"You take the fellow far
too seriously. Let him up. I 'll find a way to close his mouth if it
ever be necessary. Besides, he knows nothing to do any harm. A bit
groggy, my man. Hold him on his feet, you fellows."
I stood helpless, my arms bound, gripped tightly on either side, gazing
full into the villain's face; out of the depth of despair and defeat
there had come an animating ray of hope--they were going to take me
with them. Even as a prisoner I should be near her. Would yet be able
to dig out the truth.
"You take heem along, Monsieur?" It was Broussard's voice. "Zat vat
you mean?"
"Certainly--why not? There's plenty of work for another hand on board.
Trust me to break him in. Come, hustle the lad along, boys. I 'll be
with you in a minute."
They drove me forward roughly enough, the German marching
phlegmatically ahead, still silently puffing at his pipe, and leading
the way along a narrow footpath through the weeds. This wound about in
such crazy fashion that I lost all sense of both direction and
distance, yet finally we emerged into an open space, from which I saw
the chimneys of the old house far away to our left. The path led
onward into another weed patch beyond, down a steep ravine, and then
before us stretched the lonely waters of the bayou.
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