“Only this,” he said slowly.  “If I were you I’d never attempt to go south.  Below St. Louis boats are numerous, and you would be almost certain to be discovered.  If Kirby chases you—­and I know him well enough to be sure he will—­he will naturally take it for granted that you have headed for the Ohio.  The very fact that the fugitives are women would convince him of this.  To my mind the one chance of your getting away, lies to the north—­up the Illinois.”

“That thought was in my mind also,” I admitted, thoroughly satisfied now that he was really friendly, and to be trusted.  “I have been told that the settlers north of that stream came mostly from New England—­is that true?”

“To a large extent.  We have reason to believe there is an underground road in operation from the river to Canada, and many a runaway nigger makes the trip every year.  That ought to be your best course, but there is no time now to put the women in the care of those men.  Of course I don’t know who they are—­perhaps Pete does?”

“No, sah,” protested the black quickly. “’Pears like I never heerd tell ’bout dem.  I’se a free nigger, sah.”

The lawyer’s shrewd eyes twinkled.

“And that is exactly why, you black rascal, I believe you really do know.  I reckon, Knox, he’ll tell you what he wouldn’t tell me.  Anyhow, good luck to you both, and good night.”

The door closed behind him, and the negro and I were alone.  All at once I realized the desperate nature of this adventure I had undertaken, and its possible consequences.  Haines’ words had driven it home to my mind, causing me to comprehend the viewpoint of this neighborhood, the hatred men felt for a nigger-stealer, and what my fate would be if once caught in the act.  Yet the die was already cast; I had pledged myself to action; was fully committed to the attempted rescue of Rene Beaucaire, and no thought of any retreat once occurred to me.  I opened the door cautiously, glancing out into the night, to thus assure myself we were alone, closed it again, and came back.  The negro still remained seated on the edge of the bed, digging his toes into the hard earth of the floor.

“Pete,” I began earnestly.  “You trust me, don’t you?  You do not suspect me of being any slave-hunter?”

“No, sah, Massa Knox, I ain’t ‘feared o’ yer—­yers one o’ dem down-easterners.”

“Well, not exactly that.  I came from a slave state, but my family is of New England blood and breeding.  I am just as much your friend as though you were white.  Now you and I have got a hard job before us.”

“Yas, sah, we sure has.”

“And the first thing we have got to do, is to trust each other.  Now I am going to ask you a question—­is that the best way for us to go, up the Illinois?”

He was slow to answer, evidently turning the whole matter over in his mind.  I waited impatiently, feeling the delay to be a serious loss of time.