no nigger-boy running in this direction," I replied, such
being the fact.

"If you do, just take him along with you, and threaten to shoot him if
he won't move; don't do it though, for he's worth a heap of dollars, and
if you don't catch him, some one else will."

"It's not our business to catch runaway slaves," Dan answered unwisely.

"Whew! my young cock sparrow, to whom do you belong?" asked the man,
squirting a stream of tobacco juice out of his mouth, which Dan narrowly
escaped.

"We belong to our father," answered Dan, "and to no one else."

"And who is your father, master cock-a-hoop?" asked the man.

"Call me by my proper name and I'll answer a civil question."

"You'll answer whether I put the question civilly or not," cried the
fellow, raising his whip and spurring his horse on towards Dan, on which
I brought my rifle to bear on the man, exclaiming--

"If you touch my brother, I'll shoot you, as sure as you're a living
man."

On this he pulled in his rein, while his companion, bursting into a loud
laugh, exclaimed--

"These young cocks crow loudly! I say, youngsters, who is your father?
he must be a smart fellow to own such a pair of bantlings."

"Our father is Captain Loraine who lives at Uphill, and he's not the
person to stand nonsense from you or any other man like you!" exclaimed
Dan, whose Irish temper had risen almost to boiling pitch.

The strangers, seeing that they could not get much change out of us