by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR.
SHOT FOR SHOT.
Yes, the individual who now advanced was Ruffin the man-hunter; and thedogs I had killed, were his--a brace of sleuth-hounds, well-known in thesettlement as being specially trained to tracking the unfortunateblacks, that, driven by cruel treatment, had taken to the woods.
Well-known, too, was their master--a dissipated brutal fellow, halfhunter, half hog-thief, who dwelt in the woods like an Indian savage,and hired himself out to such of the planters as needed the aid of himand his horrid hounds!
As I have said, I had never seen this individual, though I had heard ofhim often--from Scipio, from the boy Caton, and, lastly, from Gabriel.The Bambarra had described him minutely--had told me wild stories of theman's wickedness and ferocious cruelty--how he had taken the lives ofseveral runaways while in pursuit of them, and caused others to be tornand mangled by his savage dogs!
He was the terror and aversion of every negro quarter along the coast;and his name--appropriate to his character--oft served the sable motheras a "bogey" to frighten her squalling piccaninny into silence!
Such was Ruffin the _man-hunter_, as he was known among the black helotsof the plantations. The "cobbing-board" and the red cowhide were nothalf so terrible as he. In comparison with him, such characters as"Bully Bill," the flogging overseer, might be esteemed mild and humane.
The sight of this man at once deprived me of all farther thought ofescape. I permitted my pistol arm to drop loosely by my side, and stoodawaiting his advance, with the intention of surrendering ourselves up.Resistance would be vain, and could only lead to the idle spilling ofblood. With this intention I remained silent, having cautioned mycompanion to do the same.
On first emerging from the cane-brake, the hunter did not see us. I waspartially screened by the moss where I stood--Aurore entirely so.Besides, the man's eyes were not turned in our direction. They werebent upon the ground. No doubt he had heard the reports of my pistol;but he trusted more to his tracking instincts; and, from his bentattitude. I could tell that he was trailing his own dogs--almost as oneof themselves would have done!
As he neared the edge of the pond, the _smell_ of the water reached him;and, suddenly halting, he raised his eyes and looked forward. The sightof the pond seemed to puzzle him, and his astonishment was expressed inthe short sharp expression--
"Hell!"
The next moment his eyes fell upon the prostrate tree, then quicklyswept along its trunk, and rested full upon me.
"Hell and scissors!" he exclaimed, "thar are ye! Whar's my dogs?"
I stood eyeing him back, but made no reply.
"You hear, damn yer! Whar's my dogs?"
I still remained silent.
His eyes fell upon the log. He saw the blood-spots upon the hark. Heremembered the shots.
"Hell and damn!" cried he, with horrid emphasis, "you've kilt my dogs!"and then followed a volley of mingled oaths and threats, while theruffian gesticulated as, if he had suddenly gone mad!
After a while he ceased from these idle demonstrations; and, plantinghimself firmly, he raised his rifle muzzle towards me, and cried out:--
"Come off that log, and fetch your blue-skin with you! Quick, damn yer!Come off that log! Another minnit, an' I'll plug ye!"
I have said that at first sight of the man I had given up all idea ofresistance, and intended to surrender at once; but there was somethingso arrogant in the demand--so insulting in the tone with which theruffian made it--that it fired my very flesh with indignation, anddetermined me to stand at bay.
Anger, at being thus hunted, new-nerved both my heart and my arm. Thebrute had bayed me, and I resolved to risk resistance.
Another reason for changing my determination--I now saw that he was_alone_. He had followed the dogs afoot, while the others on horsebackhad no doubt been stopped or delayed by the bayou and morass. Had thecrowd come up, I must have yielded _nolens volens_; but the man-hunterhimself--formidable antagonist though he appeared--was still but _one_,and to surrender tamely to a single individual, was more than myspirit--inherited from border ancestry--could brook. There was too muchof the moss-trooper blood in my veins for that, and I resolved, _couteque coute_, to risk the encounter.
My pistol was once more firmly grasped; and looking the ruffian fullinto his bloodshot eyes, I shouted back--
"Fire at your peril! Miss and you are mine!"
The sight of my uplifted pistol caused him to quail; and I have no doubtthat had opportunity offered, he would have withdrawn from the contest.He had expected no such a reception.
But he had gone too far to recede. His rifle was already at hisshoulder, and the next moment I saw the flash, and heard the sharpcrack. The "thud" of his bullet, too, fell upon my ear, as it struckinto the branch against which I was leaning. Good marksman as he wasreputed, the sheen of my pistols had spoiled his aim, and he had missedme!
I did not miss _him_. He fell to the shot with a demoniac howl; and asthe smoke thinned off, I could see him writhing and scrambling in theblack mud!
I hesitated whether to give him the second barrel--for I was angry anddesired his life--but at this moment noises reached me from behind. Iheard the plunging paddle, with the sounds of a manly voice; andturning, I beheld the Bambarra.
The latter had shot the pirogue among the tree-tops close to where westood, and with voice and gesture now urged us to get aboard.
"Quick, mass'. Quick, 'Rore gal! jump into de dugout! Jump in! TrussOle Gabe!--he stand by young mass' to de deff!"
Almost mechanically I yielded to the solicitations of the runaway--though I now saw but little chance of our ultimate escape--and, havingassisted Aurore into the pirogue, I followed and took my seat besideher.
The strong arm of the negro soon impelled us far out from the shore; andin five minutes after we were crossing the open lake toward the cypressclump in its midst.