“Why, we just went back ter bed, an’ ’long ’bout daylight, I reckon, sum fellars cum ashore off a steamboat, an’ done broke inter de house; muster bin a dozen, er mor’, white men, a cussin’ an’ swearin’, an’ sayin’ dey wus a huntin’ dem thar Beaucaire niggers.  We never done heerd ’em till dey bust in de dore.  One ob dem he knocked me down, an’ den Ah saw Massa Shrunk kill one, afore dey got him.  Ah don’t know just whut did cum ob de free nigger; Ah reckon maybe he run away.  Dar’s a fellar on board yere whut killed Massa Shrunk; an’ he’s de same one whut made me cum ’long wid him.”

“You mean the deputy sheriff? the man with the chin-whiskers?”

“No, sah.  Ah don’t mean him.  He wus thar all right, but Ah never saw him hit nobody.  It wus another fellar, a smooth-faced man, sorter tall like, all dressed up, an’ who never talks much.”

“Kirby—­Joe Kirby, a river gambler.”

“Dat’s de name—­Kurby.  Wal’, he’s de one whut wus lookin’ fer dis yere gal, Rene Beaucaire.  He wanted her pow’ful bad.  Dey hunted all ’round fer ter git hol’ her, cussin’ an’ threatenin’, an’ a haulin’ me round; but ’twan’t no sorter use.  So finally dey took me ’long ter a boat in de crick—­a keel-boat, run by steam.  Most de odder men disappeared; Ah never did know whar dey went, but dis yere Kurby, an’ de man wif de chin-whiskers, dey done shut me up in de cabin.  Ah don’t know much whut did happen after dat, till ’bout de time de steamboat done hit us; an’ ’bout de next thing Ah wus yanked up yere on deck.”

“But there was another woman on the keel-boat when it was sunk—­a prisoner also.  Surely you must have seen her,” I insisted.

“Ah saw her—­yas,” eagerly.  “But Ah don’t know who she wus, sah, nor whar she ever cum frum.”

“Then she is not there with you?”

“No, sah; Ah’s yere all ‘lone.  Ah reckon, tho’, she sure mus’ be on board sumwhar.  All what Ah does know is, dat de gal called Rene Beaucaire sure ain’t on board; fer she, an’ her mah, am at Beardstown long fore dis, an’ a headin’ right smart for Canady; while Ah’s headin’ fer down soufe.  Ah’s a free nigger, an’ dey’s kidnapped me.  Ah’s just told yer all dis, Mister White Man, ‘cause you’s a frien’ ob de Beaucaires—­yer wus, wusn’t yer?”

“Yes,” I said soberly, “I am; and, if I can find any chance to help you, I am going to do it, Elsie.  Be careful now; don’t talk any more—­the captain is just coming out of the pilot house.”

As greatly as this brief, hastily whispered conversation had served to clear up certain puzzling matters in my mind, the total result of the information thus imparted by Elsie Clark only rendered the situation more complex and puzzling.  Evidently the other prisoner had not been confined on the upper deck, but had been more securely hidden away below, where her presence on board would better escape detection.  For what purpose?  A sinister one, beyond all