“If we never were in a scrape before, we’re in one now,” said he.  “We may as well make up our minds to stay here all night.”

“O, we can’t do that,” replied Lester, greatly alarmed.  “Some one will certainly see us.”

“Of course they will.  How can we help it?”

“I should never dare show my face in the settlement again, if this night’s work should become known,” continued Lester, who was almost ready to cry with vexation.  “It would ruin me completely, and you, too.  Don and Bert would ask no better fun than to spread it all over, and your chances of carrying the mail would be knocked higher than a kite.  Let’s pull off some of these shingles and throw them at the dogs.  Perhaps we can drive them away.”

“You don’t know them as well as I do.  They’ll not drive worth a cent.  We’re here, and here we must stay until somebody comes and calls them away.  We’ll hail the first nigger we see in the morning, and perhaps we can hire him to help us and keep his mouth shut.”

This was poor consolation for Lester, but it was the best Bob had to offer.  Things turned out just as he said they would.  They sat there on the ridge pole for more than four hours, Lester racking his brain, in the hope of conjuring up some plan for driving the dogs away, and Bob grumbling lustily over the ill luck which met him at every turn.

At last, when they had grown so cold that they could scarcely talk, and Lester began to be really afraid that he should freeze to death, the gray streaks of dawn appeared in the east.  Shortly afterward the door of the nearest cabin opened, and a negro came out and stood on the steps, stretching his arms and yawning.

“It’s the luckiest thing that ever happened to us,” said Bob, speaking only after a great effort.  “That’s the hostler.  He knows me and will help us if anybody will.  Say, Sam,” he added, raising his voice.  “Sam!”

“Who dar?” asked the negro, looking all around, as if he could not make up his mind where the voice came from.  “Who’s dat callin’ Sam?”

“It’s me.  Here I am, up here on top of this cabin,” replied Bob, slapping the shingles with his open hand to show the negro where he was.

“Wal, if dat ain’t de beatenest thing!” exclaimed Sam.  “What you two gemmen doin’ up dar?”

“O, we were coming through here last night, taking a short cut through the fields, you know, and the dogs discovered us and drove us up here.”

“I thought I heerd ’em fursin,” said Sam; “but I thought mebbe they’d done cotch a ’coon.”

“Well, call ’em off and let us go home,” exclaimed Lester, impatiently.

“Dat’s impossible, dat is.  Dem dar dogs don’t keer no mo’ fur us black uns dan nuffin, dem dogs don’t.  Can’t call ’em off, kase why, dey won’t mind us.  Have to go arter some of de white folks, suah!”

“Go on and get somebody, then, and be quick about it,” said Bob, desperately.  “And, Sam, if you can find Bert send him down.  We want to see him particularly, and it will save us walking up to the house.”