Every moment of progress tended to increase my confidence in Sam's loyalty. His every attention seemed riveted upon his work, and not once did I observe his eyes turned backward for a glimpse of the Missouri shore. The fellow plainly enough realized the situation—that safety for himself depended on keeping beyond the reach of his master. To this end he devoted every instant diligently to coaxing his engine and a skillful guidance of the boat, never once permitting his head to turn far enough to glance at me, although I could occasionally detect his eyes wandering in the direction of the girl.
She had not uttered a word, nor changed her posture since first entering the boat, but remained just as I had seated her, one hand grasping the edge of the cockpit, her gaze on the rushing waters ahead. I could realize something of what must be passing through her mind—the mingling of doubt and fear which assailed her in this strange environment. Up until now she had been accorded no opportunity to think, to consider the nature of her position; she had been compelled to act wholly upon impulse and driven blindly to accept my suggestions. And now, in this silence, the reaction had come, and she was already questioning if she had done right.
It was in my heart to speak to her, in effort to strengthen her faith, but I hesitated, scarcely knowing what to say, deeply touched by the pathetic droop of her figure, and, in truth, uncertain in my own mind as to whether or not we had chosen the wiser course. All I dared do was to silently reach out one hand, and rest it gently on those fingers clasping the rail. She did not remove her hand from beneath mine, nor, indeed, give the slightest evidence that she was even aware of my action. By this time the eastern shore became dimly defined through the black mist, and the downward sweep of the current no longer struck in force against our bow.
"Wus Ah ter turn nor', sah?" asked the negro, suddenly.
"Yes, up-stream, but keep in as close to the shore as you think safe. There is no settlement along this bank, is there?"
"No, sah; dar's jus' one cabin, 'bout a mile up-stream, but dar ain't nobody livin' thar now. Whar yer all aim fer ter go?"
I hesitated an instant before I answered, yet, almost as quickly, decided that the whole truth would probably serve us best. The man already had one reason to use his best endeavors; now I would bring before him a second.
"Just as far up the river before daylight as possible, Sam. Then I hope to uncover some hiding place where we can lie concealed until it is dark again. Do you know any such place?"
He scratched his head, muttering something to himself; then turned half about, exhibiting a line of ivories.
"On de Illinois shore, sah? Le's see; thar's Rassuer Creek, 'bout twenty mile up. 'Tain't so awful big et the mouth, but I reckon we mought pole up fer 'nough ter git outer sight. Ah spects you all knows whut yer a headin' fer?"
"To a certain extent—yes; but we had to decide on this action very quickly, with no chance to plan it out. I am aiming at the mouth of the Illinois."
He glanced about at me again, vainly endeavoring to decipher my expression in the gloom.
"De Illinois ribber, boss; what yer hope fer ter find thar?"
"A certain man I've heard about. Did you ever happen to hear a white man mentioned who lives near there? His name is Amos Shrunk?"
I could scarcely distinguish his eyes, but I could feel them. I thought for a moment he would not answer.
"Yer'l surely excuse me, sah," he said at last, humbly, his voice with a note of pleading in it. "Ah's feelin' friendly 'nough, an' all dat, sah, but still yer mus' 'member dat Ah's talkin' ter a perfict stranger. If yer wud sure tell me furst just whut yer was aimin' at, then maybe Ah'd know a heap mor'n Ah do now."
"I guess you are right, Sam. I'll tell you the whole of it. I am endeavoring to help this young woman to escape from those men back yonder. You must know why they were there; no doubt you overhead them talk coming up?"
"Yas, sah; Massa Donaldson he was goin' up fer ter serve sum papers fer Massa Kirby, so he cud run off de Beaucaire niggers. But dis yere gal, she ain't no nigger—she's just a white pusson."
"She is a slave under the law," I said, gravely, as she made no effort to move, "and the man, Kirby, claims her."
I could see his mouth fly open, but the surprise of this statement halted his efforts at speech.
"That explains the whole situation," I went on. "Now will you answer me?"
"'Bout dis yere Massa Shrunk?"
"Yes—you have heard of him before?"
"Ah reckon as how maybe Ah has, sah. Mos' all de niggers down dis way has bin tol' 'bout him—som'how dey has, sah."
"So I thought. Well, do you know where he can be found?"
"Not perzackly, sah. Ah ain't never onct bin thar, but Ah sorter seems fer ter recollec' sum'thin' 'bout whar he mought be. Ah reckon maybe Ah cud go thar, if Ah just hed to. Ah reckon if yer all held dat pistol plum 'gainst mah hed, Ah'd mos' likely find dis Amos Shrunk. Good Lord, sah!" and his voice sank to a whisper, "Ah just can't git hol' o' all dis—Ah sure can't, sah—'bout her bein' a nigger."
Rene turned about, lifting her face into the starlight.
"Whether I am white or colored, Sam," she said, quietly, "can make little difference to you now. I am a woman, and am asking your help. I can trust you, can I not?"
The negro on his knees stared at her, the whites of his eyes conspicuous. Then suddenly he jerked off his old hat.
"Ah 'spects yer kin, Missus," he pledged himself in a tone of conviction which made my heart leap. "Ah's bin a slave-nigger fer forty-five years, but just de same, Ah ain't never bin mean ter no woman. Yas, sah, yer don't neither one ob yer eber need ter ask Sam no mor'—he's a goin' thro' wid yer all ter de end—he sure am, Ma'm."
Silence descended upon us, and I slipped the pistol back into my pocket. Rene rested her cheek on her hand and gazed straight ahead into the night. Her head seemed to droop, and I realized that her eyes saw nothing except those scenes pictured by her thoughts. Sam busied himself about his work, muttering occasionally under his breath, and shaking his head as though struggling with some problem, but the few words I caught were disconnected, yielding me no knowledge of what he was trying to solve. The bow of the boat had been deflected to the north, and was silently cleaving the sluggish downward trend of the water, for we had passed out of the swifter current and were close in to the eastern shore. The bank appeared low and unwooded, a mere black line barely above the water level and I guessed that behind it stretched uninhabitable marshes overflowed by the spring floods.
As we fought our way up stream the boat gradually drew away, the low shore fading from view as the negro sought deeper water, until finally the craft was nearly in the center of the broad stream where the eye could see only turbulent water sweeping past on every side. Occasionally a log scraped along our side, dancing about amid foam, or some grotesque branch, reaching out gaunt arms, swept by. The stars overhead reflected their dim light from off the surface, rendering everything more weird and desolate. The intense loneliness of the scene seemed to clutch my soul. Far off to the left a few winking lights appeared, barely perceptible, and I touched the negro, pointing them out to him and whispering my question so as not to disturb the motionless girl.
"Is that the Landing over there?"
"Ah certainly 'spects it must be, sah; dar ain't no other town directly 'round dese parts."
"Then those lights higher up must be on the bluff at Beaucaire?"
"Yas, sah; looks like de whol' house was lit up. I reckon things am right lively up thar 'bout now." He chuckled to himself, smothering a laugh. "It's sure goin' fer ter bother Massa Donaldson ter lose dis nigger, sah, fer Ah's de only one he's got."
The lights slowly faded away in the far distance, finally disappearing altogether as we rounded a sharp bend in the river bank. The engine increased its stroke, giving vent to louder chugging, and I could feel the strain of the planks beneath us as we battled the current. This new noise may have aroused her, for Rene lifted her head as though suddenly startled and glanced about in my direction.
"We have passed the village?" she asked, rather listlessly.
"Yes; it is already out of sight. From the number of lights burning I imagine our escape has been discovered."
"And what will they do?" an echo of dismay in her voice.
All fear of any treachery on the part of the negro had completely deserted me, and I slipped down from my perch on the edge of the cockpit to a place on the bench at her side. She made no motion to draw away, but her eyes were upon my face, as though seeking to read the meaning of my sudden action.
"We can talk better here," I explained. "The engine makes so much noise."
"Yes; and—and somehow I—I feel more like trusting you when I am able to see your face," she admitted frankly. "I am actually afraid to be alone."
"I have felt that this was true from the first. Indeed, I seriously wonder at the trust you have reposed in me—a total stranger."
"But—but how could I help it? Have I been unwomanly? I think I scarcely know what I have done. I could very easily have told what was right in the old days; but—but surely you understand—this was not to be decided by those rules. I was no longer free. Do you mean that you blame me for what has been done?"
"Far from it. You have acted in the only way possible. To me you are a wonderfully brave woman. I doubt if one in a thousand could have faced the situation as well."
"Oh I can hardly feel I have been that. It seems to me I have shown myself strangely weak—permitting you to do exactly as you pleased with me. Yet you do not understand; it has not been wholly my own peril which caused me to surrender so easily."
"But I think I do understand—it was partly a sacrifice for others."
"In a way, yes, it was; but I cannot explain more fully, even to you, now. Yet suppose I make this sacrifice, and it fails; suppose after all they should fall into the hands of these men?"
"I will not believe that," I protested, stoutly. "I feel convinced they had warning—there is no other way in which to account for their disappearance, their failure to return to the house. They must have encountered Pete and gone away with him."
"If I only knew that."
"Perhaps we can assure ourselves; we can go ashore at his place up the river, and if his boat is gone, there will be no longer any doubt. In any case, it is clearly your duty to save yourself."
"Do you really think so? It has seemed to me cowardly to run away."
"But, Rene," I urged. "They were the ones who deserted first. If they had warning of danger, they fled without a word to you—leaving you alone in the hands of those men."
"They—they, perhaps they failed to realize my peril. Oh you cannot see this as I do," she faltered, endeavoring to conjure up some excuse. "They may have thought they could serve me best in that way."
I laughed, but not in any spirit of humor.
"Hardly that, I imagine. Far more likely they fled suddenly in a panic of fear, without pausing to think at all. Why, you were the very one whose danger was the greatest; you were the one plunged into slavery."
"Yes—yes; I had forgotten that. Never for a moment does it seem real to me. I have to keep saying over and over again to myself, 'I am a negro and a slave.'"
"And so do I," I confessed, unthinkingly. "And even then, when I remember you as I first saw you in that lighted room back yonder, it is unbelievable."
Her eyes fell from my face, her head drooping, as she stared over the rail at the sullen rush of black water alongside. She remained silent and motionless for so long that I felt impelled to speak again, yet before I could decide what to say, her voice addressed me, although with face still averted.
"Yes, it is indeed most difficult—for both of us," she acknowledged, slowly. "We are in an extremely embarrassing position. You must not think I fail to realize this. It would be comparatively easy for me to choose my course but for that. I do not know why you serve me thus—risking your very life and your professional future—but neither of us must forget, not for a moment, that I am only a runaway slave. I can only consent to go with you, Lieutenant Knox, if you promise me this."
I hesitated to make the pledge, to put it into binding words, my lips pressed tightly together, my hands clinched. Feeling the rebuke of my silence, she turned her head once more, and her questioning eyes again sought my face in the star-gleam.
"You must promise me," she insisted, firmly, although her sensitive lips trembled as she gave utterance to the shameful words. "I am nothing else. I am no white woman of your own race and class appealing for protection. I cannot ask of you the courtesy a gentleman naturally gives; I can only beg your mercy. I am a negress—you must not forget, and you must not let me forget. If you will give me your word I shall trust you, fully, completely. But it must be given. There is no other way by which I can accept your protection; there can be no equality between us—only an impassable barrier of race."
"But I do not see this from the same viewpoint as you of the South."
"Oh yes, you do. The viewpoint is not so dissimilar; not in the same degree, perhaps, but no less truly. You believe in my right of freedom; you will even fight for that right, but at the same time you realize as I do, that the one drop of black blood in my veins is a bar sinister, now and forever. It cannot be overcome; it must not be forgotten. You will pledge me this?"
"Yes—I pledge you."
"And, in spite of that drop of black blood, as long as we are together, you will hold me a woman, worthy of respect and honor? Not a creature, a chattel, a plaything?"
"Will you accept my hand?"
"Yes."
"Then I will answer you, Rene Beaucaire," I said, soberly, "with all frankness, black or white I am your friend, and never, through any word or act of mine, shall you ever regret that friendship."
Her wide-open eyes gazed straight at me. It seemed as if she would never speak. Then I felt the tightening pressure of her hand, and her head bent slowly forward as though in the instinct of prayer.
"Thank God!" she whispered softly. "Now I can go with you."
I waited breathless, conscious of the trembling of her body against mine. Once again the bowed head was lifted, and this time a sparkle of unshed tears were visible in the shadowed eyes.
"You have not yet explained to me what we were to do? Your plans for tomorrow?"
"Because I scarcely have any," I replied, comprehending that now she claimed partnership in this adventure. "This has all occurred so suddenly, I have only acted upon impulse. No doubt those back at the Landing will endeavor to pursue us; they may have discovered already our means of escape and procured boats. My principal hope is that they may take it for granted that we have chosen the easier way and gone down stream. If so we shall gain so much more time to get beyond their reach. Anyway we can easily out-distance any rowboat, and Sam tells me there is nothing else to be had at the Landing."
"But why have you chosen the northern route? Surely you had a reason?"
"Certainly; it was to deceive them and get out of slave territory as quickly as possible. There are friends in this direction and none in the other. If we should endeavor to flee by way of the Ohio, we would be compelled to run a thousand-mile gauntlet. There are slaves in Illinois—it has never been declared a free state—but these are held almost exclusively in the more southern counties. North of the river the settlers are largely from New England, and the majority of them hate slavery and are ready to assist any runaway to freedom."
"But you have spoken of a man—Amos Shrunk—who is he?"
"You have certainly heard rumors, at least, that there are regular routes of escape from here to Canada?"
"Yes; it has been discussed at the house. I have never clearly understood, but I do know that slaves disappear and are never caught. I was told white men helped them."
"It is accomplished through organized effort by these men—Black Abolitionists, as they are called—haters of slavery. They are banded together in a secret society for this one purpose and have what they call stations scattered all along at a certain distance apart—a night's travel—from the Mississippi to the Canadian line, where the fugitives are hidden and fed. The runaways are passed from one station to the next under cover of darkness, and are seldom recaptured. A station keeper, I am told, is only permitted to know a few miles of the route, those he must cover—the system is perfect, and many are engaged in it who are never even suspected."
"And this man, is he one?"
"Yes, a leader; he operates the most dangerous station of all. The escaping slaves come to him first."
"And he passes them on to the next man—do you know who?"
"Only what little Pete told me; the second agent is supposed to be a preacher in Beardstown."
She asked no further questions, and after a moment turned away, resting back against the edge of the cockpit with chin cupped in the hollow of her hand. The profile of her face was clearly defined by the starlight reflected by the river, and I found it hard to withdraw my eyes. A movement by the negro attracted my attention.
"There is a small creek about four miles above the Landing, Sam," I said shortly. "Do you think you can find it?"
"On de Missouri side, sah? Ah reckon Ah cud."
It tested his skill as a boatman to locate the exact spot sought amid that gloom, yet he finally attained to it closely enough so I was able to get ashore, wading nearly thigh deep in water and mud, but only to learn that the boat, which I had provisioned earlier in the evening, had disappeared from its moorings. No trace of it could be found in the darkness, although I devoted several minutes to the search. To my mind this was positive evidence that Pete had returned, accompanied by the two frightened women, and that, finally despairing of my arrival, had departed with them up the river. In all probability we would overhaul the party before morning, certainly before they could attain the mouth of the Illinois. Their heavy rowboat would be compelled to creep along close in shore to escape the grasp of the current, while our engine gave us every advantage. I made my way back to the keel-boat with this information, and the laboring engine began to chug even while I was briefly explaining the situation to Rene. She listened almost wearily, asking but few questions, and both of us soon lapsed into silence. A little later she had pillowed her head on her arms and apparently had fallen asleep.
I must have dozed, myself, as the hours passed, although hardly aware of doing so. The soft, continuous chugging of the engine, the swash of water alongside, the ceaseless sweep of the current, and the dark gloom of the shadows through which we struggled, all combined to produce drowsiness. I know my eyes were closed several times, and at last they opened to a realization that gray, sickly dawn rested upon the river surface. It was faint and dim, a promise more than a realization of approaching day, yet already sufficient to afford me view of the shore at our right, and to reveal the outlines of a sharp point of land ahead jutting into the stream. The mist rising from off the water in vaporous clouds obscured all else, rendering the scene weird and unfamiliar. It was, indeed, a desolate view, the near-by land low, and without verdure, in many places overflowed, and the river itself sullen and angry. Only that distant point appeared clearly defined and real, with the slowly brightening sky beyond. I endeavored to arouse myself from stupor, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Rene had changed her posture, but still slumbered, with face completely concealed in her arms; but Sam was wide awake, and turned toward me grinning at my first movement. He had a broad, good-humored face, and a row of prominent teeth, slightly shadowed by a very thin moustache. Instinctively, I liked the fellow on sight—he appeared both intelligent and trustworthy.
"Daylight, is it?" I said, speaking low so as not to awaken the girl. "I must have been asleep."
"Yas, sah; yer's bin a noddin' fer de las' hour. Ah wus 'bout ter stir yer up, sah, fer Ah reckon as how we's mos' dar."
"Most where?" staring about incredulously. "Oh, yes, Rassuer Creek. Have we made that distance already?"
Sam's teeth glittered in another expanding of his mouth.
"Wal', we's bin a goin' et a mighty good gait, sah. She ain't done fooled none on me all dis night," his hand laid lovingly on the engine. "Nebber kicked up no row o' no kind—just chug, chug, chug right 'long. 'Pears like she sorter know'd dis nigger hed ter git away. Enyhow, we bin movin' lon' now right smart fer 'bout four hours, an' Rassuer Creek am just 'round dat p'int yonder—Ah's mighty sure ob dat, sah."
He was right, but it was broad daylight when we reached there, the eastern sky a glorious crimson, and the girl sitting up, staring at the brilliant coloring as though it pictured to her the opening of a new world. I was too busily engaged helping Sam at the wheel, for the swirl of the current about the headland required all our strength to combat it, and eagerly scanning the irregular shore line, to observe her closely in the revealing light; yet I knew that she had studied us both attentively from beneath her long lashes, before turning her head away.
Rounding the headland brought us immediately into a new country, the river bank high and firm, a bank of rather vivid yellow clay, with trees thickly covering the rising ground beyond. The passage of a few hundred yards revealed the mouth of Rassuer Creek, a narrow but sluggish stream, so crooked and encroached upon by the woods as to be practically invisible from the center of the river. The water was not deep, yet fortunately proved sufficiently so for our purpose, although we were obliged to both pole and paddle the boat upward against the slow current, and it required an hour of hard labor to place the craft safely beyond the first bend where it might lie thoroughly concealed by the intervening fringe of trees. Here we made fast to the bank.
I assisted Rene ashore, and aided her to climb to a higher level, carpeted with grass. The broad river was invisible, but we could look directly down upon the boat, where Sam was already busily rummaging through the lockers, in search of something to eat. He came ashore presently bearing some corn pone, and a goodly portion of jerked beef. Deciding it would be better not to attempt a fire, we divided this, and made the best meal possible, meanwhile discussing the situation anew, and planning what to do next. The negro, seated at one side alone upon the grass, said little, beyond replying to my questions, yet scarcely once removed his eyes from the girl's face. He seemed unable to grasp the thought that she was actually of his race, a runaway slave, or permit his tongue to utter any words of equality. Indeed, I could not prevent my own glance from being constantly attracted in her direction, also. Whatever had been her mental strain and anguish, the long hours of the night had in no marked degree diminished her beauty. To me she appeared even younger, and more attractive than in the dim glare of the lamplight the evening before; and this in spite of a weariness in her eyes, and the lassitude of her manner. She spoke but little, compelling herself to eat, and assuming a cheerfulness I was sure she was far from feeling. It was clearly evident her thoughts were elsewhere, and finally the conviction came to me, that, more than all else, she desired to be alone. My eyes sought the outlines of the boat lying in the stream below.
"What is there forward of the cockpit, Sam?" I questioned. "Beneath the deck, I mean; there seem to be several portholes."
"A cabin, sah; 'tain't so awful big, but Massa Donaldson he uster sleep dar off an' on."
"The young lady could rest there then?"
"Sure she cud. 'Twas all fixed up fine afore we lef Saint Louee. Ah'll show yer de way, Missus."
She rose to her feet rather eagerly, and stood with one hand resting against the trunk of a small tree. Her eyes met mine, and endeavored a smile.
"I thank you for thinking of that," she said gratefully. "I—I really am tired, and—and it will be rest just to be alone. You—you do not mind if I go?"
"Certainly not. There is nothing for any of us to do, but just take things easy until night."
"And then we are to go on, up the river?"
"Yes, unless, of course, something should occur during the day to change our plan. Meanwhile Sam and I will take turns on guard, while you can remain undisturbed."
She gave me her hand simply, without so much as a thought of any social difference between us, and I bowed low as I accepted it, equally oblivious. Yet the realization came to her even as our fingers met, a sudden dash of red flaming into her cheeks, and her eyes falling before mine.
"Oh, I forgot!" she exclaimed, drawing away. "It is so hard to remember."
"I beg you not to try. I have but one aim—to serve you to the best of my ability. Let me do it in my own way."
"Your own way?"
"Yes, the way of a gentleman, the way of a friend. You can look into my face now by daylight. Please look; am I unworthy to be trusted?"
She did not answer at once, or even seem to hear my question, yet slowly her downcast eyes lifted, until she gazed frankly into my own. Beneath the shading lashes they were wistful, pleading, yet steadfastly brave.
"I am at your mercy, Lieutenant Knox," she said quietly. "I must trust you—and I do. Yes, you may serve me in your own way. We—we cannot seem to play a part very well, either of us, so, perhaps, it will be easier just to be natural."
I watched the two as they went down the steep bank together, and Sam helped her over the rail into the cockpit. The narrow entrance leading into the cabin forward was to the right of the engine, and she disappeared through the sliding door without so much as glancing upward toward where I remained standing. The negro left the door open, and returned slowly, clambering up the bank.
"'Cuse me, sah," he said clumsily, as he paused before me, rubbing his head, his eyes wandering below. "Did Ah hear right whut yer sed las' night, 'bout how dat young woman was a nigger, a runaway frum Massa Kirby? 'Pears like Ah don't just seem fer ter git dat right in my head, sah."
"That is the truth, Sam, although it appears quite as impossible to me as to you. She is a natural lady, and worthy of all respect—a beautiful girl, with no outward sign that she is not wholly white—yet she has the blood of your race in her veins, and is legally a slave."
"Lordy, an she nebber know'd it till just now?"
"No; I can only wonder at her meeting the truth as she does. Perhaps I had better tell you the story—it is very brief. She is the illegitimate daughter of a son of the late Judge Beaucaire, and a slave mother known as Delia, a quadroon woman. The boy disappeared years ago, before she was born, and is probably dead, and she has been brought up, and educated exactly as if she was the Judge's own child. She has never known otherwise, until those men came to the house the other night."
"An'—an' de ol' Jedge, he nebber done set her free?"
"No; nor the mother. I do not know why, only that it is a fact."
"An' now she done b'long ter dis yere Massa Kirby?"
"Yes, he won all the Beaucaire property, including the slaves, in a poker game on the river, the night Beaucaire died."
"Ah done heered all 'bout dat, sah. An' yer nebber know'd dis yere girl afore et all?"
"No, I never even saw her. I chanced to hear the story, and went to the house to warn them, as no one else would. I was too late, and no other course was left but to help her escape. That is the whole of it."
He asked several other questions, but at last appeared satisfied, and after that we discussed the guard duty of the day, both agreeing it would not be safe for us to permit any possible pursuit to pass by us up the river unseen. Sam professed himself as unwearied by the night's work, and willing to stand the first watch; and my eyes followed his movements as he scrambled across the intervening ravine, and disappeared within a fringe of woods bordering the shore of the river. Shortly after I lay down in the tree shade, and must have fallen asleep almost immediately. I do not know what aroused me, but I immediately sat upright, startled and instantly awake, the first object confronting me being Sam on the crest of the opposite ridge, eagerly beckoning me to join him. The moment he was assured of my coming, and without so much as uttering a word of explanation, he vanished again into the shadow of the woods.
I crossed the ravine with reckless haste, clambering up the opposite bank, and sixty feet beyond suddenly came into full view of the broad expanse of water. Scarcely had I glimpsed this rolling flood, sparkling under the sun's rays, when my gaze turned up stream, directed by an excited gesture of the negro. Less than a mile away, its rapidly revolving wheel churning the water into foam in ceaseless battle against the current, was a steamboat. It was not a large craft, and so dingy looking that, even at that distance, it appeared dull gray in color. A number of moving figures were perceptible on the upper deck; two smokestacks belched forth a vast quantity of black smoke, sweeping in clouds along the water surface, and a large flag flapped conspicuously against the sky. I stared at the apparition, scarcely comprehending the reality of what I beheld.
"Yer bettah stoop down more, sah," Sam urged. "Fer sum o' dem fellars might see yer yit. Ah nebber heerd nuthin', ner saw no smoke till she cum a puffin' 'round de end 'o dat p'int. Ah cudn't dare go fer yer then, sah, fer fear dey'd see me, so Ah jus' nat'larly lay down yere, an' watched her go by."
"Is it a government boat?"
"Ah reckon maybe; leastwise thar's a heap o' sojers aboard her—reg'lars Ah reckon, fer dey's all in uniform. But everybody aboard wan't sojers."
"You know the steamer?"
"Yas, sah. Ah's seed her afore dis down et Saint Louee. She uster run down de ribber—she's deJohn B. Glover. She ain't no great shakes ob a boat, sah."
His eyes, which had been eagerly following the movements of the craft, turned and glanced at me.
"Now dey's goin' fer ter cross over, sah, so's ter keep de channel. Ah don't reckon es how none o' dem men kin see back yere no more. Massa Kirby he wus aboard dat steamer, sah."
"Kirby! Are you sure about that, Sam?"
"'Course Ah's sure. Didn't Ah see him just as plain as Ah see you right now? He wus for-rad by de rail, near de pilot house, a watchin' dis whole shore like a hawk. Dat sure wus Massa Kirby all right, but dar wan't nobody else 'long wid him."
"But what could he be doing there on a troop boat?"
The negro scratched his head, momentarily puzzled by my question.
"Ah sure don't know, sah," he admitted. "Only dat's perzackly who it was. Ah reckon dar ain't no boat whut won't take a passenger, an' Kirby, he knows ebery captain 'long dis ribber. Ah figur' it out 'bout dis way, sah; dat nobody kin tell yit which way we went—up de ribber, er down de ribber. Long cum deJohn B. Glover, an' Massa Kirby he just take a chance, an' goes aboard. De sheriff he goes der odder way, down stream in a rowboat; an' dat's how dey aims ter sure head us off."
I sat down at the edge of the bluff, convinced that the conclusions of the negro were probably correct. That was undoubtedly about how it had happened. To attempt pursuit up stream with only oars as propelling power, would be senseless, but the passage upward of this troop boat afforded Kirby an opportunity he would not be slow to accept. Getting aboard would present no great difficulty, and his probable acquaintance with the captain would make the rest easy.
The steamer by this time was moving diagonally across the river, head toward the other shore, and was already so far away the men on deck were invisible. It was scarcely probable that Kirby would go far northward, but just what course the man would take when once more ashore was problematical. Where he might choose to seek for us could not be guessed. Yet the mere fact that he was already above us on the river was in itself a matter for grave consideration. Still, thus far we remained unlocated, and there was less danger in that direction than down stream. Donaldson, angered by the loss of his boat, and the flight of Sam, would surely see to it that no craft slipped past St. Louis unchallenged. In this respect he was more to be feared than Kirby, with a hundred miles of river to patrol; while, once we attained the Illinois, and made arrangements with Shrunk, the immediate danger would be over. Then I need go no farther—the end of the adventure might be left to others. I looked up—the steamer was a mere smudge on the distant bosom of the river.
Beyond this passing of theJohn B. Glover, the day proved uneventful, although all further desire for sleep deserted me. It was late afternoon before Rene finally emerged from the cabin to learn the news, and I spent most of the time on watch, seated at the edge of the bluff, my eyes searching the surface of the river. While Kirby's presence up stream, unquestionably increased our peril of capture, this did not cause me as much anxious thought as did the strange disappearance of Free Pete, and the two women. What had become of them during the night? Surely they could never have out-stripped us, with only a pair of oars by which to combat the current, and yet we had obtained no glimpse of them anywhere along that stretch of river.
The knowledge that the steamer which had passed us was heavily laden with troops was most encouraging. In itself alone this was abundant proof of the safe delivery of my dispatches, and I was thus relieved to realize that this duty had been performed. My later disappearance was excusable, now that I was convinced the papers intrusted to me had reached the right hands. There might be wonder, and, later, the necessity of explanation, yet no one would suffer from my absence, and I was within the limits of my furlough—the reinforcements for Forts Armstrong and Crawford were already on their way. So, altogether, I faced the task of eluding Kirby with a lighter heart, and renewed confidence. Alone, as I believed him to be, and in that new country on the very verge of civilization, he was hardly an antagonist I needed greatly to fear. Indeed, as man to man, I rather welcomed an encounter.
There is little to record, either of the day or the night. The latter shut down dark, but rainless, although the sky was heavily overcast by clouds. Satisfied that the river was clear as far as eye could reach in every direction, we managed to pole the heavy boat out of its berth in the creek while the twilight yet lingered, the western sky still remaining purple from the lingering sunset as we emerged into the broader stream. The following hours passed largely in silence, each of us, no doubt, busied with our own thoughts. Sam made no endeavor to speed his engine, keeping most of the way close to the deeper shadow of the shore, and the machinery ran smoothly, its noise indistinguishable at any distance. Twice we touched bottom, but to no damage other than a slight delay and the labor of poling off into deeper water, while occasionally overhanging limbs of trees, unnoticed in the gloom, struck our faces. By what uncanny skill the negro was able to navigate, how he found his way in safety along that ragged bank, remains a mystery. To my eyes all about us was black, impenetrable, not even the water reflecting a gleam of light; indeed, so dense was the surrounding gloom that in the deeper shadows I could not even distinguish the figure of the girl seated beside me in the cockpit. Yet there was scarcely a break in the steady chug of the engine, or the gentle swish of water alongside.
The clouds broke slightly after midnight, occasionally yielding a glimpse of a star, but the uninhabited shore remained desolate and silent. Day had not broken when we came to the mouth of the Illinois, and turned our bow cautiously up that stream, becoming immediately aware that we had entered new waters. The negro, ignorant of what was before us, soon beached the boat onto a sand bar, and we decided it would be better for us to remain there until dawn. This was not long in coming, the graying sky of the east slowly lighting up the scene, and bringing into view, little by little, our immediate surroundings. These were lonely and dismal enough, yet revealed nothing to create alarm. A desolate flat of sand extended from either shore back to a high ridge of clay, which was thickly wooded. Slightly higher up the river this ridge approached more closely the bank of the stream, with trees actually overhanging the water, and a rather thick growth of underbrush hiding the ground. The river was muddy, flowing with a swift current, and we could distinguish its course only so far as the first bend, a comparatively short distance away. Nowhere appeared the slightest evidence of life, either on water or land; all was forlorn and dead, a vista of utter desolation. Sam was standing up, his whole attention concentrated on the view up stream.
"Do steamers ever go up this river?" I asked, surprised at the volume of water.
He glanced around at me, as though startled at my voice.
"Yas, sah; putty near eny sorter boat kin. Ah nebber tried it, fer Massa Donaldson hed no bus'ness ober in dis kintry, but Ah's heerd 'em talk down ter Saint Louee. Trouble is, sah, we's got started in de wrong place—dar's plenty watah t'other side dis yere bar."
"Who told you the best way to find Shrunk?"
His eyes widened and searched my face, evidently still somewhat suspicious of any white man.
"A nigger down Saint Louee way, sah. Dey done cotched him, an' brought him back afore he even got ter Beardstown."
"And you believe you can guide us there?"
"Ah sure can, if whut dat nigger sed wus correct, sah. Ah done questioned him mighty par'ticlar, an' Ah 'members ebery sign whut he giv' me." He grinned broadly. "Ah sorter suspicion'd Ah mought need dat informa'ion."
"All right, then; it is certainly light enough now—let's push off."
We had taken the sand lightly, and were able to pole the boat into deep water with no great difficulty. I remained crouched at the bow, ready for any emergency, while the engine resumed its chugging, and Sam guided us out toward the swifter current of the stream. The broader river behind us remained veiled in mist, but the gray light was sufficient for our purpose, enabling us to proceed slowly until our craft had rounded the protruding headland, out of sight from below. Here the main channel cut across to the left bank, and we forced into the deeper shadows of the overhanging woods.
"'Tain't so awful fur from yere, sah," Sam called to me.
"What, the place where we are to land?"
"Yas, sah. It's de mouth ob a little crick, whut yer nebber see till yer right plum at it. Bettah keep yer eyes open 'long dat shore, sah."
The girl, alertly bent forward, was first among us to detect the concealed opening, which was almost completely screened by the over-arching trees, her voice ringing excitedly, as she pointed it out. Sam was quick to respond, and, almost before I had definitely established the spot, the bow of the boat swerved and we shot in through the leafy screen, the low-hung branches sweeping against our faces and scraping along the sides. It was an eery spot, into which the faint daylight scarcely penetrated, but, nevertheless, revealed itself a secure and convenient harbor. While the stream was not more than twelve feet in width and the water almost motionless, the banks were high and precipitous and the depth amply sufficient. The dim light, only occasionally finding entrance through the trees, barely enabled us to see for a short distance ahead. It looked a veritable cave, and, indeed, all I remember noting in my first hasty glance through the shadows, was the outline of a small boat, moored to a fallen tree. Sam must have perceived this at the same instant, for he ran our craft alongside the half-submerged log and stopped his engine. I scrambled over, found precarious footing on the wet bank, and made fast.
"So this is the place?" I questioned incredulously, staring about at the dark, silent forest; which still remained in the deep night shade. "Why, there's nothing here."
"No, sah; dar certenly don't 'pear fer ter be much," and the negro crept out of the cockpit and joined me, "'ceptin' dat boat. Dar ain't no boat 'round yere, les' folks hes bin a ridin' in it, Ah reckon. Dis sure am de spot, all right—an' dar's got ter be a trail 'round yere sumwhar."
Rene remained motionless, her eyes searching the shadows, as though half frightened at finding herself in such dismal surroundings. The girl's face appeared white and drawn in that twilight. Sam advanced cautiously from off the log to the shore, and began to anxiously scan the ground, beating back and forth through the underbrush. After watching him a moment my gaze settled on the strange boat, and I crept along the log curious to examine it more closely. It had the appearance of being newly built, the paint unscratched, and exhibiting few marks of usage. A single pair of oars lay crossed in the bottom and beside these was an old coat and some ordinary fishing tackle—but nothing to arouse any interest. Without doubt it belonged to Amos Shrunk, and had been left here after the return from some excursion either up or down the river. I was still staring at these things, and speculating about them, when the negro called out from a distance that he had found the path. Rene answered his hail, standing up in the boat, and I hastened back to help her ashore.
We had scarcely exchanged words during the entire night, but now she accepted my proffered hand gladly, and with a smile, springing lightly from the deck to the insecure footing of the log.
"I do not intend that you shall leave me behind," she said, glancing about with a shudder. "This is such a horrid place."
"The way before us looks scarcely better," I answered, vainly endeavoring to locate Sam. "Friend Shrunk evidently is not eager for callers. Where is that fellow?"
"Somewhere over in that thicket, I think. At least his voice sounded from there. You discovered nothing in the boat?"
"Only a rag and some fishing tackle. Come; we'll have to plunge in somewhere."
She followed closely as I pushed a passage through the obstructing underbrush, finally locating Sam at the edge of a small opening, where the light was sufficiently strong to enable us to distinguish marks of a little-used trail leading along the bottom of a shallow gully bisecting the sidehill. The way was obstructed by roots and rotten tree trunks, and so densely shaded as to be in places almost imperceptible, but Sam managed to find its windings, while we held close enough behind to keep him safely in sight. Once we came into view of the river, but the larger part of the way lay along a hollow, heavily overshadowed by trees, where we could see only a few feet in any direction.
At the crossing of a small stream we noticed the imprint of several feet in the soft mud of the shore. One plainly enough was small and narrow, beyond all question that of a woman, but the others were all men's, one being clad in moccasins. Beyond this point the path trended downward, winding along the face of the hill and much more easily followed. Sam, still ahead, started to clamber across the trunk of a fallen tree, but came to a sudden halt, staring downward at something concealed from our view on, the other side.
"Good Lord o' mercy!" he exclaimed, excitedly.
"What's dat?"
I was close beside him by this time and saw the thing also—the body of a man lying on the ground. The light was so dim only the bare outlines of the recumbent figure were visible, and, following the first shock of discovery, my earliest thought was to spare the girl.
"Wait where you are, Rene!" I exclaimed, waving her back. "There is a man lying here beyond the log. Come, Sam; we will see what he looks like."
He was slow in following, hanging back as I approached closer to the motionless form, and I could hear the muttering of his lips. Unquestionably the man was dead; of this I was assured before I even knelt beside him. He lay prone on his face in a litter of dead leaves, and almost the first thing I noticed was the death wound back of his ear, where a large caliber bullet had pierced the brain. His exposed hands proved him a negro, and it was with a feeling of unusual repugnance that I touched his body, turning it over sufficiently to see the face. The countenance of a negro in death seldom appears natural, and under that faint light, no revealed feature struck me, at first, as familiar. Then, all at once, I knew him, unable to wholly repress a cry of startled surprise, as I stared down into the upturned face—the dead man, evidently murdered, shot treacherously from behind, was Free Pete. I sprang to my feet, gazing about blindly into the dim woods, my mind for the instant dazed by the importance of this discovery. What could it mean? How could it have happened? By what means had he reached this spot in advance of us, and at whose hand had he fallen? He could have been there only for one purpose, surely—in an attempt to guide Eloise Beaucaire and the quadroon Delia. Then what had become of the women? Where were they now?
I stumbled backward to the support of the log, unable to answer any one of these questions, remembering only in that moment that I must tell Rene the truth. Her eyes already were upon me, exhibiting her fright and perplexity, her knowledge that I had viewed something of horror. She could keep silent no longer.
"Tell me—please," she begged. "Is the man dead? Who is he, do you know?"
"Yes," I replied desperately. "He is dead, and I recognize his face. He is the negro Pete, and has been killed, shot from behind. I cannot understand how it has happened."
"Pete," she echoed, grasping at the log to keep erect, her eyes on that dimly revealed figure in the leaves. "Free Pete, Carlton's Pete? How—how could he have got here? Then—then the others must have been with him. What has become of them?"
"It is all mystery; the only way to solve it is for us to go on. It can do no one any good to stand here, staring at this dead body. When we reach the cabin we may learn what has occurred. Go on ahead, Sam, and we will follow—don't be afraid, boy; it is not the dead who hurt us."
She clung tightly to me, shrinking past the motionless figure. She was not sobbing; her eyes were dry, yet every movement, each glance, exhibited her depth of horror. I drew her closer, thoughtless of what she was, my heart yearning to speak words of comfort, yet realizing there was nothing left me to say. I could almost feel the full intensity of her struggle for self-control, the effort she was making to conquer a desire to give way. She must have known this, for once she spoke.
"Do not mind me," she said, pausing before the utterance of each word to steady her voice. "I—I am not going to break down. It—it is the suddenness—the shock. I—I shall be strong again, in a minute."
"You must be," I whispered, "for their lives may depend on us."
It was a short path before us and became more clearly defined as we advanced. A sharp turn brought us into full view of the cabin, which stood in a small opening, built against the sidehill, and so overhung with trees as to be invisible, except from the direction of our approach. We could see only the side wall, which contained one open window, and was a one-room affair, low and flat-roofed, built of logs. Its outward appearance was peaceful enough, and the swift beat of my pulse quieted as I took rapid survey of the surroundings.
"Sam," I commanded, "you are to remain here with Rene, while I learn the truth yonder. Yes," to her quick protest, "that will be the better way—there is no danger and I shall not be gone but for a moment."
I seated her on a low stump and left them there together, Sam's eyes rolling about in a frightened effort to perceive every covert in the woods, but the girl satisfied to watch me intently as I moved cautiously forward. A dozen steps brought me within view of the front of the cabin. The door had been smashed in and hung dangling from one hinge. Another step, now with a pistol gripped in my hand, enabled me to obtain a glimpse within. Across the puncheon threshold, his feet even protruding without, lay a man's body; beyond him, half concealed by the shadows of the interior, appeared the outlines of another, with face upturned to the roof, plainly distinguishable because of a snow-white beard.