Дванадцять років рабства

           Justatday-breakIcametoanopening—asortofsmallplantation—butoneIhadneverseenbefore. IntheedgeofthewoodsIcameupontwomen,aslaveandhisyoungmaster,engagedincatchingwildhogs. ThewhitemanIknewwoulddemandmypass,andnotabletogivehimone,wouldtakemeintopossession. Iwastooweariedtorunagain,andtoodesperatetobetaken,andthereforeadoptedarusethatprovedentirelysuccessful. Assumingafierceexpression,Iwalkeddirectlytowardshim,lookinghimsteadilyintheface. AsIapproached,hemovedbackwardswithanairofalarm. Itwasplainhewasmuchaffrighted—thathelookeduponmeassomeinfernalgoblin,justarisenfromthebowelsoftheswamp! 

           "WheredoesWilliamFordlive?"Idemanded,innogentletone. 

           "Helivessevenmilesfromhere,"wasthereply. 

           "Whichisthewaytohisplace?"Iagaindemanded,tryingtolookmorefiercelythanever. 

           "Doyouseethosepinetreesyonder?"heasked,pointingtotwo,amiledistant,thatrosefarabovetheirfellows,likeacoupleoftallsentinels,overlookingthebroadexpanseofforest. 

           "Iseethem,"wastheanswer. 

           "Atthefeetofthosepinetrees,"hecontinued,"runstheTexasroad. Turntotheleft,anditwillleadyoutoWilliamFord’s." 

           Withoutfartherparley,Ihastenedforward,happyashewas,nodoubt,toplacethewidestpossibledistancebetweenus. StrikingtheTexasroad,Iturnedtothelefthand,asdirected,andsoonpassedagreatfire,whereapileoflogswereburning.