She pressed closer to me
in the narrow seat, her eyes on the dusky shadows. I endeavored to
laugh away her fears, but got little response. The road was a lonely
one, although apparently well traveled, bordered by rail fences and,
deserted-looking fields. Once we passed through a swamp, and skirted
the edge of timber. Then we turned to the right into a branch track,
where low bushes brushed our wheels. By this time it was quite dark,
and Pete was obliged to hold in his horses. There was a quarter moon
in the sky, just enough to give everything a spectral look, with no
human habitation visible, and owls hooting dismally in the distance.
It was uncanny in the extreme, and even I felt the desolation, and
became silent. Pete whistled stoutly, but without enthusiasm,
occasionally turning his head to make sure we were still there. I
could hear her quick breathing, and feel an occasional clutch of her
fingers on my sleeve at some unusual sound. Suddenly the negro pulled
up before a high hedge, and I perceived the white glimmer of a gate
opposite us, the black shadow of trees beyond.
"Here we am, sah," he whispered, glancing about fearful, "an' de good
Lord knows I 'se glad tain't no furder. You just han' me a dollar,
sah, an' den I 'se goin' fur to git out o' dis.
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