Page:The White Slave, or Memoirs of a Fugitive.djvu/229

 the woods, and died away unanswered. We returned again to the camp, and gazed once more upon the distorted faces of our dead companions. We could not bear to leave them unburied. I hastily scraped a shallow trench, and there we placed them. We dropped a tear upon their grave, and sad, dismayed, dejected, we set out upon our long, weary and uncertain journey.





We travelled slowly all that night, and soon after the morning dawn, we concealed ourselves again, and lay down to sleep. Thomas's wounds were much better, and seemed disposed to heal. The hurt in his side was far less dangerous than we had at first supposed, and as the pain had subsided, he was now able to sleep.

We slept well enough, but awoke weak and faint for want of food; for it was now some twenty-four hours since we had tasted any. "The sun was not yet down; yet we resolved to set out immediately, in hopes that day-light might point out to us something-with which to satisfy our hunger.

After travelling a considerable distance through the woods, just as the sun was setting, we struck into a road. This road we determined to follow, in hopes that it might presently lead us into the neighborhood of some farm-house near which we might light upon something eatable. It was an unlucky resolve; for we had not gone above half a mile, when just upon the crest of a short hill, we suddenly came upon three travellers on horseback, whom the undulations of the road had concealed from us, till we were within a few yards of each other.

Both parties were mutually surprised. The travellers reined up their horses and eyed us sharply. Our appearance might well attract attention. Our clothes, — such as we had, — were torn and ragged. Instead of shoes, we wore a kind of high moccasins, made of untanned ox-hide;