He could have killed her instantly in any one of a dozen ways. He could have driven in her temples with a blow of his sledge-hammer fist; he could have broken her neck with the grip of his iron fingers; he only wished to shake her off without hurting her--a difficult task, for there she hung, a dead weight, at the collar of his coat at the back of his neck.
"Oh, very well!" he cried, laughing aloud! "Such adhesiveness I never saw! You stick to me like a wife to her husband. So if you won't let go, I shall have to take you along, that's all! So here I go like Christian with his bundle of sin on his back!"
And loosing the upper button of his pea-jacket so as to give him more breath, and, putting down his peddler's pack to relieve himself as much as possible, the outlaw strode through the hall door, down the steps, and down the evergreen avenue leading to the woods.
Capitola still clinging to the back of his coat-collar, with feet drawn up, a dead weight, and still crying: "Help! Murder! I've caught Black Donald, and I'll die before I'll let him go!"
"You're determined to be an outlaw's bride, that's certain! Well, I've no particular objection!" cried Black Donald, roaring with laughter as he strode on.
It was a "thing to see, not hear"--that brave, rash, resolute imp clinging like a terrier, or a crab, or a briar, on to the back of that gigantic ruffian, whom, if she had no strength to stop, she was determined not to release.
They had nearly reached the foot of the descent, when a great noise and hallooing was heard behind them. It was the negroes, who, having recovered from their panic, and armed themselves with guns, pistols, swords, pokers, tongs and pitchforks, were now in hot pursuit!
And cries of "Black Donald! Black Donald! Black Donald!" filled the air.
"I've got him! I've got him! help! help! quick! quick!" screamed Capitola, clinging closer than ever.
Though still roaring with laughter at the absurdity of his position, Black Donald strode on faster than before, and was in a fair way of escape, when lo! suddenly coming up the path in front of him, he met--Old Hurricane!!!
As the troop of miscellaneously armed negroes running down the hill were still making eve hideous with yells of "Black Donald!" and Capitola still clinging and hanging on at the back of his neck, continued to cry, "I've caught him! help! help!" something like the truth flashed in a blinding way upon Old Hurricane's perceptions.