“I thought not; you’d rather be a free nigger, perhaps?  Well, Sam, if you will do this job all right for me tonight, I’ll put you where the sheriff will never see hide nor hair of you again—­no, not yet; wait a moment, there is another passenger.”

She came instantly in answer to my low call, and, through the gloom, the startled negro watched her descend the bank, a mere moving shadow, yet with the outlines of a woman.  I half believe he thought her a ghost, for I could hear him muttering inarticulately to himself.  I dared not remove my eyes from the fellow, afraid that his very excess of fear might impel him to some reckless act, but I extended one hand across the side of the boat to her assistance.

“Take my hand, Rene,” I said pleasantly to reassure her, “and come aboard.  Yes, everything is all right.  I’ve just promised Sam here a ticket for Canada.”

I helped her across into the cockpit and seated her on the bench, but never venturing to remove my eyes from the negro.  His actions, and whatever I was able to observe of the expression of his face, only served to convince me of his trustworthiness, yet I could take no chances.

“She’s just a real, live woman, sah?” he managed to ejaculate, half in doubt.  “She sure ain’t no ghost, sah?”

“By no means, Sam; she is just as real as either you or I. Now listen, boy—­you know what will happen to you after this, if Donaldson ever gets hold of you?”

“I ’spects Ah does, sah.  He’d just nat’larly skin dis nigger alive, Ah reckon.”

“Very well, then; it is up to you to get away, and I take it that you understand this river.  Where is the main current along here?”

“From de p’int yonder, over ter de east shore.”

“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 shore.  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.”