“Dere’s dat posse, sho’ nuff,” Bulldog grunted, and put on speed. He was nearing the river and higher ground, and the going was easier. The Big Swamp, on both sides of the river, was mostly tidal backwash. There wasn’t a habitation for miles ahead, and once he got to the river, Bulldog felt he could swim downstream and lose himself in the swamps on the other side. Unless the crime were a very terrible one, a white man’s posse wouldn’t break its neck searching the swamps for one chain-gang Negro more or less. Bulldog, for all his uncouthness, had a rough-and-ready knowledge of the customs of the country. But for one day the chase would be hot; the cry of the hounds, giving tongue, assured the big Negro of that. Even now the dogs seemed to have gained on him, and he stopped to listen. They were much nearer than they had been before. Bulldog’s worried face changed to reveal a grin. “Dem houn’ dawgs ain’ on no leash. Cap’n Jim done loosed ’em!” He chortled aloud as if to convince himself that his ears had not deceived him. He cocked his head on one side and listened intently. “Sho’ nuff! Dat’s Lady Belle and Junie.” The river line, with its row of live oaks festooned with Spanish moss, was a scant half mile away now, and the going underfoot was solid. Bulldog broke into a steady run. In a few minutes he had reached the first of the live oaks. Back in the glory days of the old South, these magnificent trees had been set out by some long-since-departed rice planter. Now their branches interlaced. Bulldog swung himself into a tree, got up among the middle branches, ran out a good-sized limb like some giant monkey, paused, and then swung himself into the next tree. The hounds were close now; he could hear them as he climbed. But they were running the trail far ahead of the posse. Through the second tree and into the third swung the apelike giant. He kept on until he had reached the fifth, from which he dropped swiftly to the ground. He found a stout section of an old branch, tested it with the weight of his hand, and then swung back in a circle to lie in wait beside his trail. He did not wait long. The hounds went by in full cry, Junie in the lead, Lady Belle at his heels. The bloodhound cares neither for sight nor sound, but follows his nose. Bulldog closed in behind them and grinned broadly as they came to a baffled halt at the foot of the live oak. “Yo’ Lady Belle, yo’ Junie, hush dat racket!” At the sound of his voice the hounds whirled to face him, baying excitedly at this strange turn of affairs. “Yo’ heah me? Hush dat racket!” Brandishing the broken limb, Bulldog stepped toward them. “Ah feeds yo’ wiv mah own han’s and yo’ runs me down jes’ lak Ah was a runaway convic’ nigger! Junie, Lady Belle, fo’ dat Ah frails yo!” The broken limb descended in a sidelong swish and Junie was bowled over. A split second later, in the midst of a protracted howl, Lady Belle got the same treatment. Both hounds scrambled to their feet whimpering.