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"Gossifus!" whispered Cyd, for he had been forbidden to speak a loud word. "Where you 'pose de nigger dem dogs is chasin' is?" "I don't know. I pray that he may escape," replied Dan. "Can't you help him?" asked Lily, whose frame shook with terror, as her fancy pictured the terrible scene which she had so often heard described.
"Go forward, Cyd, and keep a sharp lookout ahead," said Dandy, as soon as the "crew" was comfortably seated on the cushion. "Gossifus! I suppose I'se a nigger still," said he. "Dis chile tinks he's jes as good's any body now." "You are, Cyd." "Den I mus squat on de hard deck, and you sets on de cushions."
"What's the matter with you, Cyd? Shut your mouth, and behave like a decent man," added Dan, rebuking the levity of his companion. "Gossifus! Dis chile knows all about dat; been dar hisself," chuckled Cyd. "Dis chile neber tink Missy Lily drink too much whiskey." "Silence! you rascal!
I shall not be taken, if I can help it." "Gossifus! What you gwine to do? 'Pose you see de nigger hunter, wid tree, four dozen bloodhounds: wha wha what you gwine to do den?" "I'm going to fight! And you must do the same!" replied Dan, with energy, as he grasped one of the fowling-pieces that lay upon the bunk. "Gwine to fight!" cried Cyd, opening his eyes with astonishment.
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