Among the Pines Part 28

"We call them Carolina race-horses," said the Colonel, as he finished an account of their peculiarities.

"Race-horses! Why, are they fleet of foot?"

"Fleet as deer. I'd match one against an ordinary horse at any time."

"Come, my friend, you're practising on my ignorance of natural history."

"Not a bit of it. See! there's a good specimen yonder. If we can get him into the road, and fairly started, I'll bet you a dollar he'll beat Sandy's mare on a half-mile stretch--Sandy to hold the stakes and have the winnings."

"Well, agreed," I said, laughing, "and I'll give the pig ten rods the start."

"No," replied the Colonel, "you can't afford it. He'll _have_ to start ahead, but you'll need that in the count. Come, Sandy, will you go in for the pile?"

I'm not sure that the native would not have run a race with Old Nicholas himself, for the sake of so much money. To him it was a vast sum; and as he thought of it, his eyes struck small sparks, and his enormous beard and mustachio vibrated with something that faintly resembled a laugh.

Replying to the question, he said:

"Kinder reckon I wull, Cunnel; howsomdever, I keeps the stakes, ony how?"

"Of course," said the planter, "but be honest--win if you can."

Sandy halted his horse in the road, while the planter and I took to the woods on either side of the way. The Colonel soon manoeuvred to separate the selected animal from the rest of the herd, and, without much difficulty, got him into the road, where, by closing down on each flank, we kept him till he and Sandy were fairly under way.

"He'll keep to the road when once started," said the Colonel, laughing: "and he'll show you some of the tallest running you ever saw in your life."

Away they went. At first the pig, seeming not exactly to comprehend the programme, cantered off at a leisurely pace, though he held his own.

Soon, however, he cast an eye behind him--halted a moment to collect his thoughts and reconnoitre--and then, lowering his head and elevating his tail, put forth all his speed. And such speed! Talk of a deer, the wind, or a steam-engine--they are not to be compared with it. Nothing in nature I ever saw run--except, it may be, a Southern tornado, or a Sixth Ward politician--could hope to distance that pig. He gained on the horse at every step, and it was soon evident that my dollar was gone!

"'In for a shilling, in for a pound,' is the adage, so, turning to the Colonel, I said, as intelligibly as my horse's rapid pace and my excited risibilities would allow:

"I see I've lost, but I'll go you another dollar that _you_ can't beat the pig!"

"No--sir!" the Colonel got out in the breaks of his laughing explosions; "you can't hedge on me in that manner. I'll go a dollar that _you_ can't do it, and your mare is the fastest on the road. She won me a thousand not a month ago."

"Well, I'll do it--Sandy to have the stakes."

"Agreed," said the Colonel, and away _we_ went.

The swinish racer was about a hundred yards ahead when I gave the mare the reins, and told her to go. And she _did_ go. She flew against the wind with a motion so rapid that my face, as it clove the air, felt as if cutting its way through a solid body, and the trees, as we pa.s.sed, seemed struck with panic, and running for dear life in the opposite direction.

For a few moments I thought the mare was gaining, and I turned to the Colonel with an exultant look.

"Don't shout till you win, my boy," he called out from the distance where I was fast leaving him and Sandy.

I _did not shout_, for spite of all my efforts the s.p.a.ce between me and the pig seemed to widen. Yet I kept on, determined to win, till, at the end of a short half-mile, we reached the Waccamaw--the swine still a hundred yards ahead! There his pigship halted, turned coolly around, eyed me for a moment, then with a quiet, deliberate trot, turned off into the woods.

A bend in the road kept my companions out of sight for a few moments, and when they came up I had somewhat recovered my breath, though the mare was blowing hard, and reeking with foam.

"Well," said the Colonel, "what do you think of our bacon 'as it runs?'"

"I think the Southern article can't be beat, whether raw or cooked, standing or running."

At this moment the hound, who had been leisurely jogging along in the rear, disdaining to join in the race in which his dog of a master and I had engaged, came up, and dashing quickly on to the river's edge, set up a most dismal howling. The Colonel dismounted, and clambering down the bank, which was there twenty feet high, and very steep, shouted:

"The d----d Yankee has swum the stream!"

"Why so?" I asked.

"To cover his tracks and delay pursuit; but he has overshot the mark.

There is no other road within ten miles, and he must have taken to this one again beyond here. He's lost twenty minutes by this manoeuvre.

Come, Sandy, call in the dog, we'll push on a little faster."

"But he tuk to t'other bank, Cunnel. Shan't we trail him thar?" asked Sandy.

"And suppose he found a boat here," I suggested, "and made the sh.o.r.e some ways down?"

"He couldn't get Firefly into a flat--we should only waste time in scouring the other bank. The swamp this side the next run has forced him into the road within five miles. The trick is transparent. He took me for a fool," replied the Colonel, answering both questions at once.

I had reined my horse out of the road, and when my companions turned to go, was standing at the edge of the bank, overlooking the river.

Suddenly I saw, on one of the abutments of the bridge, what seemed a long, black log--strange to say, _in motion_!

"Colonel," I shouted, "see there! a live log as I'm a white man!"

"Lord bless you," cried the planter, taking an observation, "it's an alligator!"

I said no more, but pressing on after the hound, soon left my companions out of sight. For long afterward, the Colonel, in a doleful way, would allude to my lamentable deficiency in natural history--particularly in such branches as bacon and "live logs."

I had ridden about five miles, keeping well up with the hound, and had reached the edge of the swamp, when suddenly the dog darted to the side of the road, and began to yelp in the most frantic manner. Dismounting, and leading my horse to the spot, I made out plainly the print of Firefly's feet in the sand. There was no mistaking it--that round shoe on the off forefoot. (The horse had, when a colt, a cracked hoof, and though the wound was outgrown, the foot was still tender.) These prints were dry, while the tracks we had seen at the river were filled with water, thus proving that the rain had ceased while the overseer was pa.s.sing between the two places. He was therefore not far off.

The Colonel and Sandy soon rode up.

"Caught a live log! eh, my good fellow?" asked my host, with a laugh.

"No; but here's the overseer as plain as daylight; and his tracks not wet!"

Quickly dismounting, he examined the ground, and then exclaimed:

"The d--l----it's a fact--here not four hours ago! He has doubled on his tracks since, I'll wager, and not made twenty miles--we'll have him before night, sure! Come, mount--quick."

We sprang into our saddles, and again pressed rapidly on after the dog, who followed the scent at the top of his speed.

Some three miles more of wet, miry road took us to the run of which the Colonel had spoken. Arrived there, we found the hound standing on the bank, wet to the skin, and looking decidedly chop-fallen.

"Death and d----n!" shouted the Colonel; "the dog has swum the run, and lost the trail on the other side! The d--d scoundrel has taken to the water, and balked us after all! Take up the dog, Sandy, and try him again over there."

The native spoke to Caesar, who bounded on to the horse's back in front of his master. They then crossed the stream, which there was about fifty yards wide, and so shallow that in the deepest part the water merely touched the horse's breast; but it was so roiled by the recent rain that we could not distinguish the foot-prints of the horse beneath the surface.

The dog ranged up and down the opposite bank, but all to no purpose: the overseer had not been there. He had gone either up or down the stream--in which direction, was now the question. Calling Sandy back to our side of the run, the Colonel proceeded to hold a 'council of war.'

Each one gave his opinion, which was canva.s.sed by the others, with as much solemnity as if the fate of the Union hung on the decision.