Part 7 (2/2)
”Yes, of course,” said Tom. ”What of it?”
”Nothin', only I wish I could go wid 'em, and tell 'em Mas' Sam's here sick.”
”So do I, Joe, but we can't go with them, and it's no use wis.h.i.+ng.”
”I reckon 'tain't no use, but I can't help wis.h.i.+n' for all dat. When folk's got der own way dey don't wish for it. It's when you can't git your way dat you wish, ain't it?”
Tom was forced to admit that Joe was right, and that in wis.h.i.+ng to be with the retreating party he was not altogether unreasonable.
The two boys sat there, looking and longing. The savages had disappeared almost as suddenly as they had come, and presently Joe sprang up, saying.
”Dar's de little canoe lodged in the bushes, an' I'se gwine to fasten her to the bank anyhow, so's we'll have her if we want her.”
What possible use they could make of the canoe, it had not entered Joe's head to ask perhaps, but he tied the boat in the bushes nevertheless and secreted the paddle in the drift pile. He then visited the place where Dale's men had been surprised at breakfast, and brought off the pack of provisions which Dale had captured that morning from the savages and had himself abandoned in his turn. The pack was a well-stored one, and its possession was a matter of no little moment to the boys, whose bill of fare had hitherto embraced no bread, of which there was here an abundance in the shape of ash cake.
”Mas' Tom,” said Joe that evening, ”do you know my master?”
”Mr. Butler? Yes, certainly.”
”Well, if anything happens to poor Joe, and if you ever gits to de fort an' if Joe don't, an' if you sees my master dar you'll tell him Joe never runned away anyhow, won't you.”
”Yes, I'll tell him that Joe.”
”Even if the Ingins ketches me an' you dunno whar' I'se gone to, you'll tell him anyhow dat Joe never runned away from him or from you nuther, won't you, Mas' Tom?”
”Of course, Joe. But there won't be any chance to tell him anything about it unless we all get back to the fort, and then you can tell him for yourself. He thinks you are dead, of course, and doesn't dream that you ever ran away. You'll get back safely if the Indians don't catch you, and if they catch you they'll catch all of us, so I won't be there to tell your master about you.”
”Dun no 'bout dat,” replied Joe. ”Dey mought catch Joe 'thout catchin'
anybody else, an' 'thout you nor n.o.body knowin' nothin' 'bout it, and Joe wants you to promise anyway dat you'll stick to it to de las' dat poor Joe was no runaway n.i.g.g.e.r, nohow at all. Kin you do dat for me, Mas' Tom?”
”Certainly, Joe,” said Tom laughing, ”I promise you.”
”Will you git mad if Joe axes you to shake han's on dat, Mas' Tom? I wants to make sartain sure on it.”
Tom laughed, but held out his hand, convinced that the poor black boy was out of spirits at least, if not out of his mind.
CHAPTER XV.
THE BOYS ARE DRIVEN OUT OF THE ROOT FORTRESS.
Sam was only partially conscious during the battle around his habitation. The fever, which now rose and fell at intervals, was usually highest during the forenoon, abating somewhat later in the day. When it was highest he was always in either an unconscious stupor, or a wild delirium. When the fever abated, however, his consciousness returned, and he was capable of talking and of understanding all that was said. In these lucid intervals, he insisted upon knowing all that had happened, so that he might tell the boys what was best to do. On this day Tom had a story of more than ordinary interest to tell him, about the battle and the chance of rescue which had so narrowly pa.s.sed them. Sam was interested in it all as a matter of course, but he was still more deeply interested, it seemed, in the condition of the sand near the place where he was lying. He had dug a little hole with his hand, and feeling of the sand found it decidedly wet. Turning to Tom, he said:
”The river is rising rapidly, isn't it?”
”Yes; but how did you find it out?”
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