We were
halting on the bank of a muddy, swollen stream, in some doubt whether we
should try the treacherous bottom there or higher up, when, looking over
my shoulder, I saw the figures of four horsemen, looming large against
the red evening sky as they passed slowly across the sky-line, on the
crest of some abrupt rising ground about 300 yards to our right: soon
two more showed themselves, making the pursuing party complete; they
were evidently retracing their steps--for what reason I know not. Almost
at the same instant the Alabamian caught sight of the enemy; but before
he could speak I touched our guide on the shoulder with my hunting-whip,
pointing in the direction of the danger. If you ever saw a wing-tipped
mallard's flurry when the retriever comes upon him unawares, you will
have a good idea of how the valiant Walter "squattered" through the
ford. The twilight was darkening fast, and, in the shadow of the ravine,
we were almost safe from the eyes of our pursuers; but I marvel that
even at such a distance their ears were not attracted by the flounder
and the splash. My squire and I followed more leisurely; indeed,
throughout, the former had displayed a creditable coolness and
determination; also, he seemed to take very kindly to my own favorite
motto, "_Festina lente_"--"More haste, worse speed.
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