The Devil's Own Part 16

"From de p'int yonder, over ter de east sh.o.r.e."

"And the depth of water across from us? We are going to head up stream."

"Yas, sah; yer plannin' fer ter go nor'. Wal, sah, dars planty o'

watah fer dis yere boat right now, wid de spring floods. Nothin' fer ter be a'feered of 'bout dat."

"That is good news. Now, Sam, I am going to cut this line, and I want you to steer straight across into the shadows of the Illinois sh.o.r.e. I believe you are going to play square, but, for the present, I'm going to take no chances with you. I am holding this pistol within a foot of your head, and your life means nothing to me if you try any trick.

What is the speed of this boat up stream?"

"'Bout ten mile an hour, sah."

"Well, don't push her too hard at first, and run that engine as noiselessly as possible. Are you ready? Yes--then I'll cut loose."

I severed the line and we began to recede from the sh.o.r.e, cutting diagonally across the decidedly swift current. Once beyond the protection of the point the star-gleam revealed the st.u.r.dy rush of the waters, occasionally flecked with bubbles of foam. Sam handled the unwieldy craft with the skill of a practiced boatman and the laboring engine made far less racket than I had antic.i.p.ated. Ahead, nothing was visible but the turbulent expanse of desolate water, the Illinois sh.o.r.e being still too far away for the eye to perceive through the darkness.

Behind us the Missouri bluffs rose black, and fairly distinct against the sky, but dimming constantly as the expanse of water widened to our progress. Pistol in hand, and vigilant to every motion of the negro, my eyes swept along that vague sh.o.r.e line, catching nowhere a spark of light, nor any evidence that the steady chug of our engine had created alarm. The churning wheel flung white spray into the air, which glittered in the silver of the star-rays, and occasionally showered me with moisture. At last the western sh.o.r.e imperceptibly merged into the night shadows, and we were alone upon the mysterious bosom of the vast stream, tossed about in the full sweep of the current, yet moving steadily forward, and already safely beyond both sight and sound.

CHAPTER XIII

SEEKING THE UNDERGROUND

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 sh.o.r.e. 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 c.o.c.kpit, her gaze on the rus.h.i.+ng waters ahead.

I could realize something of what must be pa.s.sing through her mind--the mingling of doubt and fear which a.s.sailed 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e 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 n.o.body 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 sh.o.r.e, sah? Le's see; thar's Ra.s.suer 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; Ma.s.sa Donaldson he was goin' up fer ter serve sum papers fer Ma.s.sa Kirby, so he cud run off de Beaucaire n.i.g.g.e.rs. But dis yere gal, she ain't no n.i.g.g.e.r--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 Ma.s.sa Shrunk?"

"Yes--you have heard of him before?"

"Ah reckon as how maybe Ah has, sah. Mos' all de n.i.g.g.e.rs 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 n.i.g.g.e.r."

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-n.i.g.g.e.r 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 pa.s.sed out of the swifter current and were close in to the eastern sh.o.r.e. 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sc.r.a.ped 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?"