all that had
been so unjustly brought against him, and for which he had lain in the
damp prison for more than three months, these rascals lodged a warrant
in the Lancaster jail, and at midnight Kline and the man who claimed to
be George's owner arrested him as a fugitive from labor, whilst the
lawyer returned to Philadelphia to prepare the case for trial, and to
await the arrival of his shameless partners in guilt. This seemed the
climax of George's misfortunes. He was hurried into a wagon, ready at
the door, and, fearing a rescue, was driven at a killing pace to the
town of Parkesburg, where they were compelled to stop for the night,
their horses being completely used up. This was in the month of January,
and the coldest night that had been known for many years. On their
route, these wretches, who had George handcuffed and tied in the wagon,
indulged deeply in bad whiskey, with which they were plentifully
supplied, and by the time they reached the public-house their fury was
at its height. 'T is said there is honor among thieves, but villains of
the sort I am now speaking of seem to possess none. Each fears the
other. When in the bar-room, Kline said to the other,--"Sir, you can go
to sleep. I will watch this nigger."

"No," replied the other, "I will do that business myself. You don't fool
me, sir."

To which Kline replied, "Take something, sir?"--and down went more
whiskey.

Things went on in this way awhile, until Kline drew a chair to the
stove, and, overcome by the heat and liquor, was soon sleeping soundly,
and, I suppose, dreaming of the profits which were sure to arise from
the job. The other walked about till the barkeeper went to bed, leaving
the hostler to attend in his place, and he also, somehow or other, soon
fell asleep. Then he walked up to George, who was lying on the bench,
apparently as soundly asleep as any of them, and, saying to himself,
"The damn nigger is asleep,--I'll just take a little rest myself,"--he
suited the action to the word. Spreading himself out on two chairs, in a
few moments he was snoring at a fearful rate. Rum, the devil, and
fatigue, combined, had completely prostrated George's foes. It was now
his time for action; and, true to the hope of being free, the last to
leave the poor, hunted, toil-worn bondman's heart, he opened first one
eye, then the other, and carefully examined things around. Then he rose
slowly, and keeping step to the deep-drawn snores of the miserable,
deba