"Who'd a thought he would a jumped into the
Bayou sooner nor take a leetle trouncin'? He's gettin' to be a
powerful bad boy, Dave is, an' I had oughter be to hum every day to
keep him straight. Come back here!" he shouted, as the fugitive's
head suddenly bobbed up out of the water. "If you'll ketch the pinter
fur me an' promise to say nothin' to nobody, I'll let you off this
time."
David could not say a word in reply. He felt as if every drop of
blood in his body had been turned into ice. He wiped the water from
his eyes, glanced over his shoulder, to make sure that his father had
not followed him into the bayou, and struck out for the opposite
bank. Godfrey coaxed, promised and threatened to no purpose. David
would not come back, and neither would he make any answer. He held as
straight across the bayou as the current would permit, and when he
reached the shore, he climbed out and disappeared in the bushes.
"He's gone," thought Godfrey, throwing away his switch and slowly
retracing his steps toward the camp, "an' here's more trouble for me.
The pinter's gone too, an' that takes money outen my pocket an' puts
it into the pockets of them pizen Gordons. Dave'll tell everything he
knows as soon as he gets hum, an' that'll bring the constable up here
arter me.
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