The things we do!

I wonder--?"
Dunwody, left to himself, began moodily to walk up and down the
narrow deck, his hands behind his back. On his face was the red
fighting flush, but it was backed by no expression of definite
purpose, and his walk showed his mental uncertainty. All at once
he turned and with decision passed down the stairs to the lower
deck. He had heard voices which he recognized.
Judge Clayton had joined the party in charge of the fugitives, and
was now in conversation with the overseer, a short man clad in a
coarse blue jacket, with high boots and greasy leather trousers.
The latter was expatiating exultantly upon his own bravery and
shrewdness in effecting the recapture of his prisoners.
"Why, Jedge," said he, "fust off it di'n't look like we'd ever git
track of 'em at all. I cotched the trail at Portsmouth at last,
and follered 'em back into Ohio. They was shore on the
'underground' and bound for Canada, or leastways Chicago. I found
'em in a house 'way out in the country--midnight it was when we got
thar.


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