“Wus Ah ter turn nor’, sah?” asked the negro, suddenly.

“Yes, up-stream, but keep in as close to the shore 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 nobody 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 shore, sah?  Le’s see; thar’s Rassuer 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; Massa Donaldson he was goin’ up fer ter serve sum papers fer Massa Kirby, so he cud run off de Beaucaire niggers.  But dis yere gal, she ain’t no nigger—­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 Massa Shrunk?”

“Yes—­you have heard of him before?”

“Ah reckon as how maybe Ah has, sah.  Mos’ all de niggers down dis way has bin tol’ ’bout him—­som’how dey has, sah.”