she had trusted me; would trust me again.  More; she could never be deceived, or fail to recognize my presence aboard if she had the freedom of the deck.  Kirby might be deceived, but not Rene.  Still she was a woman of quick wit; once recovered from her first surprise at thus encountering me, neither by word or look would she ever betray her knowledge.  If I could only plan to meet with her first alone, the peril of her recognition would not be extreme.

But I must also figure upon the other woman.  Who could she be?  Not Eloise Beaucaire surely, for the mate had only mentioned one of the two as being sufficiently white to be noticeable.  That one would surely be Rene, and it was scarcely probable that Eloise, with no drop of negro blood in her veins, could appear colored.  Perhaps this second woman was Delia, the quadroon mother.  But if so, how did she chance to fall alone into Kirby’s clutches?  Was she aboard the keel-boat, locked below in the cabin, when it rammed into us?  If she had been captured at Shrunk’s camp during their murderous raid, what had become of her companion?  Where was Eloise Beaucaire?  The harder I sought to straighten out this mystery the more involved it became.  I knew so little of the facts, there was nothing I could argue from.  All that remained was for me to go forward blindly, trusting implicitly to the god of luck.

With every additional glance at the face reflected by the mirror, my confidence strengthened in the ability to encounter Kirby, and pass unrecognized.  Convinced as he undoubtedly was of my death beneath the black waters of the river he could not possibly imagine my presence aboard the Adventurer, while my personal appearance was so utterly changed as to suggest to his mind no thought of familiarity.  The conditions were all in my favor.  I was smiling grimly at this conceit, well pleased at the chance thus afforded me, when the stateroom door was suddenly flung open, and the hairy face of the mate thrust within.

“I reckon yer better tote them wet duds down ter the boiler room,” he said, gruffly, “an’ then git sum grub.  Likely ’nough yer wound’t mind eatin’ a bit.  Be yer a river man?”

“I’ve never worked on a steamboat, if that is what you mean.”

“No; well I reckoned not, but the captain he thought maybe yer had.  I tol’ him yer didn’t talk like no steamer hand.  Howsumever we’re almightly short o’ help aboard, an’ maybe yer’d like a job ter help pay yer way?”

My fingers involuntarily closed on some loose gold pieces in my pocket, but a sudden thought halted me.  Why not?  In what better way could I escape discovery?  As an employe of the boat I could go about the decks unsuspected, and unnoticed.  Kirby would never give me a second thought, or glance, while the opportunity thus afforded of speaking to Rene, and being of service to her, would be immeasurably increased.  I withdrew my hand, swiftly deciding my course of action.